The Little Boy Who Grew Up to Be the Scorecard Serial Killer
When people finally learned his name, they were disappointed.
Instead, it was ordinary. Almost gentle.
The kind of name you’d find scribbled in crayon on a kindergarten cubby or stitched onto a backpack with a cartoon dinosaur. The kind of name that belonged to a boy who once cried when his goldfish died and who hated the taste of cough syrup.
No one looks at a little boy and sees a serial killer.
That’s the problem.
1. The First Score
The first time he kept score, he was seven years old.
It wasn’t for anything violent. It wasn’t even intentional. His third-grade teacher had taped a chart to the classroom wall—gold stars for good behavior, red circles for disruptions. At the end of the week, the child with the most stars won a prize.
Most kids just wanted the prize.
He studied the chart obsessively. He noticed patterns. Which kids were forgiven. Which ones were punished for the same behavior. How rules bent depending on who was watching.
When another boy shoved him during recess and the teacher scolded him instead, something clicked into place.
That night, he went home and drew his own chart.
Names on the left. Columns across the top.
Good. Bad. Fair. Unfair.
He didn’t know it yet, but this was the beginning of the scorecard.
2. A Quiet House with Loud Rules
His father believed discipline built character. His mother believed silence kept the peace. Arguments were not loud, but they were constant—sharp whispers behind closed doors, resentment hanging in the air like humidity.
Mistakes were not forgiven. They were documented.
A spilled drink meant a lecture. A bad grade meant disappointment that lingered for weeks. Apologies were irrelevant; only correction mattered.
He learned early that love was conditional.
So he adapted.
He followed rules perfectly. He learned how to disappear when emotions ran high. He learned that if you couldn’t escape judgment, you could at least understand it.
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