Confessions of Pain

It's a tad long, but I am just wondering if it sparks anyone's interest. Thanks!
Ally xx

Prologue
Some people say I shouldn’t be able to remember what happened so long ago. But those people are wrong, because I do remember. Right down to the point, I remember everything;
I remember the sing-song voice and laughter of my mother Sera, the kind-heartedness of my sister Chloē, the hard work and dedication of my father, Alden, the two room apartment my family and I lived in. The warm Sunday walks along 5th Avenue to my Aunt Hannah’s house, occasional trips to the ball park to watch the Yankees, stranger’s happy smiles, or maybe envious ones, towards my mother and father, who were always embracing, which was rare to see because in such a city as New York City, no one had time for conserving marriages, only business. There was constant happiness in our family on the outside it seemed, in our quiet home; our quiet lives. It was all I saw as a young boy anyway. But what’s important is what no one else really saw, what my father hid from us; the threatening letters, the secret meetings, the money he put on the side from his pay check each week, his break down when he realized he was at the mercy of a killer.
I remember the day, one quiet night, when three men in masks burst through our apartment door. My mother’s sing-song voice was anything but; she was fearful and told me to go hide in the closet; stay quiet and shut my eyes. I was as quiet as death in there, but I watched the entire scene through the rusting key hole in the door; my father pleading to the men, my mother holding Chloē close behind her. It all happened so terribly quick: yelling, crashing, sobs, two loud shots, Chloē’s screams, the front door slamming shut, and then utter silence.
I couldn’t move…. for hours.
I remember the police officer finding me in that same closet what seemed like an eternity later, telling me it would all be ok, his face failing to hide the lie.
He led me away; the site of my parents still haunts me to this day; my mother and father, her voice, his dedication, dead on the hardwood floor, eyes open, a shot to the head for both of them, and my sister nowhere to be seen. The officer tried to hide the scene, but he couldn’t do it well. I saw.
But, out of everything that happened in my life, the good and the bad, I remember so very clearly the words of that b*****d police officer, trying to explain to my eight-year-old self, the fact that nothing actually happened, that they dismissed the case of my parent’s murder as a violent financial quarrel between my mother and father, and my sister simply ran away and is unable to be found; no questions asked, no witnesses, no explanation, because I was only eight-years-old then, too young to understand.
It’s been ten years since that day. That’s ten years of my life sitting in the soot covered boy’s home the state sent me to because no one wished to take me in. Ten years being strapped by hag nuns and scolded at by priests. Ten years as an orphan, ten years being traumatized, remembering, and no one caring, because I was just another person, and nothing ever really happened anyway. But now; now that I am on my own, I am done remembering. I am done being afraid and hopeless. I am taking action, honoring my father, my family, seeking my revenge, and destroying the lives of everyone who was involved that day. By doing this, I will confess my pain to their cowering eyes and pleading hearts proudly with every kill, even it destroys me, Irin Lindhart, along the way.