(This is NOT based on any true events. Everything is fictional.)

It had been half a year since the incident. The incident that had cruelly seized their little boy. He had been reserved, but playful to those who knew him. A loving, good willing child. Nobody knew him by his full name; Devinnance; Everyone just called him Devin. The family was Celtic, firmly Pagan, and richly religious. They held a quiet awe in the mostly Evangelical community. Afterwards, they were held in outward hatred, fear, disgust.

Five had died. Three, wounded. In a rare case, the killer was not among the dead. His attempt at suicide was not successful. Devinnance would live long enough to see deathrow.

Shootings were a dreadful occurrence. Children died, adults too. Communities gripped by fear and everlasting remorse. Swarmed by media, who were like moths to a flame that burned fueled by the corpses of those killed.

Questioning lawmakers, curious court systems, conniving politicians. They plagued the residents until their last moments.

Only one dared to ask the question nobody else had the guts to raise. “Why?”

Buried beneath stacks of homework, letters, books and trash, a journal unearthed in the “House of Sin.”. In the room of a child forced to grow by a neighborhood of people who could not stand his existence.

The cover was glued on, the bindings barely holding together the many pages of confessions, vents, and drawings. Drawings depicted fairies and gods, landscapes and forests. Creatures that the christian mind refused to comprehend. Confessions to violent thoughts, mindless dreams of violence, profanity.

The public demanded the journal be released.

But it was a small section which caught the eye of police, and made them ponder the hell that would be raised if they were to show this to anyone else.

Pasted among scribbles, doodles of knives and demons, were notes.

Death threats, unconventional criticism, disbelief, anger. Unsigned, but written in varying handwriting. Notes written by his peers. One was believed to be written by a teacher.

How could any christian, who was taught “Love thy neighbor.” in the scripture they hold so dear, send this kind of thing to someone else?

Well the answer was clear; They could do it if they believed it was for the good of themselves. A selfish desire, one that was sowed by parents who looked with contempt upon a family who was different.

Many in the police force had lived in town for years. They could not believe that the children of people they lived with could be responsible for these notes, for this much resolute loathing.

Weeks later, the police released an official statement.

“We will not be releasing the Journal. Our findings show only that Devin was an upset person, and that he was driven by an emotional outburst to commit this violent crime.”

The community was in uproar. Someone attempted to burn down Devin’s previous residence. His locker was defaced, his parents had rotten food thrown at them in the streets.

His parents secretly set up a small memorial for the victims. But also for their son. It was a wooden board with his named carved into it. Someone broke into his room via the window, smashed the memorial to pieces, and wrote in spray paint on the wallpaper:

“Deviance is a Sin. He will burn in hell!”

His parents could do nothing but cry.