The Memoir of Derry Strum: Origin

© 2025 Furbifier Let me take you back to where it all began— Before the crooked smile, before the man. A boy named Derry, soft of voice, No sharper than a child’s choice. He ran through fields, he laughed with birds, His world was built on gentle words. But fate is cruel and boys are mean, And kindness fades where hate is seen. They mocked his name, they mocked his face, They locked him in that cursed place. A barn of rot, no food, no light, Three days alone, no end in sight. When they returned, they found a shell— A boy no more, just rage to quell. So listen close and mark this tale, Of how the wind began to wail. This isn’t myth, this isn’t lore— It’s blood and bone and something more. A wicked man was born that day, And Derry Strum was swept away. 1, 2, 3, 4 — he’s shedding what he was before 5, 6, 7, 8 — his heart now beats with fear and hate 9, 10 — too late, he’s out for revenge! Hahahaha! Derry Strum, the boy once mild, Now walks the path no longer a child. Locked away, his mind unspun, Each breath he took, the change begun. Whispers crawled beneath his skin, The devil danced and pulled him in. No longer soft, no longer shy— He grew more twisted as days went by One by one, the bullies fell, In the cellar, barn, and wishing well. No priest could cleanse, no bell could ring, No mother dared to mourn or sing. The town grew pale, the nights grew long, Each whisper hummed his vengeful song. No one could prove it was even him He got off free from all his sin 1, 2, 3, 4 — he’s not the boy you knew before 5, 6, 7, 8 — his heart now beats with fear and hate 9, 10 — too late, his revenge is here to stay! Derry Strum, no longer torn, He buried the boy, and wore his grin. He speaks polite, to hide his sin, But hides the wound he lets grow wide. He walks among them, calm and still, With vengeance sleeping in his will. He knows his truth, he knows his name— He waits in silence, to feed his rage He waits, he watches, calm and grim… And now the town belongs to him. Hahahaha