“The Monster I Became”

Childhood
A little boy (curly-haired, chubby, wears glassesis constantly exposed to his parents’ explosive, toxic fights.
The parents’ rage is depicted as glowing red energy weapons (axes, spears, beams) made of pure anger.
Every time they scream at each other, the red energy pierces the boy, leaving invisible scars that look like arrows stuck in his back and chest.
He is powerless; he can only watch and absorb the violence.

Growing Up
The boy learns that anger = power.
He begins turning the pain outward: he bullies weaker kids at school, stabs classmates with the same red arrows that once wounded him, and even lashes out physically.
The red energy that was once inflicted on him now flows from him. The victim has internalized the weapon.

Adulthood
Years later we see the same boy, now grown, having his own child-self’s monster sculptures exhibited in a prestigious gallery.
He has turned the trauma into “art.” The crowd admires the grotesque creatures he once drew to process his fear.
On the surface he is successful, celebrated, healed.

The Cycle Repeats
Behind closed doors we see him screaming at his own partner with the exact same red rage-axe, the same 24/7 anger icons floating around it.
His own child (now the new little boy in the house) watches in horror from the stairs, red arrows beginning to pierce the new generation.
The final panels show the adult, alone, with a giant red rocket of rage launching out of him into the void, symbolizing how the trauma has grown monstrously large and is now completely out of control.

Closing Message

“Words have more power than we thought.”
The parents never realized that their shouted insults and constant fighting were carving permanent wounds into their child’s soul. Those words became the blueprint for how he later expressed love, conflict, and identity.
The monsters he drew as a terrified kid became literal monsters he turned into as an adult.

The entire comic is a single, unbroken loop: hurt people hurt people, and unhealed pain doesn’t just disappear; it gets refined into something society sometimes even applauds (art, success, intensity), while privately continuing to destroy the next generation.
A heartbreaking reminder that childhood is where monsters are manufactured, and the scariest ones aren’t under the bed; they’re handed down, sharpened, and passed on.5sFast