This will probably be buried, which is fine. But the scariest person I've ever met was my Step-father. He was violent, abusive, alcoholic, and addicted to coke. For several years, he abused me specifically because of the fact that he never could have a son of his own. One day, he gets a call, and finds out his mother had a stroke, so he left immediately to be with her in central America. He was gone for the better part of a year, and couldn't come back because of his record. In this time I had a growth spurt, I was about 14 or 15. And when he finally does get back, I'm taller than him. I found out that while he was being smuggled back into the US, he had killed someone. This horrified me, because he had threatened me before, but I never imagined he would. He was quieter, but more violent, more on edge. Never touched me or my mother, she thought he'd changed for the better. But I was angry at him. One day, he began to argue with my mother, he wanted money to buy coke, but she wouldn't give him any. He decided fuck it and swung at her. He missed, but before I knew it, I was behind him, picking him up from behind, and throwing him on to the ground. I don't remember much of the fight, except for a few parts. The part that I remember vividly however was the end, when I him on the ground with my hand on his throat, slamming his head into the tile over and over again as he tried to pull my hand away with both of his. I remember how red his face was, and the tears and spit flying around. The sound of him trying to say he was sorry when he realized I was trying to reach into the knife drawer with my other hand. My mom had to stop me, she said the only reason she did it was because he wasn't worth spending my life in jail for. I remember everything after the fight however. He sat in the kitchen for a long time, trying to catch his breath. I walked over to get a cup of water, I didn't know what to do in this situation. And he flinched as soon as I looked at him. He was scared of me. At the time I was proud. I knew I was in the right. I was a fucking hero. But when I think of it now, I realize how violent a person I became, because of how he raised me. If I hadn't had been stopped, would I have gotten the knife and actually tried to kill him? I was terrified of this man, I used to cry because of how scared I was of the next beating. But then suddenly he was scared of me, this kid who somehow found the strength to pin him down with one hand in an effort to kill him. I was no better than him.