"Fuck. I can't help but let my mind wander to the times when everything was okay. At least, when I felt okay. Before I found the emptiness. When I felt love. I can't remember much, but I remember that warm, lighter-than-air feeling. Why am I writing this down? Maybe this is much needed therapy. Goddammit. I can't recall a single event. I wish I could die. This feeling is worse than any fate.
I feel like I can picture her. Maybe it was a him. I don't even remember my own sexuality. How fucked is that? Whoever they were, I miss them. The only thing that brings me solace is hurting people. Even then, I feel like it's only making my problem worse. Every kill makes me lose a bit more of who I am. But I have to do this. THIS IS WHO I AM NOW.
I have to, but I don't want to.
I need to.
I will."
Friday, May 3, 2013
Sunday, November 25, 2012
"So, you want to know The Devil?"
This is the most bizarre entry I've found in this journal so far. That's saying a lot given the kind of stuff I've posted from it so far.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: So, you want to know The Devil?
_____: Is it time for this again already? I told you before, you can't break me.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: Amusing. If we wanted to break you, there would be shards of you strewn across this planet. As always, our aim is brotherhood. Forging a bond--a blood pact if you will. We intend you no harm.
_____: Then why do I feel worse after every encounter I have with you?
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: The weak feel strain after attempting growth. There is no malignancy in us, only weakness in you. We can assist you in achieving your much sought after apotheosis.
_____: I'll get there myself. I don't need help from you.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: Oh? By doing what? Synthesizing another one of your sonic miscarriages? Marking your misguided thoughts in verse and image? As it stands there is no point to you. We can alter that.
_____: Fuck you.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: Your beacon of arrogance will crumble, and with it so shall you fall. Take solace that we will be there to catch you with our arms innumerous.
_____: I'd prefer to hit the ground.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: Death is not an option for you.
_____: There's always a way out.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: If you intend on taking your own life, we will not allow it. We will keep you breathing for as long as we see necessary. We are the animator, you are the marionette.
_____: ...
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: You have to accept that there is no place for you in this world.
_____: Things can change.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: People change, vessel. Things change after people make change within themselves. You are incapable of evolution. You will forever be _____ _____. A pebble plated in gold is still only a small stone. You can accept this as a bitter old man, dying alone in his own filth, or, you can accept it now and become part of us.
_____: Dying alone wont be so bad.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: Your persistence awakens the emptiness in our innards. That Aegis-like will of yours calls to us like sirens at sea. Assimilation is inevitable. You can join us this dawn by choice, or at your eventide by force.
_____: I won't do it. Ever.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: These words will someday compose your requiem.
_____: ...I'm going to sleep.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: Hiding yourself only stirs our presence in you. We know who you truly are.
_____: Is that so?
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: We knew you before you knew you. Your lies shield you from the world, and the world from you.
_____: Everyone lies. As human beings we lie every single god-forsaken day we wake up. We lie when we say "everything's okay", when we say today will be different, when we set unattainable goals for the sake of appearing alive in the eyes of others.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: What you are in the shade will appear on the surface. We already see it, it's only a matter of time before they see it. Except they wont be so forgiving. We'll protect you. You know what you have to do.
_____: Leave me alone.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: For now.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: So, you want to know The Devil?
_____: Is it time for this again already? I told you before, you can't break me.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: Amusing. If we wanted to break you, there would be shards of you strewn across this planet. As always, our aim is brotherhood. Forging a bond--a blood pact if you will. We intend you no harm.
_____: Then why do I feel worse after every encounter I have with you?
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: The weak feel strain after attempting growth. There is no malignancy in us, only weakness in you. We can assist you in achieving your much sought after apotheosis.
_____: I'll get there myself. I don't need help from you.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: Oh? By doing what? Synthesizing another one of your sonic miscarriages? Marking your misguided thoughts in verse and image? As it stands there is no point to you. We can alter that.
_____: Fuck you.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: Your beacon of arrogance will crumble, and with it so shall you fall. Take solace that we will be there to catch you with our arms innumerous.
_____: I'd prefer to hit the ground.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: Death is not an option for you.
_____: There's always a way out.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: If you intend on taking your own life, we will not allow it. We will keep you breathing for as long as we see necessary. We are the animator, you are the marionette.
_____: ...
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: You have to accept that there is no place for you in this world.
_____: Things can change.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: People change, vessel. Things change after people make change within themselves. You are incapable of evolution. You will forever be _____ _____. A pebble plated in gold is still only a small stone. You can accept this as a bitter old man, dying alone in his own filth, or, you can accept it now and become part of us.
_____: Dying alone wont be so bad.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: Your persistence awakens the emptiness in our innards. That Aegis-like will of yours calls to us like sirens at sea. Assimilation is inevitable. You can join us this dawn by choice, or at your eventide by force.
_____: I won't do it. Ever.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: These words will someday compose your requiem.
_____: ...I'm going to sleep.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: Hiding yourself only stirs our presence in you. We know who you truly are.
_____: Is that so?
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: We knew you before you knew you. Your lies shield you from the world, and the world from you.
_____: Everyone lies. As human beings we lie every single god-forsaken day we wake up. We lie when we say "everything's okay", when we say today will be different, when we set unattainable goals for the sake of appearing alive in the eyes of others.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: What you are in the shade will appear on the surface. We already see it, it's only a matter of time before they see it. Except they wont be so forgiving. We'll protect you. You know what you have to do.
_____: Leave me alone.
s.e.t.(h).(t).h.e.c.(a).g.(e).(d).: For now.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Hammer of Trials
""I did you a favor, by the way"
I figured a challenge such as this required a new tool suitable for the task. Up to this point I had been throwing all of my used instruments into the lake. Even though leaving them in the warehouse would cause them to vanish, I felt much better disposing of them myself. My newly found fondness for blunt objects caused me to remember my Dad's favorite hammer. A whole section of my memory unlocked right then. I remember he fixed my window seal with it. The window would leak cold air into my room at nights, but I never told anyone about it. He must have seen me shivering one night and decided to fix it.
It was early Saturday morning, I had just woken up and went to eat breakfast. When I came back, he had already hammered the nails in place and was in the process of finishing up. He held his trademark tool proudly while he inspected his work. I used to call it "sunlight" because of the custom red, orange, and yellow grip he fitted it with. "It does kind of look like the sunrise" he said, "Dawn. That's what I'll call it" he remarked while smiling at me.
I went back to the old house to find Dawn; I knew beforehand it would be a surreal experience. It was an empty shell of its former self. Everything still sat where it did however many years ago it was since I had seen it. I didn't want to stay long, who knows what kind of tabs were being kept on that place. I headed straight for the attic, where my father kept most of his things dear to him. He would spend countless hours up there everyday. After searching for a brief time, I found the hammer in an old red toolbox covered in cobwebs. Since I had found what I needed, I decided to leave. That was when I found a guitar. It sat next to a milk crate with what appeared to be sheet music and guitar tablature sat on top of it. It seems my father was up here writing music. I didn't give it a second thought and left.
This page is a bit smeared. I'll try my best to transcribe it.
I met up with my "father" at an unkempt cemetery outside the cathedral. I figured he wanted more appropriate mood lighting to hammer out the details of our pact. The rules were as follows:
I: Only hearts will be accepted as proof. Anything else will be rejected, and the kill null and void.
II: No children or animals.
III: Whomever has the highest number of hearts six months from now at midnight will be made the victor.
We were both already clear on the stipulations of victory. He "gets" me for eternity if he wins, and I am rid of him forever if should I.
"I did you a favor, by the way" he said with a smirk on his face. "Go check the web." I walked in and saw there was already a heart on my web. "I don't need your help, I--" I stopped talking mid-sentence. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Seeing the heart made my own stop beating for what felt like forever. I felt sick. The heart was still, but I could hear it beating. Pounding in my head like a storm of thunderous drums. "Who is this?" I asked. He just looked at me in silence.
I had to sit down. I literally couldn't breathe. He knelt next to me and said;
"Shall we begin?""
I figured a challenge such as this required a new tool suitable for the task. Up to this point I had been throwing all of my used instruments into the lake. Even though leaving them in the warehouse would cause them to vanish, I felt much better disposing of them myself. My newly found fondness for blunt objects caused me to remember my Dad's favorite hammer. A whole section of my memory unlocked right then. I remember he fixed my window seal with it. The window would leak cold air into my room at nights, but I never told anyone about it. He must have seen me shivering one night and decided to fix it.
It was early Saturday morning, I had just woken up and went to eat breakfast. When I came back, he had already hammered the nails in place and was in the process of finishing up. He held his trademark tool proudly while he inspected his work. I used to call it "sunlight" because of the custom red, orange, and yellow grip he fitted it with. "It does kind of look like the sunrise" he said, "Dawn. That's what I'll call it" he remarked while smiling at me.
I went back to the old house to find Dawn; I knew beforehand it would be a surreal experience. It was an empty shell of its former self. Everything still sat where it did however many years ago it was since I had seen it. I didn't want to stay long, who knows what kind of tabs were being kept on that place. I headed straight for the attic, where my father kept most of his things dear to him. He would spend countless hours up there everyday. After searching for a brief time, I found the hammer in an old red toolbox covered in cobwebs. Since I had found what I needed, I decided to leave. That was when I found a guitar. It sat next to a milk crate with what appeared to be sheet music and guitar tablature sat on top of it. It seems my father was up here writing music. I didn't give it a second thought and left.
This page is a bit smeared. I'll try my best to transcribe it.
I met up with my "father" at an unkempt cemetery outside the cathedral. I figured he wanted more appropriate mood lighting to hammer out the details of our pact. The rules were as follows:
I: Only hearts will be accepted as proof. Anything else will be rejected, and the kill null and void.
II: No children or animals.
III: Whomever has the highest number of hearts six months from now at midnight will be made the victor.
We were both already clear on the stipulations of victory. He "gets" me for eternity if he wins, and I am rid of him forever if should I.
"I did you a favor, by the way" he said with a smirk on his face. "Go check the web." I walked in and saw there was already a heart on my web. "I don't need your help, I--" I stopped talking mid-sentence. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Seeing the heart made my own stop beating for what felt like forever. I felt sick. The heart was still, but I could hear it beating. Pounding in my head like a storm of thunderous drums. "Who is this?" I asked. He just looked at me in silence.
I had to sit down. I literally couldn't breathe. He knelt next to me and said;
"Shall we begin?""
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
A Pact Clandestine
""I've seen everything you've done"
On a particularly windy night, the leaves crunching below my boots, a strange occurrence befell me. I had just left the operating room after dealing with a rather squeamish college student. My button-down shirt still stained with splashes of red, untucked and flowing carelessly with the autumn breeze. I was in the middle of my ritual post-ceremonial night walk when a figure approached me. I assumed it was a transient and attempted to go around them, but that was when the form spoke:
"I've been watching you for some time now".
I couldn't respond. I could've sworn that was my father's voice. It was a long day, I thought it was my imagination. At least it seemed that way until he walked toward me.
It was him. As if nothing ever happened.
"What the fuck are you doing here? I watched you bleed like a pig!" I said, the words dropping nervously from my lips, quivering uncontrollably. "I've seen everything you've done" he replied, completely oblivious to my question. It can't be real. "How are you alive", I asked. "I've seen everything you've done" repeating himself. How is this possible. He's purposely fucking with me. I had no choice but to play along with this twisted situation. "And what, might I ask, do you plan on doing about it". "Well, I do owe you one, but I have something more interesting in mind".
"I'm listening".
======== Information missing from this page =========
We arrived at an old cathedral-style church in an unfamiliar part of town. The stained glass windows somehow shone in the darkness, glittering magnificently in hues blue and purple. Its outer beauty in no way prepared me for the horror it kept inside.
He lead me in, insisting I go in first. I complied against my better judgement. The air was thick with the scent of decomposition. You could feel people had died there, possibly even dying right then, even though there were no bodies in sight. "Sit down, please" he insisted. That place was disgusting, I didn't want to sit, I wanted to burn it to the ground. Fuck him for making me come here. Even in death he's still getting on my fucking nerves. He took his place among the podium, behind him were two giant web-like forms on either side of him.
"Originally, I was going to drive your teeth into your skull, but I have a brilliant idea" he said. "Since you like murder so much-" I interrupted him "I do this planet a service". "Spin the tale anyway you want, if anyone knew what you were doing they would be inclined to disagree. As I was saying; since you love what you do so much, let's make a game out of it". I stared at him puzzled, "Explain."
"Well, we each go about our "business", but we bring back proof of each encounter. The person with the most proof wins." I might have been out of it, but it didn't seem like a bad idea. "What are we doing this for--the hell of it?" "A game wouldn't be a game without a proper end. If you win, I'll disappear forever" he said. "If I lose?" "You belong to me for all eternity." he said, his gaze turning cold in the process.
"What exactly constitutes "proof"?" I asked, as if I completely missed the last statement. "Bodies", he replied. "That's too risky, I'd have law enforcement all over me". "Fine, we'll choose a body part." "Body parts are too bountiful, the temptation to cheat would be overwhelming."
"What do you suggest then, xxxxx?" he said with a dose of contempt for my questioning.
"Hearts."
"Actually, I love the sound of that. It has a certain poetry about it." he replied. "After each encounter, we'll place our hearts on the webs you see behind me. Web #1 is mine, while Web #2 belongs to you. Sound reasonable?"
"Reasonable, no. Doable, yes. I accept."
He moved away from his podium to shake my hand, but I evaded. "No need for theatrics, you have my word. When do we begin?", I said.
"Well, shall we?"
xxxxx = name omitted
On a particularly windy night, the leaves crunching below my boots, a strange occurrence befell me. I had just left the operating room after dealing with a rather squeamish college student. My button-down shirt still stained with splashes of red, untucked and flowing carelessly with the autumn breeze. I was in the middle of my ritual post-ceremonial night walk when a figure approached me. I assumed it was a transient and attempted to go around them, but that was when the form spoke:
"I've been watching you for some time now".
I couldn't respond. I could've sworn that was my father's voice. It was a long day, I thought it was my imagination. At least it seemed that way until he walked toward me.
It was him. As if nothing ever happened.
"What the fuck are you doing here? I watched you bleed like a pig!" I said, the words dropping nervously from my lips, quivering uncontrollably. "I've seen everything you've done" he replied, completely oblivious to my question. It can't be real. "How are you alive", I asked. "I've seen everything you've done" repeating himself. How is this possible. He's purposely fucking with me. I had no choice but to play along with this twisted situation. "And what, might I ask, do you plan on doing about it". "Well, I do owe you one, but I have something more interesting in mind".
"I'm listening".
======== Information missing from this page =========
We arrived at an old cathedral-style church in an unfamiliar part of town. The stained glass windows somehow shone in the darkness, glittering magnificently in hues blue and purple. Its outer beauty in no way prepared me for the horror it kept inside.
He lead me in, insisting I go in first. I complied against my better judgement. The air was thick with the scent of decomposition. You could feel people had died there, possibly even dying right then, even though there were no bodies in sight. "Sit down, please" he insisted. That place was disgusting, I didn't want to sit, I wanted to burn it to the ground. Fuck him for making me come here. Even in death he's still getting on my fucking nerves. He took his place among the podium, behind him were two giant web-like forms on either side of him.
"Originally, I was going to drive your teeth into your skull, but I have a brilliant idea" he said. "Since you like murder so much-" I interrupted him "I do this planet a service". "Spin the tale anyway you want, if anyone knew what you were doing they would be inclined to disagree. As I was saying; since you love what you do so much, let's make a game out of it". I stared at him puzzled, "Explain."
"Well, we each go about our "business", but we bring back proof of each encounter. The person with the most proof wins." I might have been out of it, but it didn't seem like a bad idea. "What are we doing this for--the hell of it?" "A game wouldn't be a game without a proper end. If you win, I'll disappear forever" he said. "If I lose?" "You belong to me for all eternity." he said, his gaze turning cold in the process.
"What exactly constitutes "proof"?" I asked, as if I completely missed the last statement. "Bodies", he replied. "That's too risky, I'd have law enforcement all over me". "Fine, we'll choose a body part." "Body parts are too bountiful, the temptation to cheat would be overwhelming."
"What do you suggest then, xxxxx?" he said with a dose of contempt for my questioning.
"Hearts."
"Actually, I love the sound of that. It has a certain poetry about it." he replied. "After each encounter, we'll place our hearts on the webs you see behind me. Web #1 is mine, while Web #2 belongs to you. Sound reasonable?"
"Reasonable, no. Doable, yes. I accept."
He moved away from his podium to shake my hand, but I evaded. "No need for theatrics, you have my word. When do we begin?", I said.
"Well, shall we?"
xxxxx = name omitted
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Scarlet Roulette
"I'm sure you've realized at this point my "abusive father" story is fictitious. People tend to be more understanding with wrongdoers who've had bad childhoods. My father wasn't terrible--he had his shortcomings as does any human, but nothing that warranted murder. Do not misunderstand me though, everything else I've said has been truthful.
My past is not something you should concern yourself with. Most of it is a giant haze to me. Other than the story I've regaled you with I don't remember much of it. My mom's been gone for years, and I have no recollection of where. There's a gap in my memory; my mind a book with its core full of blank pages.
These pages are red.
Enough with this, I might as well get to the part you are more interested in.
The warehouse gets bigger with every extended period between kills. Maybe it's all in my head. Maybe that place is my head. Anyway. The Warehouse became my "operating" room. It seemed my surgeries kept it in check. While those surgeries seemed to help that place, I couldn't help but notice each performance left me emptier and emptier.
The methods became more inhumane. At some point I began to favor usage of hammers against their intended purpose. Smashing teeth, fracturing bones, all the while my victim suffered, fully aware of every single sensation. I'm not a sadist. I drew no pleasure from these acts. I felt as if by some outside power I had to do what I did.
Choosing a patient was as simple as taking a stroll to a public area and tossing a die. I'd find groups of people hanging about, and I'd assign each of them a number: I - VI. If their number came up, they came with me. I bet you're wondering if "good" and "evil factored in at all--it didn't. To be truly fair, I had to make the process random. Good and evil are constructs of religion and the world view of a child. Therefore, they are dead concepts to me.
I'm sick of writing; I'm going to go find some patients."
My past is not something you should concern yourself with. Most of it is a giant haze to me. Other than the story I've regaled you with I don't remember much of it. My mom's been gone for years, and I have no recollection of where. There's a gap in my memory; my mind a book with its core full of blank pages.
These pages are red.
Enough with this, I might as well get to the part you are more interested in.
The warehouse gets bigger with every extended period between kills. Maybe it's all in my head. Maybe that place is my head. Anyway. The Warehouse became my "operating" room. It seemed my surgeries kept it in check. While those surgeries seemed to help that place, I couldn't help but notice each performance left me emptier and emptier.
The methods became more inhumane. At some point I began to favor usage of hammers against their intended purpose. Smashing teeth, fracturing bones, all the while my victim suffered, fully aware of every single sensation. I'm not a sadist. I drew no pleasure from these acts. I felt as if by some outside power I had to do what I did.
Choosing a patient was as simple as taking a stroll to a public area and tossing a die. I'd find groups of people hanging about, and I'd assign each of them a number: I - VI. If their number came up, they came with me. I bet you're wondering if "good" and "evil factored in at all--it didn't. To be truly fair, I had to make the process random. Good and evil are constructs of religion and the world view of a child. Therefore, they are dead concepts to me.
I'm sick of writing; I'm going to go find some patients."
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Lazarus the Maternal
"It felt pretty good knowing I'd never have to see him again. Although I'd be a liar if I said killing him didn't tear me up inside. Even if he had it coming, who am I to decide who deserves to live or die? In a way, I'm just as bad as he was. He killed someone, I killed someone. We're square according to the scoreboard. Fiction tends romanticize murder, but I assure you--there's nothing redeeming about it.
Something about that place changed me. I didn't come to my senses until I left. While I was there, all emotion, logic, and thoughts of consequence went right out of the window. Even though I hated him, I should've felt something when I killed him. Nothing. No tears, no excitement, no joy, no regret. I was as cold as a sociopathic surgeon. Once I started to head home, everything came rushing back. I hadn't cried like that since my great-grandmother died. Then I remembered what my dad had did to my mom. It was too much for me to handle. I wanted to go back to the warehouse forever. Live there like nothing ever happened.
When I made it back home, I parked my mom's car in the garage. To my surprise, there she was in the kitchen, eating a slice of cherry cheesecake. I knew it was her favorite, but not "bring her back from the dead" favorite. She seemed so overjoyed that I was alive, she completely overlooked the fact that I had her car. "Oh my god, I thought you were your father". She gave me the biggest hug I've ever experienced. I was happy she was still alive, but still overall in ruin because of what I had did.
She told me with tears in her eyes that dad had assaulted her and tried to have his way with her. She said she couldn't handle it anymore. So she took his favorite tool of destruction, and tried to kill herself. The loss of blood caused her to slip into unconsciousness. Miraculously, she regained consciousness and called 911. While she was in the hospital, she said she was worried about me the whole time.
"When I noticed you and your father were gone, I feared for you" she said. "After what he tried with me, I thought he might have tried to hurt you too. He's been abusing me for years, and I just got sick of it. I couldn't protect you...I couldn't protect myself. I didn't know what to do". "Well, I'm here and everything's fine now", I replied. "But you were gone for three days" she said. "What?" I replied, with a stunned look on my face. "Three days", she said, "Where were you?" she asked. Fuck. What do I say? I said the first thing that came to my mind, "Hiding from dad". "That's why I took your car. He tried to kill me, and I had to get away". With a puzzled look on her face, she said "He has a tracker on my car, he would've found you immediately. He must have ran away". "If anything, the cops will find him. Either way we never have to see him again". She has no idea how right she was."
Something about that place changed me. I didn't come to my senses until I left. While I was there, all emotion, logic, and thoughts of consequence went right out of the window. Even though I hated him, I should've felt something when I killed him. Nothing. No tears, no excitement, no joy, no regret. I was as cold as a sociopathic surgeon. Once I started to head home, everything came rushing back. I hadn't cried like that since my great-grandmother died. Then I remembered what my dad had did to my mom. It was too much for me to handle. I wanted to go back to the warehouse forever. Live there like nothing ever happened.
When I made it back home, I parked my mom's car in the garage. To my surprise, there she was in the kitchen, eating a slice of cherry cheesecake. I knew it was her favorite, but not "bring her back from the dead" favorite. She seemed so overjoyed that I was alive, she completely overlooked the fact that I had her car. "Oh my god, I thought you were your father". She gave me the biggest hug I've ever experienced. I was happy she was still alive, but still overall in ruin because of what I had did.
She told me with tears in her eyes that dad had assaulted her and tried to have his way with her. She said she couldn't handle it anymore. So she took his favorite tool of destruction, and tried to kill herself. The loss of blood caused her to slip into unconsciousness. Miraculously, she regained consciousness and called 911. While she was in the hospital, she said she was worried about me the whole time.
"When I noticed you and your father were gone, I feared for you" she said. "After what he tried with me, I thought he might have tried to hurt you too. He's been abusing me for years, and I just got sick of it. I couldn't protect you...I couldn't protect myself. I didn't know what to do". "Well, I'm here and everything's fine now", I replied. "But you were gone for three days" she said. "What?" I replied, with a stunned look on my face. "Three days", she said, "Where were you?" she asked. Fuck. What do I say? I said the first thing that came to my mind, "Hiding from dad". "That's why I took your car. He tried to kill me, and I had to get away". With a puzzled look on her face, she said "He has a tracker on my car, he would've found you immediately. He must have ran away". "If anything, the cops will find him. Either way we never have to see him again". She has no idea how right she was."
Thursday, September 13, 2012
The Razor's Edge
""I helped create you, you ungrateful waste of semen!" he shouted. "You're about to learn that life is not something I value" I replied. I removed the slender blade from its ornate sheath, and laid it across his throat. "But I...I love you..." he said, struggling to slip his words passed the weapon obstructing his airways.
Oh, my apologies. Allow me to give you a little background. My name is Raziel. Well, at least that's what I'll be allowing you to call me.
That's enough of that.
When I was a child, I didn't have the most ideal lifestyle. Sure, I always had the latest toys and games, and my clothes were replaced before they could be cleaned a second time. Our house dwarfed our neighbors' homes, and there was never a point where our refrigerator was empty. The problem lied with my creators. My mom, the passive alcoholic, and my fucking dad, Mr. beat the hell out of you for thinking too loudly.
I still remember my first beating; I was about 5, it was my first day of kindergarten. My dad was running late for work. He was my only ride since our house was off the bus route, and my mom was passed out on the kitchen floor. He kept honking the car horn, but I couldn't find my red backpack. I searched my room frantically, all the while my mind racing with thoughts of school. I stood there lost in my own thoughts of meeting new friends, playing with them, maybe even sharing some of my toys with my new classmates. That was when my dad barged in,
"What the FUCK are you doing?" he said sternly. "I..I..can't find it" I said. He advanced toward me, "Looks to me like you were standing here daydreaming." "I need help, dad." I barely managed to get the words passed my lips. "Oh, you need help? Here's some--" THUD--He struck me in the side of the head and sent me flying into the side of a toy box. What would normally be sound in my left ear was replaced with a high-pitched feedback. Before I could even react to the pain I was in the back of the car, unbuckled and writhing in pain. The day was less spectacular than I had imagined, and explaining to everyone I had an "ear infection" got old really fast. I don't think anyone believed me, even if they did, my dad had so much money and pull with the city he would've had me put in jail.
So that was my first day of school. I didn't think much of the beatings and my drunken mom, because I thought that was how it was supposed to be. I had a few friends here and there, but I didn't really get close to any of them. I know what you're thinking, "How the hell did you make it this far?", good question. I found this place to hide, where I could be completely alone with just me and my thoughts. I found solace in an old abandoned warehouse right next to a sparkling lake. Peace and quiet. How I found it is a long story...I'll tell you later.
All of the entrances to it were completely sealed, save for a giant crack on a less visible side of it. I only went at night to make sure no one saw me. Clandestinity probably kept me alive. I'd slip into the warehouse and stay for what felt like days. No dad, no mom, no problems. This place was spacious and empty. It eventually became the place that changed me. Where I became what I am. Or better yet, where I became what I turned into. I used this place in a seven-year long life-or-death version of hide-and-go-seek with my dad.
At some point the sick fuck got sick of slugging me and started cutting me. His favorite tool was a Mandau he procured on one of his "business" excursions to Indonesia. He'd slice me all over my back; couldn't even do me the honor of making it quick. He'd drag it slowly across me. I still have the scars.
One day, I was about 13 at the time, I came home late from the warehouse. "Where have you been?" he said as I pushed the door closed. "I figured you'd be happy I was gone for so long" I said snappily. He stood up out of his recliner and glared at me, "Are you getting smart with me?" he asked. I couldn't believe I was about to stand up to him, but it was too late, my mouth had already started going. "So what if I am, I'm getting fucking SICK of this place. You treat me like a monster, even though I've done nothing but respect you". "You are a fucking monster" he replied as he grabbed me by my shirt and drew his fist back. "I should kill you". "Do it. Do you honestly think I care about living at this point? Put me out of my misery already". Before he could swing, I drove a knee right into his crotch. He grip loosened, and I hit the ground running. I ran to my parent's bedroom upstairs, and attempted to wake my mom. "Mom! Mom! Dad's going to kill me! MOM?!".
She laid there unconscious. Something's not right. No bottles of alcohol or empty pill bottles in sight. In my panic, I didn't notice the red staining the bed sheets. She's dead. He fucking killed her. Right next to her was his weapon of choice--the Mandau. I didn't know what to do. I grabbed the weapon and slid its crimson blade into its sheath and ran downstairs. My dad was just now getting back to his feet, "What are you gonna do with that you piece of shit?", "Fuck you!" I yelled so loud my voice cracked into pieces. I saw the bowl my mom kept her keys in underneath the replica Salvador Dali painting in the dining room. Empty. Fuck. I had to keep moving or die. I ran to the garage and got in her car, where the keys sat in the ignition. Finally, some luck. As I started the car, my dad blasted in and began banging on the window. I shot him a middle finger and drove off to the sounds of his muffled cursing.
I made it to the warehouse in almost no time. Not bad for a guy who's never driven before. Lie. I had stolen that car several times before. I parked near the crack, and ran in, knife still in hand. I was safe again. Until my dad walked in. How dare he come into my home? "There you are you son of a bitch, I'm gonna skin you...", he walked toward me at an increasing pace, but since the place was so huge, it seemed like it was getting bigger. You could see the frustration in his eyes, he couldn't reach me. But I took one step forward and I was right in front of him. "What the fuck?" he exclaimed, CRASH. I slammed the pommel of the Mandau into his temple sending him tumbling to the ground into unconsciousness.
I found some old bungee equipment in the trunk of mom's car that I could use as rope. I brought it in with me to tie him up, in case he woke up and decided he was still dead set on killing me. "Ugh...what the..what are you doing?" he said in a groggy voice. "Ending you." I replied. "I helped create you, you ungrateful waste of semen!" he shouted. "You're about to learn that life is not something I value" I replied. I removed the slender blade from its ornate sheath still sticky with my mother's blood, and laid it across his throat. "But I...I love you..." he said, struggling to slip his words passed the weapon obstructing his airways. People will say anything to avoid death. I had intended to scare him, to show him I could take him out whenever I wanted to halt the abuse, but something in me changed. All of a sudden everything in me against the idea was suddenly cheering me on.
Kill him.
Spare him nothing.
Focus everything onto the edge of that blade and release it onto that despicable excuse for a human being.
"You sure have a funny way of showing it" I replied. I began sawing the blade into his neck. I savored every second of it. Every nerve, every bit of cartilage, every millimeter of bone I cut through. His words incoherent, only gurgles and blood there to answer my motions, until I hit an area that left him silent. I didn't care. I kept sawing until his head was completely off.
I just stood there, covered in blood and miscellaneous fluids, staring at his headless cadaver. I wasn't happy or upset, just kind of content. The beatings were over. The cuts are done. He is done. Reality set in and I realized I had just committed murder. Oh, fuck. I ran out still covered in blood and leaped into the nearby lake--evidence in hand and all. I threw the knife as far as I could into the azure. With a full moon reflecting off the surface, I dove in and began to clean the blood off of me. What am I gonna do about the body and that mess I left?
I got most of the blood off, even though my shirt still had stains on it. I checked the trunk to see if there were any bags or anything I could use to store the body. Maybe I could toss it into the lake. Stupid, stupid idea, but it's better than leaving a decapitated corpse lying in an abandoned warehouse. I found a few large trash bags, and brought them in with me.
It was gone.
The body, the head, the blood, everything. Gone."
Oh, my apologies. Allow me to give you a little background. My name is Raziel. Well, at least that's what I'll be allowing you to call me.
That's enough of that.
When I was a child, I didn't have the most ideal lifestyle. Sure, I always had the latest toys and games, and my clothes were replaced before they could be cleaned a second time. Our house dwarfed our neighbors' homes, and there was never a point where our refrigerator was empty. The problem lied with my creators. My mom, the passive alcoholic, and my fucking dad, Mr. beat the hell out of you for thinking too loudly.
I still remember my first beating; I was about 5, it was my first day of kindergarten. My dad was running late for work. He was my only ride since our house was off the bus route, and my mom was passed out on the kitchen floor. He kept honking the car horn, but I couldn't find my red backpack. I searched my room frantically, all the while my mind racing with thoughts of school. I stood there lost in my own thoughts of meeting new friends, playing with them, maybe even sharing some of my toys with my new classmates. That was when my dad barged in,
"What the FUCK are you doing?" he said sternly. "I..I..can't find it" I said. He advanced toward me, "Looks to me like you were standing here daydreaming." "I need help, dad." I barely managed to get the words passed my lips. "Oh, you need help? Here's some--" THUD--He struck me in the side of the head and sent me flying into the side of a toy box. What would normally be sound in my left ear was replaced with a high-pitched feedback. Before I could even react to the pain I was in the back of the car, unbuckled and writhing in pain. The day was less spectacular than I had imagined, and explaining to everyone I had an "ear infection" got old really fast. I don't think anyone believed me, even if they did, my dad had so much money and pull with the city he would've had me put in jail.
So that was my first day of school. I didn't think much of the beatings and my drunken mom, because I thought that was how it was supposed to be. I had a few friends here and there, but I didn't really get close to any of them. I know what you're thinking, "How the hell did you make it this far?", good question. I found this place to hide, where I could be completely alone with just me and my thoughts. I found solace in an old abandoned warehouse right next to a sparkling lake. Peace and quiet. How I found it is a long story...I'll tell you later.
All of the entrances to it were completely sealed, save for a giant crack on a less visible side of it. I only went at night to make sure no one saw me. Clandestinity probably kept me alive. I'd slip into the warehouse and stay for what felt like days. No dad, no mom, no problems. This place was spacious and empty. It eventually became the place that changed me. Where I became what I am. Or better yet, where I became what I turned into. I used this place in a seven-year long life-or-death version of hide-and-go-seek with my dad.
At some point the sick fuck got sick of slugging me and started cutting me. His favorite tool was a Mandau he procured on one of his "business" excursions to Indonesia. He'd slice me all over my back; couldn't even do me the honor of making it quick. He'd drag it slowly across me. I still have the scars.
One day, I was about 13 at the time, I came home late from the warehouse. "Where have you been?" he said as I pushed the door closed. "I figured you'd be happy I was gone for so long" I said snappily. He stood up out of his recliner and glared at me, "Are you getting smart with me?" he asked. I couldn't believe I was about to stand up to him, but it was too late, my mouth had already started going. "So what if I am, I'm getting fucking SICK of this place. You treat me like a monster, even though I've done nothing but respect you". "You are a fucking monster" he replied as he grabbed me by my shirt and drew his fist back. "I should kill you". "Do it. Do you honestly think I care about living at this point? Put me out of my misery already". Before he could swing, I drove a knee right into his crotch. He grip loosened, and I hit the ground running. I ran to my parent's bedroom upstairs, and attempted to wake my mom. "Mom! Mom! Dad's going to kill me! MOM?!".
She laid there unconscious. Something's not right. No bottles of alcohol or empty pill bottles in sight. In my panic, I didn't notice the red staining the bed sheets. She's dead. He fucking killed her. Right next to her was his weapon of choice--the Mandau. I didn't know what to do. I grabbed the weapon and slid its crimson blade into its sheath and ran downstairs. My dad was just now getting back to his feet, "What are you gonna do with that you piece of shit?", "Fuck you!" I yelled so loud my voice cracked into pieces. I saw the bowl my mom kept her keys in underneath the replica Salvador Dali painting in the dining room. Empty. Fuck. I had to keep moving or die. I ran to the garage and got in her car, where the keys sat in the ignition. Finally, some luck. As I started the car, my dad blasted in and began banging on the window. I shot him a middle finger and drove off to the sounds of his muffled cursing.
I made it to the warehouse in almost no time. Not bad for a guy who's never driven before. Lie. I had stolen that car several times before. I parked near the crack, and ran in, knife still in hand. I was safe again. Until my dad walked in. How dare he come into my home? "There you are you son of a bitch, I'm gonna skin you...", he walked toward me at an increasing pace, but since the place was so huge, it seemed like it was getting bigger. You could see the frustration in his eyes, he couldn't reach me. But I took one step forward and I was right in front of him. "What the fuck?" he exclaimed, CRASH. I slammed the pommel of the Mandau into his temple sending him tumbling to the ground into unconsciousness.
I found some old bungee equipment in the trunk of mom's car that I could use as rope. I brought it in with me to tie him up, in case he woke up and decided he was still dead set on killing me. "Ugh...what the..what are you doing?" he said in a groggy voice. "Ending you." I replied. "I helped create you, you ungrateful waste of semen!" he shouted. "You're about to learn that life is not something I value" I replied. I removed the slender blade from its ornate sheath still sticky with my mother's blood, and laid it across his throat. "But I...I love you..." he said, struggling to slip his words passed the weapon obstructing his airways. People will say anything to avoid death. I had intended to scare him, to show him I could take him out whenever I wanted to halt the abuse, but something in me changed. All of a sudden everything in me against the idea was suddenly cheering me on.
Kill him.
Spare him nothing.
Focus everything onto the edge of that blade and release it onto that despicable excuse for a human being.
"You sure have a funny way of showing it" I replied. I began sawing the blade into his neck. I savored every second of it. Every nerve, every bit of cartilage, every millimeter of bone I cut through. His words incoherent, only gurgles and blood there to answer my motions, until I hit an area that left him silent. I didn't care. I kept sawing until his head was completely off.
I just stood there, covered in blood and miscellaneous fluids, staring at his headless cadaver. I wasn't happy or upset, just kind of content. The beatings were over. The cuts are done. He is done. Reality set in and I realized I had just committed murder. Oh, fuck. I ran out still covered in blood and leaped into the nearby lake--evidence in hand and all. I threw the knife as far as I could into the azure. With a full moon reflecting off the surface, I dove in and began to clean the blood off of me. What am I gonna do about the body and that mess I left?
I got most of the blood off, even though my shirt still had stains on it. I checked the trunk to see if there were any bags or anything I could use to store the body. Maybe I could toss it into the lake. Stupid, stupid idea, but it's better than leaving a decapitated corpse lying in an abandoned warehouse. I found a few large trash bags, and brought them in with me.
It was gone.
The body, the head, the blood, everything. Gone."
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