I'm loving it. It's absolutely beautiful. The only real problem with this is I'm supposed to perform some of my writing tonight. People always go nuts for and ask for my humorous stuff, which is fine, but I'm in the mood to read something that will have people throwing themselves into traffic by the time I finish. I want to defile the minds of complete strangers. I want uncomfortable shuffling! I want nervous glances! I want to imbue the feeling of absolute desolation into the souls of men! This probably will not happen. Insults, strangeness, and hidden morals are guaranteed, but I doubt I'll violate the fragile glass structure their piece of mind rests upon. I'll save that for next time. I want them to love me and be excited for my next performance. Then I'll unleash flaming hellfire upon them! I find it is much more effective when they're not expecting it. As the misery and hopelessness trudges on, I want them waiting every second for the inevitable joke, which will not come.
Just in case you were wondering just how dark I can get. Here, read this.There is beauty in this tragedy, but I warn you, what you are about to read might seriously make you very unnerved. I wrote this while brainstorming for new, interesting characters. When I write, I generally invent a character and backstory, then write as that character and view the results. I wanted to create a psychopath. I did.
WARNING: FUCKED UP SHIT BELOW.
I've given up pretending. I'm wildly insane. To truly admit it fills my heart with dread. I can't know what's real anymore. My senses lie to me. My mind tricks me. All is smoke and mirror. There is no up or down. It's all a mess. I lock myself away. I hide from the world. I am embarrassed to be in it. I want to disappear.
I have never known a loving caress. I have never shown fear. I openly hate everyone and everything I see. I walk alone, as I always have. I have become strong, too strong perhaps. I madly search for the one thing I desire. Yet when I get close I throw it all away. I hate it. I hate to want it. I hate to need it. I hate you. I hate me.
I purposefully make myself out to be awkward and boring. I don't want your pity. I despise your attention. Go away. Go away and take everything with you. I long for the void. In the void I was free. Time was lost. My life evaporated into nothingness. I had no self, no desire, no sorrow. I was one with the void. Empty and shapeless. In time, it all fades. I've seen time itself from start to finish. Nothing new will ever happen. All physical existence is a joke waiting to end.
I spend all my time in my room staring into my laptop expecting to see something significant. I never do. I live in dreams. The world holds nothing for me but pain. You are all thieves, liars, and villains. I am unable to feel safe out there. All that lies outside is danger. Greedy beasts that wear masks and costumes. You read from your scripts and you play your roles. Fuck you. I've glimpsed Truth. I see your games and I hate you for it. Out there the only law is selfishness. Everything is for you and nothing is for others. You honestly make me sick.
I am searching for something of substance. Something real and long-lasting. Too quickly your gains fade away. Your lust for momentary pleasure is insatiable. You are trapped by them. Your games will never end. You shall die an empty child who's superficial fun left nothing but sorrow and longing.
I have years of progress on you. I began to change early. My tormentors made sure of that. In retrospect, I realize my innocence was too pure for this world. My strength of will only served to fortify my noble beliefs. I refused to lie and to attack. I honestly wanted peace, love, and happiness for everyone. My love was boundless. I'd have given my life to bring that happiness to you all.
But you fooled me, you used me, you tortured me. I was without ally in this den of wolves. I suffered in silence. I ached greatly. Yet I persisted to follow the righteous path.
In time, I lost all but a glimmer of hope. Could you people really be saved? Did you even want to? Do you even deserve it?
NO.
My hatred only grew. It grew to unbearable levels. I must have been 6 or 7 when I had my first fantasy about mutilating and killing those around me. I'd revel in my dreams which I began having 20 or 30 times a day. Oh how sweet it would be! I grew fond of a particular musing early on. In my daydream, I would sit awake until everyone had fallen asleep. Then I would creep up on them silently. I'd stand beside their bed smiling. I would do this nightly. Once I was sure they would not awaken, I'd grab the baseball bat out from the garage and place it in my room. Now for this to work I would need to eliminate those of greatest threat. I would grab a kitchen knife and slit my father's throat. While he was bleeding out, I'd retreat to my room. When my mother became hysteric, the others would proceed to wake up. Now because of the setup, everyone else would have to pass by my room to see what was happening.
My brother being the oldest, would rush out first. As soon as he came passed my door I'd strike him down with the baseball bat. I wouldn't stop until he stopped moving. Then to my mother, she would already be on the attack, but a cute face and , "Please don't hurt me, mommy" would give me enough time to knock her down the stairs. I'd follow her with the knife, if need be.
After that, all that would be left are my little brothers and sisters. I couldn't let them go. They would tell someone. I needed as much time as I could get for what needed to be done. I'd gather their bodies in one room. I'd close off the rest of the house and disconnect the phones.
Those who were still breathing were the unlucky ones, my experiments. I've always wondered what people looked like on the inside. So I'd start by skinning them. It'd have to be a slow process. They needed to be alive and if they passed out, I'd have to stop and start again when they awoke.
Then I'd begin removing small appendages and peeling the meat from their bones. After that it got a little blurry. Some ideas were to remove parts from one person and stick them onto another to see if they'd still work. Another involved sharp skewers... I wanted to create physical pain equal to my mental pain. I began to wonder if it was even possible...
After that I'd kill any available targets until I was caught. No one would suspect a small boy. Plus the killings would be random, making it much harder on my pursuers. If and when I was caught I'd cry and I would lie. I'd pull all the tricks to get out of it. A jury wouldn't dare touch me.
Then I wondered what would happen to me. Probably the loony bin. I might get out eventually but do I want to take that chance? Would I give up my freedom for revenge? I'd never fall in love, start a family, or have a normal life. I'd never travel or try new things. It would be the end. Was I ready to end it so soon? No one would treat me normally again. no one could love me...
Then I began wondering what would happen to me. Not my body, but me.
What if there is judgment in the afterlife? Is suicide a one-way ticket to hell? And what about murder for that matter? Where my crimes forgivable? Is there a god? What does he think of me? Did he make me this way on purpose? Am I the hand of god? or the devil? Could I be possessed? Am I evil? What is evil? What is death?
Question upon question filled my head. I was so enraptured by these questions. So interested with these riddles, that my plans for mass murder were put aside. I actually enjoyed something for once. My head was finally clear of the voices. I felt better.
And so I began my intellectual journey...
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Yeah... I know.
But I gave you fair warning.
I've often thought of finishing his story, but it's kind of hard to write. I might add him into the background of another story. Maybe the Revolutionary Road mock-up. He's definitely a powerful character. I'm sure some fucked up individual would be all about this crazy fuck.
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