Blood

Some say I killed them, some say it would have been impossible to do that. They will never know the truth, only I know what really happened, and I will take it to my grave.

Right now I lay, lay on an uncomfortable bed in a white room, with white doors, white walls, white floors. Even the doctors wear white. I’m told I went insane, snapped, reasons they’re not sure of. I get put through electo-therapy to break down my mind to try to get the truth from me. But no matter what they do only I will know, and now you.

It started with the voices, the voices that began in my head, told me what to do, for years I ignored them but as I got older, they got louder. They got louder when my mom mysteriously died and soon after my dad remarried his secretary. The voices told me he killed her, that they both did and I should punish them, give them what they deserve. The voices provided me with many ideas, should I just kill them? Should I torture them? Should I ruin their lives? So many choices. Why not do them all? Good decision voices, I’ll do it all.

My dad was a lawyer, had his own office space and everything, that’s how he met his new wife, he needed a secretary. The police never did find out who burned down my father’s office,and they never will. I need more ideas voices, tell me what to do!

The color red is so beautiful especially sprayed all over a white car, a car bought with mothers life insurance money. Thats an excellent idea. Broken windows and “YOU KILLED HER” spray painted on the hood, the police are now asking him questions about my mothers death. Seeing him panic brings me more joy than you can imagine.

The color, the feel, the smell, almost sweet. Blood. Two bodies tied to a chair and gagged to muffle their screams, beautiful gashes on the back of their heads, blood dripping onto the floor. I love the fear in their eyes, we love the fear in their eyes. Do you think they know what’s about the happen? Probably not. The feeling is incredible, when you peirce someone’s skin, it’s a feeling so amazing I dont know how to describe it. The screams they make are like music to my ears. They deserve this, deserve the pain. But we’re bored now, enough with the knife, what should we do next? Mmmm, the blow torch, good idea. I wonder what burning flesh smells like, don’t you?

Annoying, annoying, ANNOYING! how could they!? Passing out from the pain, how pathetic. I was having so much fun, we were having so much fun. We don’t want to wait till they wake up, we want to continue the fun. His screams, the tears flowing down his face as I slice his precious new wife’s throat. He never cried like that when mom died, well, when she was murdered. He’s begging for his life, how cute, he still won’t apologize for killing my mother! All I have left are the voices, all I need are the voices, I’ll make sure I’m the last thing you see when you die father. The fear, the pain in his eyes as I plunge the knife into his heart. Goodbye Father.

White walls, white floors, white doors. Just the voices and me together forever until the day we die. We are one. They say I snapped, snapped from the pain of losing my mother and my father getting remarried. Maybe they’re right. Maybe they’re wrong, no one will ever know.