Paint the Roses Red: Pt.4

The mad man: In accordance with PTRR

It has never made me hate myself. It has never kept me up at night or even made me feel bad in the slightest. What I do helps people from ending up like me. You see, I may be a mentally disturbed man but there’s far worse people than me in the world, like the ones who steal innocence. That’s something someone can never take back, it’s something I was never to take back from the very person who stole it from me. Maybe that’s why I do what I do. If you’re wondering, yes, I am going to hell for all this but it’s for a good cause. I guess you do have a right to know why I do all this. It’s difficult to understand the method to my madness so let’s start from the beginning, and before the events that caused me to snap.

I was born to Penelope and Anthony Rukhat at 4:45am on a foggy morning in the middle of October. Although, my father wasn’t present for my birth, he was working, as usual. My mother, what a wondrous woman she was. The sweetest and most beautiful being I’ve ever seen, I was lucky to be her son. I remember a lot of my younger years being spent in the hospital, mother had quite the health issue, it was mostly her lungs. I could hear how bad her breathing would get when she would cuddle me. But everything was fine, she would tell me stories, make me laugh, and my favourite part was when we got to tend to her roses. She had lots full of them on the terrace in the hospital room. She showed me how to water, plant and trim them. She looked so joyous and healthy doing that, it made me really happy. We left the hospital soon enough when she was better. I had never really stayed in our home before that. It was just me and Mother almost always, my father out working or getting drunk. Everything was right in the world, until grandma murdered grandpa. That was the first time I ever knew that humans were capable of doing that to each other. I didn’t know how to process it, I still remember how loud the prison was when we went to visit her. She looked, different. She had this sort of glimmer in her eyes that screamed of insanity and hatred. I didn’t understand that glimmer at the time, I did however the night he struck her. Father began to beat mother when he began to come home drunk nearly every night. When they would start arguing, mother told me to go tend to the roses and so I did. I watched as he made her bleed, cry, and beg to not hurt her anymore. How could he just hurt such a beautiful creature?! This is when my hatred for that awful man developed. It began to drive me crazy, hearing her cries, the sounds as he pulled her hair and hit her, his loud yelling. In a sick way, I was glad when mother told me her and I had to return to the hospital. By this time I was maybe 10. Mother couldn’t get up and walk around our hospital room much anymore so I took care of the roses for her. She began coughing up blood and losing body weight rapidly.

I still remember the day she told me. My mother grabbed my hands and told me she was going away for a while and to keep tending to her roses for her. Sadly, she passed away the following week. The cancer she had been battling for years had spread viciously and well you can guess the rest. This meant I had to live with the man I hated the most, my father. I remember being alone a lot, just me and the roses. I kinda just stopped talking all together since nobody was really around to listen. Anthony would get home and expect a dinner made which I usually tried to provide so he would leave me to my own accord. Sometimes I would mess up and he would hit me. Father also did things to me I often saw him do to hookers. I never liked what he did to me, but every time I begged him to stop he just laughed at me. He often shouted at me about the roses, accusing me of being too feminine, gay or weak. I remember the first time I ever saw blood on the flowers. I had accidentally planted white roses earlier that spring and they came up in bloom. I had brought them inside trying to find a way to remove them without hurting the red ones. That’s when he got home. We got into an argument that night.

“Other boys your age are playing sports, hanging out with friends or getting girls and here you are planting goddamn roses!” he shouted at me.

I didn’t really care for his opinion so I ignored it and went on staring at my roses, mumbling to myself.

“You damn freak! Listen to me boy!” he yelled, yanking me by my shirt collar and slamming me into the wall.

I remember smelling the cheap whiskey on his breath, wonder what h****r bought that for him. Without an answer given he hit me in the face quite a few times to the point where my eyesight went out. Never had I felt that weak in my life and I hated it. I looked over at my roses and noticed some of my blood flew and hit it. It was the prettiest shade of red I’d ever come across. He hit me again getting my attention before throwing me on the ground and kicking me a few times before he let up. He grabbed his car keys and left out the door, heading for another drink. The kitchen tile was cold, I saw my blood pooling on it. I made myself stand and pick up one of the roses, dipping it in the blood. This is better than an actual red rose, mother would’ve loved it.

From that day I began to only plant white roses. I cut my body in order to get blood, a small price to pay I assume. Sometimes I’d purposely anger my father so he could beat me bloody just so I could use the blood for my flowers. By the age of 14 I grew tired of mutilating myself for the sake of my flowers. I didn’t know where else to get blood, until I ran across a dead cat. Poor thing had been hit with a car. I saw blood pooling around it and got an idea. I started collecting dead animals like roadkill until I began to kill small animals myself. I skinned them, strung out the organs and saved the blood. I’d say when I was about 18 is when the voices started. I use to think they were my own thoughts at first until they grew darker and more demented. That was also the age my father caught onto what I was doing. He beat me really badly, near blackout. I could hardly breathe, it reminded me of when he first did this when I was younger. He then did what he use to do to me as a child. I couldn’t stop him just like I couldn’t stop him back then. I was too beaten to push him off or beg him to stop. He ripped from me my innocence once again. That was the day the voices started giving suggestions I liked.

It was later that May. Father had gotten home from a long shift, relaxing in his chair.

“Father? Would you like a beer?” I asked him, getting a grunted yes.

You see, the voices and myself had devised a plan to let this monster bite the bullet. Scum like him shouldn’t be given life. He ruined my precious mother and myself after all. I handed him the beer and watched, a smile creeping onto my face. I saw as he began to cough violently, foaming at his mouth until he choked on his own spit. The voices applauded me. I began to laugh, he was dead. That’s when it sunk it. I had dealt with dead animal bodies easily, nobody really cared about those. This was a human. I began to freak out. What the hell did I just do?! I ran to the mirror in the bathroom and stared at myself, begging for an answer as to what I do. I began to hyperventilate and cry and pull at my hair.

“Don’t worry! The hard part is over”

“We’re so proud of you, now it’s time to gut him like a fish!”

“Get up! Get up! Get up!”

No please, I don’t want the voices right now. They helped me do this! Just stop! Get out of my head! Stop it! I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror as the voices started screaming at me to start cutting up my dad. I began to sob violently, begging them to stop. It rattled my mind and made me lean on the sink. I looked up at my reflection as the shouts got louder. I slammed my fist into the glass, it shattering. My hands started dripping the beautiful shade. I was overreacting, we’ve come this far, we need to finish the job.

From there I gutted my father, harvested his blood and separated his organs. I threw up a few times, the sight making my stomach turn. While planning this I learned people pay good money for organs, so I’m to go meet a buyer. He’s taking all of it, even the skin and bones. I stared at the dismembered body after working hours to disassemble it. I started laughing lightly. This was the start of such an amazing adventure. I don’t want anyone to go through what I did with him. Memories started flashing in my head making me cry and hyperventilate. I was shaking violently by this point, begging to make my mind stop with the flashbacks, I need to be stable right now! I looked at my watch. It was time to meet the buyer.

After meeting him he gave me another job and offered more money. You can guess where this led by journey. Many years later I came upon London and based my operations. I found Belladonna on a trip to Croatia and Artie right here in New York years ago! But, you already know all this nor can you even hear me.

“You must understand dearest mouse, you falling into my hands was fate. It’s too bad I had to blow your brains out all over this lovely carpet. We would’ve still had so much fun if you wouldve played fair” I said aloud this time.

I looked down at poor Abraham, half his skull on the ground.

“I can really call you a scatter brain now, right?”

I chuckled at my own joke as I stepped over him.

Something caught my eye, a letter near him. It must be his suicide note, he was going to off himself before I caught him. What a shame it looks like he was going to mail it. I began reading and frowned. So he thought he was going to expose my secret? I looked to the bottom of the letter, who is Veronica? I took out my lighter and lit the note on fire and threw it on his corpse. I began to look around the apartment as the body caught fire until I saw a picture sitting on his desk. What a remarkable woman, this must be Veronica. My heart started beating fastly, she looks almost like mother. I grabbed the photo and took it out of the frame and inspected it more. I need to find this woman, now. I turned and saw Belladonna holding up the envelope with the mailing address.

“Wonderful my loyal guard! See this picture? I want her found this instant” I ordered showing her the picture of Veronica.

She bowed to me and went out of the apartment to go hail us a cab. I noticed she took out the fire alarms, the body now catching the whole area on fire. On my way out, I gave one last look at my mouse.

“It was fun while it lasted, too bad you’re awful at hiding, rat” I said, shutting the door.

As I was leaving the building I heard the screams of people as the complex burst into flames. I got into a taxi cab and ordered we drive to the airport. Oh Veronica, we’ll be together shortly, I promise.

  • Alice150

    This story just gets better and better!

    • Nightmare_fuel

      Thank you so much for reading. A final part will be posted soon.

      • Temi Amiel

        I can’t wait 😍

      • Alice150

        Sad… I wish they never ended.

  • Whitney Paige Moulton

    Love these

  • Raven Irene

    Someone needs to make a movie series about this. Its twisted and really original, which is hard to find these days. And you are also such a good writer, you know which words to use where to fit the current mood and make the story soumd better or more twisted.

    • Nightmare_fuel

      Thank you so much! It is really challenging to write in the format I tend to do so I appreciate someone taking note of such. As far as a movie series, I think that would be amazing! I completely encourage people to take my idea further (into works like art, digital, movie, etc) as long as the story doesn’t lose its meaning. Thank you again so much for reading!

      • Raven Irene

        Np, its a good story and it sounds and looks cool. As a creepypasta fan i had to see it when it looks so cool!