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by Shi-chan on Mon Nov 15, 2010 2:17 pm
"I raped her.
Then I killed her.
Everyone would have done it, everyone would have chosen to do the same. You hear that, Emma? That makes it okay. As long as all the others would have done the same, you can't blame me. But someone did anyway.
I took you. Forced you. You begged for me to stop, but I didn't. You deserved what happened, and I deserved what happened. Serves me right for ever caring about you. When I had finished with you, when I had taken what I wanted from your flesh, I found a knife. Remember? I wasn't going to let you get away from me, ever. You really think I was that stupid? Ha! You must have no idea of how many murders I had planned, already before I met you, I was angry enough at the world to want to kill everything. I knew how to kill.
And you screamed, and you screamed, over and over. Your face was wet with tears, and I'll never forget the look on your face when I killed you. I won't forget the feeling of power. I had ultimate power over you. I still do. You're mine, ever since that night, you've been mine. And that will never end.
Your blood was warm, so warm. It tasted horrible, you were tainted, your blood was worth nothing. You were worth nothing, you had let too many inside. Whore.
You filthy whore."
They had found him, covered in blood, soundly asleep next to the dead girl. There was no doubt that he was the murderer, and he confessed right away. The media called him a monster, for even he agreed that he felt neither regret nor remorse. He was perfectly fine with what he had done, and even when he was faced with her parents, in a final attempt to break him, make him feel, he did nothing but to politely greet them, and smile. He was proud. He was proud of what he had done, and they all agreed that he had to be insane.
Someone said it was because of the music he listened to. So loud, violent, it wasn't the first time this music was associated with killers.
Then someone said it was the video games he had played. They had taught him that whatever he faced, was not real, and if he killed it, it would simply come back later.
Another person blamed his mother and father. None of them gave a shit about the boy, but the mother took the time to show up in the news and pretend to care. Too bad she was never good at acting.
And, as the shocker, someone raised their voice and said that maybe, just maybe it was because of the world.
He never told them why. He just sat there and smiled proudly, the perfect image of how fucked up his generation was.
And then they sent him to a hospital. Far away from everything, with all the other insane people. And there he sat for years, confined to a small room with white walls and nothing but a bed and a painting of a crying clown, as time passed, more and more creatures came into his room at night. Death visited him once, accompanied by her friends. They just stared at him, and he stared back, always smiling.
He never said anything, he just smiled. Late at night, with all of his imaginary friends, he just smiled as he listened to their stories and ideas, and they expanded his horizon. Will you believe it, he almost reached the edges of the universe! But then the doctors stopped drugging the livin' shit out of him, and he sorta came back 'round. Then they told him that they were going to release him. Sure, they had to do some test and poke and prod and touch and tingle first, but they were going to let him out. Sooner or later they were going to let him out.
The day came sooner than he had expected.
---
Daniel slowly turned his head as the train he was on slowed down, and arrived at the station. He wasn't sure where he was, but he had a feeling that this would be a great time to get off the train. Opposite of him sat an old lady, who, quite frankly made him feel rather nauseous. She snored horribly loud, and drooled on her shoulder, something she had done for the past two hours, and he was getting sick of it. He had wondered if they would lock him up once more, should he decide to smash the window open and hurl her out, and had decided that they most definitely would, and so, he didn't do it.
But it was tempting.
Things like that were always tempting, but he never followed trough. Not any more. Being called Monster once in his life had been way more than enough for him.
He stepped onto the platform, a suitcase in his hand, and nothing else but the clothes on his back. He only had what was most necessary, but it was enough. He had to start over, try and make it work. As he stood there, the warm rays of the sun caressed his skin, a soft breeze blew by, and there was only one thing on his mind. It was in the first days of summer, he had to get himself together. He had to find a place to live, he had to get a job, he had to start over. He couldn't go back to his parents, there was no way he was going back to that town. Not that they would have welcomed him anyway. If he returned, it would just feel like they'd win. That was unacceptable.
He ran his fingers through his hair, and at once a sting of anger broke his focus. The bastards had cut his hair, and now, he looked just about any other man you could see on the street. He hated it. He wanted his long hair back, he wanted his leather jacket, he wanted his combat boots, he wanted all that stuff still, and he missed it. But, he could rebuild.
Moving a little around to calm a little down, he set for the streets of the town. Based on what he had seen, it was a fairly cosy place, small, nothing too out and about. Chances were that no one would remember him, if his rumour had even ever reached this place, that was.
His gaze scanned everything there was in sight, and he then sighed.
"Let's not fuck up this time..." He muttered to himself.
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