Voice of the devil

October 23, 2009
By Bert McCracken BRONZE, Albuquerque, New Mexico
Bert McCracken BRONZE, Albuquerque, New Mexico
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It was the cold dark evening of April 20th 2007 when I first realized just how thin the line between life and death really is. I will never forget that bone chilling felling of fear that comes along with watching your own hand cut through the last little fibers on your thread of life.

The day began just like any other with the same snide remarks from the caretaker and the same old bowl of cereal. Even though it was summer we still had to get up at 6 to do our daily chores. The routine got boring after the first day but the voices told me to keep going, to keep working; they told me it would all pay off in the end. When I had been with my parents the voices had been those of encouragement and happiness. The afternoon before my parents were murdered the voices told me that something was going to happen, but they wouldn’t tell me what. It was like they wanted me to claw my eyes out trying to figure out what was going to happen. Later that night as I saw my parent’s murder happen before my eyes all I heard was laughing inside my head, sick maniacal laughter that you would only expect from the devil himself.

Today those voices that warned me of my parent’s death were back, warning me to be careful, warning me not to do anything I would regret. But it was too late, two day before I had killed Andrew Taylor. He just wouldn’t stop teasing my, calling me a psychopath and yelling to the entire world that I had murdered my parents. So later that day I found him at the park and let the voices take over. When it was all over I heard that same sick maniacal laughter in my head. After the laughing was over with they told me to take the necklace that Andrew was wearing. So I picked up the solid bronze pentagram that hung around his neck. Suddenly I felt this rush of energy surge through me. An urge to kill and be killed had suddenly been bestowed upon me. I felt alive and powerful like nothing could hurt me. I looked down at the pentagram and the epiphany that had been avoiding me for so many years suddenly became clear, God didn’t have any power, praying to him was a waste of time and he never answered them anyway. I realized that if I wanted to be powerful and happy I had to put my trust not in god but in satin.

Its was 8 in the evening when I remembered my voices warnings, but I disregarded them. I thought the pentagram would protect me from whatever was coming, how could I have been so foolish. I was walking by our local middle school muttering whatever the voices were saying when out of the corner of my eye I saw a bright red light. I turned around to see what it was and to my surprise the light was coming from the school, the school was on fire! Without thinking I ran to the front door and threw it open the halls were engulfed in fire but oddly there was no smoke. Suddenly I heard that oh so familiar sound, the sound of maniacal laughter. I followed it and found where it was coming from, a locked room with no widows. I threw my body against it and I burst through the door onto the most terrifying sight that anyone has ever beheld. A pile of dead lifeless bodies, bodies that appeared to be no younger than 13 was sitting in the corner of the room nearest me and a disembodied pitchfork was tossing them one by one into the fire. I let out a scream and ran out of the room, running as fast as I could away from that room. As I ran faster the laughing grew louder and the fire grew bigger. The fire was so big and the laughing so loud that I almost crippled under the two forces. I looked back one last time at the room now nothing but a pinprick in the massive fire that had engulfed the school and the moment I did the laughter turned into a bloodcurdling scream. That was all I could take I collapsed to the ground and the screaming abruptly stopped then I was slapped. The schools night janitor Bob had found me. He had slapped me because I had been screaming my head off at what to him and the rest of the world was nothing. After I quieted down he yelled at me for screaming my head of at nothing in an empty school. After I was officially diagnosed mentally unstable by a school janitor I was sent out to roam the streets again. The voices returned louder and more threatening than ever. They asked me if I was scared about what I saw they told me more was to come. My head felt like it was going to explode form all the voices screaming in my head. From then on I had no sense of time just the sense of fear. The voices were now screaming at me to end the pain, on little jump and that’s all it takes to end the fear and chaos. I had no control over my legs or arms now, I was walking aimlessly around where I guessed was downtown my arms flailing all the while. I was wondering on the I-25 overpass the voices still screaming louder than ever for me to end it, to jump. I watched my legs carry my body towards the edge and the screaming turned to the maniacal laughter for one last time. It happened very slowly, I think they wanted it to be that way, so they could torture me one last time. The last thing I remember as I slowly fell to the ground was the pentagram slowly slipping of my neck and falling into nothingness.
Now I am in a place of no return, a place of eternal punishment. Some call it hell some call it heaven it just depends on how sick your mind is. To me this is the worst hell I can imagine, the moment when I saw the pitchfork scooping the bodies one by one into the fire. Because of my asinine thoughts and actions that this is the only thing I am able to live for my entire eternity in hell.

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