Monster

Words danced into phrases on the white piece of paper, giving it life and shouting out raw emotion and feeling. A man of about twenty let his hands scribble away all of his thoughts that he kept locked away in his mind for so long, not letting anybody peek into the inner walls of his thought process. No, he couldn't let anybody inside. Every single scum on this planet was the same: they poked and prodded at you, demanding that you spill your every last thought until you can't take it and crack under the pressure.

So what do you do? How can you cope with infectious scum dissecting your brain like you were some sort of lab rat? The answer is simple. Take the gun, put it to your head. Your fingers lace the trigger, heart pounding out of your chest. Do you have what it takes, to seriously let your finger slip, splattering your blood, covering the walls in a thin layer of crimson?

The very thought of suicide peeked his interest the most when he was alone with his thoughts. Just the concept behind pulling a trigger, and ending his misery...to be quite honest, it excited him, lightening his senses. He was an addict, but he was his own enabler. The thought of suicide was a mental high for him.

Control? No. Control never existed in his world. Control was something that they always had, and it was something that he never wanted.

Control made the bad people come.

During his peak, he ran his lean fingers along his pale arms, wincing at the bruises that covered his fair skin. Some were intentional, he knew. Whenever he got too out of his element, he'd find a blunt object that was closest to him, inflicting pain upon himself until he could no longer bear it.

He set the pencil down, giving his hands a little bit of rest. His eyes danced crazily about the page, scanning what he had just produced. Pleased with his work, the man turned off the light that sat on his desk. The blonde stood slowly, testing his stiff muscles for support before applying full weight.

“James, you know mommy loves you...”

The blonde contorted his head, looking about the room, trying to decide whether or not his thoughts were becoming reality. James sighed, running his fingers through his matted, thick blonde hair. Honestly, the things he heard these days! The phrases that snuck into his brain and planted root were enough to drive any given person insane.

Then again, did he ever have sanity to begin with? What was the definition of sanity? Sure, you had college professors shove the textbook common knowledge down your throat so much that you could literally feel yourself gasping for air between word phrases.

Sanity. Are we born sane? Do we pick up on it as a child? Or is it an unwritten rule in society that we're expected to follow?

“Mommy would never hurt you, darling.”

Yes, mommy would never hurt you. Mommy's weren't supposed to inflict pain, their duty was reflect it, to shield you from violence until your brain was fully aware of the world around you. 'Mommy's' were sweet, loving, kind, and beautiful...

Mommy's weren't vile creatures that struck you when being controlled by a liquified demon. Mommy's don't call you weak for crying, or take a verbal needle and pop the bubble of your most beloved thoughts and dreams.

Mommy's didn't make you feel like a monster.

Is that what he truly was, a monster? Was she saying that he had the capability to destroy, abuse, and disarray? Someone with that true form of power could destroy millions upon millions of lives in their path. ...Was he ready to come to terms with the unspeakable truth?

James sighed, and dragged his hands along the creases of his face. How long had it been since he had gotten a decent night's sleep, anyway? The blonde could feel the age in his face as he tugged the at the skin between his fingers. Feet shuffled across the carpet, silently and slowly making their way towards the bathroom.

Quickly removing all of his clothing, the wounds that were inflicted upon him during his childhood were completely and utterly exposed. Marks from past welts that had begun to heal, scars that formed rivets across skin along his curvy spine like indents in solid rock. Stepping into the warm, hot shower pale digits danced along the constant reminders of the past. Some were deep, some long, some short. Some were merely there as a reminder that he was still alive, that he had the capability to produce raw emotion.

He felt disgusting.

Why him? Why did he have to feel the abuse as a child? Why weren't any of his friends beaten to the point where they just wanted to take a gun to their head, pull the trigger, and end it all?

Turning off the water, he placed his right hand on the front of the shower, using it as a support beam. James' body suddenly felt heavy, as if his body was made up completely of pure lead. A violent wave of shame swept over him, engulfing him in a sea of unwanted memories. He closed his eyes slowly, waiting for the flashbacks to flair up.

“You're so precious... Mommy will always look after you.”

“I just wanted it to stop...”

“Look at you...you're such an angel.”

“Please, make it stop...”

“Mommy's gonna watch over her precious angel, her special gift from above.”

“Mommy, stop! You're hurting me!”

“You're simply too perfect. You don't want people to make fun of you for being too perfect, do you?”

“Mommy! My back! My back is bleeding!”

“Yes...just a little deeper.”

“Mommy, I can feel my skin tearing open! The blood, I'm losing blood!”

“Hush, my precious. Mommy's almost done. Don't fight the blade, sweetheart. Daddy would be most upset with us both if I didn't do this.”

“Stop!” He screamed, opening his eyes. He glanced around, breathing heavily. James was right where he had left off, standing in the now damp shower. No, he had never left. But...what he was remembering had felt so real...

The blonde stepped out of the shower, and reached for a towel. Wrapping the cloth around his waist, he opened the bathroom door slightly, making his official exit. Green eyes looked around the room. Not a single beam of light shone within the confined walls, there was only complete and utter darkness surrounding him, engulfing his mind.

When there was darkness, pain usually followed afterward.

James really couldn't remember when he started to develop his phobia of darkness, perhaps it was during one of his severe beating as a child. Whenever they would strike him, cut him, or bruise him, they would always make sure that it was in utter darkness. Later, he figured out why they committed their deeds disguised in the shadows.

Mommy and Daddy loved to play mercy with their little angel.

James usually lost within the first five minutes of playing.

Shaking his head, James tried to dismiss the thoughts of fear that ran through his mind like a roller coaster falling off its projected path. He gripped the sides of his head in frustration, tearing at the bits and pieces of skin. He knew that it wasn't just the sheer frustration of the situation that was making him go utterly insane, but it was the reminder of the constant fear that was the ever sickening reality of the world he chose to continuing living in.

His sanctuary? The way his blade glided across his skin, splitting his worries into insignificant particles, and replacing them with the sheer moment of bliss. The silver cut along fresh, virgin skin, creating a vibrant pool of crimson that stained his abundance of fairness.

It was one of those moments in time where he actually felt like he was in control. He controlled how deep he cut, how much blood poured out, and when he'd quit.

James liked to cut for hours on end. Razor blades, kitchen knives, switch blades...it didn't matter to him. All of these items were the key to his destruction, but oh how he was delighted when they pierced his flesh, how he loved to hear the noise of his skin getting torn open... Oh, talk about a rush!

Skin crawling, goosebumps forming, the decedent taste of sin dancing on his tongue, oh how he loved the feeling! The taste of sweet heaven lingered across his lips, the high entering his body every single time he dared to tempt fate with just a single taste.

James quickly turned on his bedroom light, casting about, silencing the demons of his mind with their own kyroptonite. Sighing, he opened the drawer to his nightstand, and extracted a rather large kitchen knife. His heart beat accelerated, his green orbs widened in sheer delight. “Yes...just one simple cut. I can stop after one, right? Mommy, would that be alright?”

“Mommy can stop after one cut. Would that be alright, Daddy?” James' mother's grin was wicked, the candle light flickered around the room, providing little light. “You said that he was too perfect. So, one more imperfection should be alright...” She placed the blade in the middle of Jame's spine.

James felt the blade's cool metal against his young, pale skin. He looked around the room frantically, trying to piece together what exactly was going to happen to him on this particular night. Would he finally be put out of his misery? Would they finally kill him?

It was wrong to wish for death for yourself.

That's why James prayed every single night that the end would come.

James' father scrunched his eye brows in disgust. “I don't give a f*** what happens to the boy. He's just one big problem that I don't need to deal with. Kill 'em, if you want.”

James felt his mother press her lips to his back. “I can't kill him, Thomas. We're still his parents, whether you like it or not. It's immoral to kill your son.”

“It's also immoral to put him through this kind of pain...” James' father paused for a moment, the gripped the sides of his head. “If it's so sick and immoral...why the f*** do I love it so d*mn much?”

“It is sort of fun,” She replied, dragging the blade along his skin, making a small cut. “It's fun to watch him squirm, and to hear him scream.” She paused, then quickly added, “Do you think he can understand us?”

James' father scoffed. “He's a child, how could he possibly know what we're talking about. But one things for certain...” His gaze settled on his wife. “If word gets out about this, I will not hesitate to slaughter you and the boy. Do you understand?”

She smiled briefly. “Of course, darling. I shall tell no one.” Her expression saddened. “I've done everything you've asked me to do. I've given you a son, but yet you use him as your personal punching bag.” She clicked her tongue. “I'm just not seeing the point in--”

“You will not question me again, Hannah!” His father screamed, smacking Hannah across the face. His hand print made an apparent appearance in a matter of sheer seconds. Panting, Thomas quickly regained his composer. “Cut the boy and then make your way to bed. It's past midnight.”

“Yes, Thomas.” Hannah simply said, straightening her dress.

“You thought I couldn't understand you, Mommy. You thought I was a child, and that I had no feelings or morals,” Metal cut into flesh, exposing a pool of pure crimson. “You were wrong. Look at what you've done to me. Do I make you proud, Mommy?” He looked down at the splatters of crimson on his wrist, and felt the tears swell in his eyes. “Are you proud?”

Hannah Applegate inhaled quickly, the cold, sharp wind of winter filling her lungs. Her work had let her off a little bit late, but she honestly didn't mind. Hannah loved walking home at night, seeing the city alive and booming, the streets blanketed with snow, the cold nipping away at her exposed nose. She waved a hand over her shoulder, signifying her dismissal.

Making her way down the street, she quickly untied her auburn hair, trying to protect her ears from the winter's cold. The wind picked up, showing it's authority in the night, blowing through the streets. Hannah's grin widened as she picked up her pace. The gusts whipped through her luscious red locks, turning it into disarray. She giggled, and turned to cross the street.

James liked living in the city. He loved that there were always people about, always going places, laughing, loving. It made his heart as heavy as lead when he saw couples together on the sidewalk. Their scrunched up faces, fake smiles, sickening nicknames.

“I love you.”

The unwanted phrase crept its way into James' ears, making him shudder-not from the winter's cold, but from jealousy. How come random citizens of the city got to experience love and he was the only one who was a loner? How come no body ever visited him, comforted him, or showed him affection?

If love wasn't going to find him, he was going to find love.

Quickly putting away his torture devices, he stood with a huff. Finding love wouldn't be an easy task, he knew—it would take every ounce of patience that his body could ever dream about producing. He glanced at the clock, his heartbeat rising in his chest.

He still had time.

Hannah Applegate could be the first one to tell you that she never talked to strangers.

The red head's parents always told her that strangers are a danger to society, and there would be serious consequences if they ever were to catch her caring out a harmless conversation with someone that they did not approve of. Then why in God's name was she so drawn to this particular gentlemen?

The crazed look in his eyes, the way his lungs rose and fell in such a rhythm that was most soothing to the ears, the sheer panic spreading across his face. She squinted, trying to figure out just what the man was doing.

Now, her brain was shouting at her to just turn around and bolt it back to her apartment, but her body rejected the idea, and just stood quietly in place. She was breathing silently, making sure that she did not make any sound.

“E-Excuse me, sir? May I ask what you're doing?”

The man turned around, and flashed a genuine smile at her. “Just writing in the snow. Don't you do that?”

“I can't say that I have,” She replied, walking towards him. Her eyes flickered over his cut, bare arms. “Um...may I ask why you're not wearing a jacket?”

“Oh, I'm used to the cold,” James replied, setting the stick down, walking towards her. “I just felt the need to be artistic, and I figured that this is the best way to express myself.”

“Can't you draw on paper? Drawing on paper seems more logical than drawing something with a stick in the snow.”

“Yes, but if I express myself on paper, I can easily destroy my creation mere seconds after giving it life,” James explained, resting a hand on her shoulder. He could feel her nervousness through the layers of clothing that separated bare skin on skin contact. “Hush, my dear. There's nothing to be afraid of.”

Hannah trembled, her blue eyes locked contact with James' green irises. Was this man going to kill her? Would she never be able to see her family again? “I...I...Please, sir. I'm not looking for any trouble.”

“Trouble? I'm not looking for trouble, either. Sometimes trouble finds you, pins you down, and lets fear gut you like an unwanted fish. You can run from trouble your entire life, but once it needs you, like an addict, it can find its wanted fix. Trouble is everywhere: it's in you, me, the atmosphere. So please, take a deep breath, and dance with the devil tonight.”

“I-I have to go, I can hear someone calling me!” She turned on her heel, and was ready to bolt across the street to her safety.

James tightened the grip on her shoulder. “Please! Please! Don't leave me, my sweet dear! I didn't mean to scare you. It's just that...” James eyes averted to the ground in shame. “I've never had anybody to love, and every time I've had a shot at love, destiny had a different course of action for me...”

“We should talk about this in a more public place,” Hannah suggested, trying to pry his grip off of her shoulder.

James studied her for a moment. “No!” He blurted out. Hannah jumped back, startled. “I-I mean, no, we can't.”

“Why not? This back alley's giving me the creeps,” Hannah admitted, putting her hand atop of James' frigid one. “We can go back to my place, have some coffee, talk it over.”

“No! You don't understand! I need you, now!” James leapt onto the girl, knocking her to the icy hard ground below. He pinned her hands above her head, trying to get her to stop struggling against his weight. “Shh, sweet heart. My craving will cease soon.”

Hannah looked up in horror as she let out one final scream. Something finally clicked in her brain.

No body was going to save her.

James stood, smiling to himself after the disgusting deed was over with. Satisfied, he waved goodbye to Hannah, and made his way back to his quiet apartment.

Making his way up the stairs, he couldn't help but feel like what he had done was immoral. It wasn't immoral, right? He was satisfying a want, no—a need. We all have needs in this world, so how was this any different?

“You're a monster, boy. No body in this world is ever going to love you. You are a burden to this family, you bring great shame to us. Why were you even born to begin with?”

“Shut up.”

“Love? What do you know about love? You weren't put on this earth to feel love, boy. You're a freak, and freaks don't share the emotion of love like the rest of us humane people.”

“Daddy, be quiet.”

“You're nothing but a nightmare. I'm ashamed to call you my son. You are Hannah's regret!”

“Daddy, shut up!” James screamed, battering his fists on the wall. What did he know? He treated both him and his mother like garbage, so how did he know what true love was?

Then again, he stole a part of that girl tonight. Maybe, just maybe, she'll never be able to feel love again because of his actions.

“Are you happy, boy? Are you happy that your mother weeps every single night, thinking about the horror that she produced? Look at me, boy!”

“I'm looking, Daddy.”

“You know what you have to do now.”

“Yes, Daddy.” James walked over to the fireplace, and grabbed two bottles of kerosene that he used to start fires in the winter with. He slowly walked into the bathroom, and dumped the flammable liquid into the tub. Once it was halfway full, James set himself in the tub, inhaling all of the fumes. He smiled to himself, struck a match, and dropped it in.

“I am Hannah's regret...”

Hannah lay down in the cold, frozen snow, terrified. In her mind, she couldn't process what exactly just happened. She knew that she shouldn't have trusted the man. For once, she was disappointed in herself. What should she do now, call the police?

Hannah sat upward, dragging her knees to her chest. She could feel her heart pumping in her chest. Her eyes flickered to her surroundings. The red head felt her lungs fill up with oxygen and then deflate quickly.

Wait, she was still breathing.

She was alive!

Why didn't he just pull out a knife and kill her? She was in the perfect position of being slaughtered, she was so vulnerable! Tears stung in the corner of her eyes, blurring her vision. Why...why didn't she die? Death was calling her name, and she didn't take the opportunity to grab it with both hands.

She'd be better off dead.





Join the Discussion

This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

AmazingAmy said...
Oct. 30, 2011 at 8:36 pm
This is amazing! It shows exactly what's in the mind of depressed, suicidal, and almost homicidal people, and this almost made me feel sorry for him during parts. Not to mention, your language was beautiful. I absolutely loved this. Excellent job.
 
SylasCyanide145 replied...
Oct. 31, 2011 at 8:09 pm
Thank you so much! I couldn't put italics in there, the flashbacks were a bit hard to put in. :I 
 
bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback