All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
A Sudden Stroke
Would you believe me if I told you the whole story? Could you release me from this putrid place, and let me roam free once again?
Oh I sincerely doubt you will let me go, for my tale is so obscure, not unlike the ramblings of a madman. But I digress, this is all true, even if it is just a distant idea produced by the fancies of my imagination.
The clock's deadly toll had rung in my ears. Oh how it sickened me, astonished me. I lie grasping at my head, a sudden headache overcoming me. The walls closed in, my body felt numb! Defeat rose from the pit of my stomach; for on that clock's stroke of twelve, Death came to my bedside and reached out her thrilling hand.
Compellingly, she threw that corpse-like fragment of herself closer towards me, pushing her thoughts into my mind. How pitifully I fought! I knew she wanted me to become one of her legionnaires, a hard eyed spirit beneath her wing. Come, she peetered, release yourself to Death.
I begged with her! I threw my nightstand across the bed at her! But she was unmoveable, irrevocable. I came up with deal after deal until, she stopped her villainous ascent towards my heart, and said, "perhaps". It was the raspiest voice I have ever known, one of horrible tone and deepness. All I could feel was her cold, dusty breathe on my face, and the sudden realization that she could kill me at any second.
My plan was dispicable. Inhumane, evil, and pathetic. But I was so desperate to save my own life that I allowed myself to be overwhelmed. You will think I am cruel, but if you were in my shoes, I am certain you would have done the same. I am well-assured of it.
The deal was that on wednesday at midnight, I would bring her the hand of someone I had murdered. They could not be old, nor young. Their health had to be exquisite, and I must not have had any prior contact with them. She made the stipulations known so quickly that I dared believe she had done so before.
My headahce subsided immediately after our agreement was met, and she dissapppeared with the clock's ending chime; it was now one o' clock.
Every wednesday night, I would clad myself in an outfit as dark as Montresor's, and would scurry off to a town I didn't know. I would wait for the time when the sun had set but the lights were not on, and then I would make my move.
As quickly as a serpent, as clean as a trained killer, I would enter a home or find a lone walker, and they would surely be dead before midnight. I will not go into details about how they screamed for my mercy, or died with slipping breaths and shallow heartbeats. It is too gruesome, to hard to explain in a way that you might still be swayed by my story, or understand how thew pleasure of death waved over me, and made the killings so much easier. Please make note that this was not my fault; I was guided by Death, and gifted with her sight.
Anyway, I would sever their hand with my black leather gloves on- usually the left- and stow it away in a box. I would use my knife on most occasions, but on the days when I wanted to relish my kill, I would use my teeth. Soon my fingernails and teeth began to become stained brown-red with the blood.
It became so noticeable that I would be asked about it.
"Why are your teeth so dirty?" My dentist would ask.
"What work are you doing? Your nails are quite a mess!" queried my mother.
I began to make up stories, but it became so stressful for me that I withdrew from society completely. I continued picking off the people doomed to die, and each day I grew stronger. I felt like an immortal. Despite having no friends, no public workplace (I did my job from home now), and no contact with the outside world, I was happier than I had ever been before. Insane, of course, but happier.
For this reason, I began luring my victims into my home or neighbourhood to avoid having to go out. Rows of men and women from dating websites and online chats showed up at my door. But I ran into the problem of detection. I moved myself to a new place, and did the same things. But still, the news reported of a killer that chewed off a hand of its victims, and was even seen wearing a dark outfit under certain streetlights in my homestate, and in the one I currently resided in.
I was reading one day and heard of a monstrous murderer who killed a man because of his eye, and heard the beating of his heart under the floorboards of his home. Determined not to be caught- and excited for a new challenge- I took the idea and decided to bring Death both the hand and heart of my next kill, and when I left the body, placed it in the trash bin of a nearby restaurant.
However, I was foolish enough to have broken a nail while digging through their skin. I was so quick to leave the scene, and utterly abundant in euphoria that I was tracked down the moment before I offered up my sacrifice to wicked Death.
She planned this, I know. What an unmerciful stripe of the world! Always taking away life and giving grief!
But don't we all? Perhaps it's just me.
The clock chimes now and I must flee. But here me now, I will escape Her, I will escape Death if it is my only way to live!