It Began…
I drove the rusty iron pole directly through her chest, pinning her to the wall; the warm blood hit the wall, some spattered across to the other end of the dark room while the rest slowly and elegantly ran downwards towards the floor. I caught my attention towards my next victim. I yanked the pole out of her chest slowly; studying the curious sounds of the organs inside being pulled back into place after being brutally torn apart and watching the corpse fall slowly to the ground with a cold stare from the glistening eyes. I kicked the bloody corpse out of the way to get a clear, direct line between me and my next victim. I walked up to the small, weak and helpless girl crouching in the corner of the room, I grinned uncontrollably, I'd already killed her mother right in front of her eyes, I'd be doing her a favour right?
I walked through the blood which lay on the floor, leaving bloody footprints trailing behind my every step; I thought more of it as art... I’m the artist! I laughed vigorously as a sense of self satisfaction. I demanded the young girl to stand up so I could get a clearer blow at her head. She stumbled onto her legs grasping onto her teddy bear tightly aware of her fate, this was her only protection now, and both I and her knew it wasn't going to stop me from killing her. As I swung the metal pole ready to hit her in the head, she closed her eyes and began to pray. I laughed insensitively as the pole got closer and closer to her head. There was no noise except the hard sound of her body falling to the floor and her teddy rolling out of her grasp and into a puddle of blood beside her head. I stared down at her helpless body, grinning, uncontrollably. I walked away from the child’s corpse and up to the haematic remains of her mother. I used her mothers’ blood soaked rags to wipe my shoes. I carried on walking trailing my pole behind causing a line of blood which was left behind from my pole... "Yes I’m the artist"...
Entry One
This is the diary of my insanity, my days of murder, revenge and destruction, the days I regret most of all. Now? Now I'm locked up in this madly driven prison, trapped with all the other convicts, kept inside this small, damp and darkened cell. I fear I'm not going to live much longer, I've decided to write this diary, so if someone out there finds this, then they might feel what I felt, they might understand what my life was like to live, and then maybe I'd have someone who will pity me. Everyday I think back to my childhood, the days when my dad use to beat me, kick me, and my mum, she wasn't any better. I used to hide in my cupboard, waiting for the day that it would all go away, the day I could be free. But of course that never happened; there was no happy ending to my childhood neither to my days after I left home. I could never concentrate in school because of my relationship between me and my parents, so naturally I failed my school. Those were years of emptiness and solitude. I never made any friends at school, I was always the one they picked on, picked last in school teams, I never had a chance to prove myself, to build up my self-esteem. Maybe it was inevitable; maybe he had a reason for this. It felt like I was the only one alive.
Entry Two
I spent my days living on the streets, begging for small change or what ever people through at me. During the night I would sleep beside the cold steps leading to the town bank shivering underneath a small, dark red blanket which was thrown out of 'Hotel Plaza', the most expensive Hotel in the city.
Of course my days on the streets weren't necessarily the worst, thugs would beat my helpless, weak body, leaving me sprawled, lying on the ground, almost drowning in my own blood which spewed out of my mouth as I coughed up what, if any was left in my stomach.
You may find the next part as hard to believe as I did. It started of as the usual, cold, wet, damp day, I was on the side of the pathway sitting against a tall, damp wall which I was leaning on, hoping that someone, just someone would spare some change. An old man started to approach me, he seemed strange at first. He always seem to wear a brown tatted hat, and, what seemed like a really old suit, I noticed this quite a lot as he used to walk past me most days on his way to work. He also always seemed to have a limp on his left leg as if he'd broken it a while back and the bone was not put back in the right place and was left twisted. He carried a long dark cane much too small, so he just carried it in his right arm instead.
This man started to approach me very slowly, coughing and spluttering into a white hanky on the way over. When he reached me, he stood perfectly still, opened up his jacket, reached inside his left inside pocket and brought out his wallet. He looked down, grinned and pulled out a huge amount of notes. I drew my eyes away from the fixation of the notes and looked at him curiously while he took my hand and placed the notes into my palm. At first I was speechless; this wasn’t part of some prank was it? I got to courage to say something…
'B-But why?' I remember asking him.
'Looks like you need the money more than I do and I have limited days to live.' he replied in slightly sad and upsetting manner.
'What do you mean limited?' I questioned under my breath.
'I'm going to die, there is nothing they can do, no cure, no treatments, and so I want you to have my money, but can you please keep one promise for me?'
I nodded gently.
'I want you lead a rich, fulfilled life, make yourself lots of friends and get yourself a well paid job. Can you do that for me?'
He left before I could reply to his request, and I was left on the pathway with a huge sum of money, someone else's money, I never forgot what that man said and still, till this day I can remember his every word perfectly in the back of my mind. The words whisper and echo every so often, reminding me of that fateful day.
All those years of despair, all those years of anger and destruction flashed past my eyes as I stared down at the wealth that the withered man had given me. I could start a new life, a fresh new living, one with a beautiful, loving partner and kids who deserved all the love and attention they needed. I would never make the same mistake that my father did. This was going to be a new start in my life, I could feel it now.
Of course, at the time, my thoughts and feelings where overlaying reality, and my future was laid out in front of my eyes blinded by my own dreams. I was foolish to think this was going to work, everything else in my life was tragic, and why would this be any different. I didn’t know what to think.
Entry Three
I was robbed, beaten and left half-dead by some thugs in a dark, narrow alleyway during one of the cold nights in winter. I lost my money, my will to live, I felt like suicide was the only option. My dreams had been torn away from me, my life was ripped out of my soul, and the only thing I had left was my helpless body on the side of the streets begging once again for change.
This is when my insanity began to drive me, slowly, helplessly taking control of my body. This is when my life began to change. I was not led by my own mind; something or someone was taking it over. I could feel it, sudden urges to take revenge on the world, my hands clutching themselves into tight fists as every child, man, women; anyone stared at me while walking past. They don’t know how much I suffered; they don’t have any idea what my tragic life was like.
Night after night It got worse, my anger at the world, my reason to take revenge, I could feel my thoughts of destruction rushing through my mind, I could smell the blood in the atmosphere, I was hungry for the taste of death.
Entry Four
I woke up shaking and cold to the bone. My blanket was down by my ankles, the cold had woken me and I couldn’t get back to sleep, too many thoughts in my head and too many images that I could not describe, not for the minds of you, it wouldn’t be fair. I was told to walk, so I did, a voice was whispering in my ear, just like how the wind howls against the gaps in windows, the words were soft and shallow. I walked up to Mainstreet Park and approached the fountain; this was a familiar sight, déjà vu, yes. I had seen his before, but where? Another few words were whispered to me, “Its time. Look down” the voice said slowly, taking pauses after each word. I looked down, into the soft reflection of the moons light hitting the water’s surface. The water started to turn darker, slowly becoming more opaque. I noticed it was turning red. I stepped back, tripping on the concrete slabs surrounding the fountain; the water had turned to blood. I picked myself up again, to have another look, the voice returned, “Yes, Yes, Yes, it’s all real, this is what you want to see, the blood of those who you had sworn revenge to, I have the power to help you, the power to strike god’s creation, man”.
I didn’t want to listen, I fell to my knee’s, screaming, I felt the energy from my body be drained away. It flung me to the ground and I was left lying by the fountain unable to move, I closed my eyes, hoping for the voice to go away. The voice droned through my head.
Entry Five
The gasp of a single breath woke me again that night; the feeling of the energy flooding back into my body occupied my mind. I managed to climb onto my feet, using the floor to support my body. I walked over to the tainted fountain, avoiding the slab I fell over previously. I looked down into the sparkling water nervously gripping onto the side of the fountain only to find myself staring into an empty reflection. I hit the water with my right hand to break the image and stared into the dark waves as the reflection came back into view.
I turned vigorously, and started to run towards the main part of the city, desperately in need of breath. I used my hands to guide me. The world was spinning, bright street lights streamlining past my eyes. The hypnotic fashion of the lights caused my fury to rage, my mind was infected, and I was unable to take control of my body.
I caught my sight on a young woman, 15, wearing a skin tight miniskirt, grey, with a lacy red top half covering her breasts. She had turned into the footpath in front of me. This was the time for revenge, the time to start getting back at the world. I started to pick up my speed as I approached her, I reached into my pocket and grabbed hold of some cloth and tore it. I reached to grab her hair and pulled it vigorously back so that she fell onto my knee. With the other hand, I forced the cloth down her throat to prevent her from screaming. She closed her mouth with enormous pressure to bite my fingers; blood poured from my forefinger and middle finger down into her mouth. The cloth soaked up the warm blood from the back of her throat. I used my left hand to strangle her neck so that my right fingers were freed from the grip of her sharp teeth.
I picked her up by her arms; she was gasping from breath, kicking her helpless feet, and screaming into the bloody cloth. I dragged her into an alleyway lit up by a flashing light half fastened to the wall. There was a puddle of dark water which I ducked her spoilt face into, I could still hear silent screaming and her feet fluttering around like a butterfly with one wing. I lifted her head, and gazed deeply into her sorry eyes, I couldn’t resist laughing at her suffering, revenge was sweet, but I knew what I was doing was wrong, I knew that I couldn’t stop myself. I grabbed hold of her head tightly and slammed it to the floor in fury and again but this time harder. I let out a huge shuddering roar. Blood was creeping across the deep puddle, and the soft sound of her scream stopped. All that was left was a cold, empty stare into the rotting wall opposite.
Entry Six
I spent the next day hiding in the depths of the city’s alleyways, cradled up against the moist, polluted walls, my head tilted without support thinking about what I had done so thoughtlessly and uncontrollably. I was not able to cope with this trauma, I tried blocking it out, but the thoughts of her screams and her kicking came flooding back to me, the sight of her head coming down onto the concrete and the blood flowing into the puddle was flashing past my eyes.
Flash backs of my child hood stunned my reasons to live, the past times drowning my lonely soul. I forced myself to remember the good times, the times when I enjoyed life and didn’t care about anything else accept my lonely self. Like in the movie trailers, my memories were being projected on the screen, people watching, laughing with me, the feeling was unreal, the first time I felt good about myself. Then, the memory of my parent’s beating me, drawing blood from my mouth and nose came up upon the screen; the crowd continued to laugh and watch in enjoyment. Shivers flowed down my back as I continued to watch the screen, the ironic view of the crowd distracted my hearing and everything became silent. Without sound, the memory became more powerful, more painful to watch, my delicate eyes began to water. A tear fell from my soft cheek and landed on my palm resting on my lap. I clutched my hand and peered up to the ceiling of the theatre and closed my eyes.
The sounds came flooding back into my ears, the noises of the cars engines, and pedestrians walking amongst the cities streets. My foot suddenly felt wet, soaked in the polluted water of a puddle in front of my cradled body. Hours had gone past, it was now dark and the street lights were back on; my body was numb, cold and shivering. I could barely pick myself up as I tried reaching out for the moist wall for support.
I had to contain myself, hide myself from reality, society. I didn’t want to take another innocent life; I didn’t want this, this madness to go on. I fled to dark underground pathway, under the railway which hardly ever ran anywhere. It was still lit up, but no one ever used it anymore. I don’t normally stay there but I was determined that I couldn’t hurt anyone or be affected by my fucked up mind.
Entry Seven
The repetitive noises coming from the broken lights kept me half awake for most of the night; I managed to get a glimpse of sleep when one of the lights went out but it wasn’t enough to rest my mind. I used my musty red blanket to wrap around myself tighter as the night’s air got colder and colder. As the night grew shorter, I heard footsteps coming down from the east set of stairs; each step was slow and frightful. First her feet came into vision, then her small thigh and then her hands, both clutching onto the rail. As her face came into view, I reasoned her presence. Why was she there? Was she lost?
“You lost?” I questioned softly with the cold air hitting the back of my throat. “No one’s been down here for years.” I exclaimed proudly with a slight chuckle. She fell to her knees and sat on the bottom step; damp, from where it had soaked up the rain water. Although I could clearly see this was agonising her, she continued to persist her actions in silence. She looked at me kindly and smiled. She had the most beautiful smile I could have imagined, and her long, dark hair moved elegantly and undisturbed through the frosty air. She tilted her head down, facing the floor, watching the pools of water ripple as rain drops fell onto its surface. She held her hands up to her face and rotated them slowly. Her eyes were transfixed and her smile began to frown. She began to weep. “Are you alright?” I asked carefully and softly.
“It’s my fucking husband” she said. “I know it was him. The bloody bastard!” she continued to say as her voice grew sharper and louder.
“What’s he done?”
“He’s killed my child; my only child. He’ll pay. I’ll rip out this thumping heart and make him feed on it with the few seconds spare of his life.” She wept.
I didn’t know what to say. What was I to say? My father had done the same to my other brother, my little brother who they didn’t even bother to name. My father would use it to threaten me and make me look at the pictures he took of the dead corpse lying on the floor with a large chunk of his skull missing and his hair been torn out along with the scalp. He filled my mind with dark images which I wanted to block out, I wanted to take revenge on. Flashbacks of my dad came back to me. His clownish smile he pulled, threatening me as if it pleasured him, his dark, slanted eyebrows and black eyes staring into my innocent cry shouting and hitting me, causing me to hit the floor hard. I blacked out and the flashback went. I smiled ensuring that she’d be ok. She understood me well and sniffed away her tears.
“What’s your name?” I paused; I’d forgotten what my name was. But then something triggered it well.
“Ryleigh” I replied securely, “And yours?” I commented back without hesitation. She smiled calmly and said, “Kathleen, my mother’s name”. She gave a little chuckle and looked away. I kicked a small out shaped stone besides my foot; it hit the dusty wall and bounced of, landing beside her foot. The echo was long and we both looked at each other and began to laugh.
“Do you mind if I stay with you for a while, until I get my head sorted out?” he asked gently and calmly with her long hair wrapped around her neck to stop the cold from hurting her. I grinned and nodded my head slowly and gestured that she would come sit next to me. She picked her self up from the moist steps, rubbing her gentle hands together to let the dirt off.
For the rest of that night we stayed up together talking about our dreams and futures; our pasts and memories. We both huddled up close to each other sharing the blanket, both laughing and admiring each others courage.
