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Okay YWS, this is going to be my first rated R story but for now the Prologue is appropriate for young eyes. Well anyways, I am at a lost for a title, so if anyone can, I'd appreciate it if someone could give me some creative titles that I could use. Thank you. Also be extremely harsh, and enjoy!!!

Prologue

A man sits at his typewriter, clanking endlessly away at the keys. Like water pouring out of a faucet, words leak from his fingertips. He smiles to himself once he starts painting the last paragraph.
-One by one they fade away like white clouds on a rainy day. When I lay my hands on the last victim, her glassy eyes stare at me, begging for mercy. At one time I would've fell for those chocolate orbs, but now I am immune to their beauty. Just like mines, they witnessed a murder that was fowl and unjust. But instead of taking the stand, she sided with the jury. So here she lays, dead under my blood-stained hands. No longer do I have to wait for God do deal his cards. Wiping the scarlet nectar on my apron, I walked away from this room and this life. I have finished my job and now there is nothing left for me here. The sweet melody of revenge morphs into a bitter dirge as I bow out of the symphony...
The sound of each new line excites him and when he gracefully pushes the last six letters, his heart jumps for joy. Wrapping his fingers around the handle, he picks it up and raises it to his lips. The sun sheds light across the room. In his peripheral vision, something gleams silver, spitting rainbows across the wall. Sighing, he closes his eyes and takes another sip of his coffee. It wasn't a normal day. The German Shepard that barks endlessly, rest quietly in his dog house. Even the beautiful plant that sat on his windowsill was changing. Its purple petals slowly transforming into dead leaves. Echoes of silence, fills the once busy house. There was no solace in the weird serenity of this morning. The only source of reality was the itching of demonic ideas forming in his brain and the feeling of hot liquid slipping down his throat. Adrenaline courses through his veins, giving life to his eyes. Setting down the mug, he looks over at the glimmering object and smiles. Burning like sticks in a fire, the voice inside his head is screaming suicide. Slowly, his hand moves towards the butcher knife and then stops. It made sense for him to look at the weapon with comfort before, but today nothing felt right.
"What are you doing?" the voice hisses.
"I can't do it," the man replies.
The sound of fists echoing through the halls, signaled that the police were there. Flashing through his mind like bloody slide shows, are the bodies playing on metal cots in the basement. In between the images of each corpse, sprouts the aroma of formaldehyde and death.
"Come on, you can do it!" the voice pushes.
"I can't," the man growls.
An exasperated sigh rings through his head and then the room starts spinning. To steady his mind, the man closes his eyes and tries desperately to get rid of the ideas dancing behind his skull.
"You can't get rid of me, boy. I am a part of you," the voice whispers.
As if his eyes were perilous projectors, a horrific movie began rolling in his mind. For a moment all he sees is a white light but then a bruised face comes into view. It is pale, with only the purple scars to give it life. The next scene is scarier than the first. Across the screen flicks a body being pushed off the side of a cliff, crashing to his death. Before the man can try to look away, the movie ends.
"You've done the right thing, little brother," the voice says softly.
"What will become of me when I die?" the man asks, guiltily.
Instead of answering, the voice creates the image of wings jutting out of his back. Pearly white gates await him as he flies deeper into the ivory lights. People with their arms wide open, ready to embrace him. A smile spreads across his face as he basks in the idea of heaven. But as he sinks farther into the dream, he begins to see chains. Chains that form iron manacles around his wrists and ankles. Fire licks hungrily at his skin, eating away at his being. Pain pours from his lips for eternity as his soul burns in hellish tar pits.This wasn't the life he wanted to lead after death.
"Make up your mind," the voice commands, as feet run up the steps. The man looks at the life-taker and smiles. Calling to him, the knife is like Circe, singing him an alluring psalm. With music in his ears, the man reaches out for the finale and wraps his hand around it. Then there is only silence.

That was very good. I only have a couple of problems. First:

Slipping like bare feet on ice, is the hot liquid falling down his throat.

It doesn't sound like it really goes together. Maybe try reversing it: "The hot liquid falling down his throat is like bare feet slipping on ice." Or possibly: Like bare feet slipping on ice, the hot liquid falls down his throat."
It was the same with this part, as well:

Emitting smells of Columbian beans is a mug sitting on the table beside the typewriter.

Possibly try: "Beside the typewriter is a mug emmitting the smell of Columbian beans." Maybe even just: "Emmiting the smell of Columbain beans is a mug sitting on the table beside the typewriter." It seems less confusing that way, at least to me.
And here:

The sound of fist echo through the halls, signaling that the police were there.

How about changing it to this:

The sound of fists echoing through the halls, [s]signaling[/s] signaled that the police were there.

This too:

Burning like coal to a fire, the voice inside his head is screaming suicide.

It's creative, but the coal thing kinda doesn't make sense to me. I think you should try making it 'sticks in a fire' instead.

In between the image of each corpse, sprouts the aroma of formaldehyde and death.

I'm pretty sure you need to put 'images' here, because 'image' just doesn't sound right.

You can't get rid of me, boy. I am apart of you," the voice whispers.

'Apart' should be 'a part', not apart which is a seperation of something and something else.

Instead of answering, the voice created the image of wings jutting out of his back.

Here, also, it would be better if you changed 'created' to 'creates' because after that you have:

Pearly white gates await him as he flies deeper into the ivory lights.

This sentence indicates that it's happening either now, or in the future, so you need to keep using the present tense the whole way through this peice of writing.
This:

Before the man could try to look away, the movie ends.

'Could' should be 'can' because, again, you're using present tense when you're writing here.
And here:

This wasn't the life he wanted to lead after death.

You used past tense again. Try something like: "This isn't the life he wants to lead after death."
Finally:

Calling to him, the knife is like Circe, singing him an alluring psalm. With the music in his ears, the man reaches for the conclusion and wraps his hand around it. A pianist collides with a quartet of violinists until all there is is silence.

There's just something a little confusing about this. Reading through it again, I get a hint of what you mean, but most people probably wouldn't bother to take a second glance. There's just something about "the man reaches for the conclusion and wraps his hand around it". Maybe change 'conclusion' to 'finale' and stick in 'out' after 'reaches'. You could also take out your last sentence there, because it doesn't seem to flow where it's placed. Try taking it out and make it like this, or something like this anyway: "With music in his ears, the man reaches out for the finale and wraps his hand around it. Then there is only silence." With that, it seems more...oh what are the right words? It seems less confusing, and more of an attention getter.
I realize that was more than a 'couple things' but I just kept noticing more as I re-read. Well, I hope I helped, and in the end, you're the author-only you can make the decision. But feel free to take any of my advice. I really liked it, and can't wait for more! Happy writing!

I thought it was pretty good, although a little confusing. My biggest problem with this was with your description, especially in the first few paragrapsh. You were using way too much similes and metaphors when describing everything.

Now I'm not saying that it's bad to use these devices, but if you overly saturated your work with it, it becomes distracting from the actual story, which happens when you pretty much abuse any type of literary device. I would rework those first few paragraphs and try to describe things in a more varied way, and also you should consider keeping the overall tone of the piece more consistent. What I mean is, the story's tone starts at 'Uber Happy' and ends at 'Abysmal horror' which is quite a leap to go in that short of a space.

All those things I mentioned together make the whole piece feel very detached and exaggerated. You could write a story much more horrific without resorting to exaggerations of tone and emotion. If you have any question or anything, feel free to PM me. ^_^

[s]BlackGhost[/s]

Angel -

An intriguing start! This certaintly looks like a hefty piece of competition. You have a wonderful way of blending the beautiful with the grotesque.

[Every Little Piece]

Your third paragraph is like a wheelbarrow full of bricks. It's heavy, it's ungainly, and it weighs the entire piece down. You succumbed to the dreaded purple prose monster who lives under the bed of the poetic and the dramatic and decided to start describing every tiny little detail in awkward verbage. Try leaving a little bit more to the reader and try to vary your sentence length a tad as well. I noticed each time you utilized a simile you structured that sentence the same way (re: [insert -ing verb here] like [insert imagery here], [insert description of setting or character here]).

The solution is to cut back. Remember, you're writing horror, which is akin to suspense and action/adventure. That means you've got to make your prose streamlined and fast. So get out your butcher knife and hack at that third paragraph a little. Take a page out of your main character's book.

Let me help a little:

The sound of each new line excites him. As [s]Emitting smells of Columbian beans is a mug sitting on the table beside the typewriter. [/s]As he pounds out the last six words he wraps his fingers around the handle of his coffee mug and raises it to his lips. [s]Curtains open to the day, [/s]the sun sheds light across the room and the coffee slips like bare feet on ice down his throat. Adrenaline courses through his veins, giving life to his eyes and setting down the mug, he looks over at the glimmering object. He smiles. The voice inside his head is screaming suicide. Slowly, his hand moves towards the butcher knife and then stops.

[The Simile Express]

I know I'm probably not the best person to be telling you this since I suffer from it as well, but sometimes, too much of a good thing (in this case, similes and metaphors) is unhealthy. I myself have been trying to shave off as many imagery-oriented sentences as possible from my recent stories because it just puts too much strain on the reader. It makes him do all the work. It's like giving somebody a rosetta stone and telling them to translate egyptian into hebrew in the time it takes to sit on the toilet. Go easy on us and limit yourself to three similes per page or so. Your prose will be much more digestable then.

Also, as Black Ghost mentioned, this piece is a little confusing. A way to help clear up that confusion is to wipe away those excess similes smearing up your windshield.

[Suddenly, the terribly tortured serial killer angrily grabs for his butcher knife]

I think I've told you this before, but lay off the adverbs. They are knives in your story's chest, especially when coupled with a he said/she said. Adverbs are just justification. It's like the author having to explain what he just said using a single word when the reader already got the picture. Cut them out, because they're putting holes in my computer screen.

On a bright fall morning, a man sits at his typewriter, clanking endlessly away at the keys. Like water pouring out of a faucet, words leak from his fingertips. He smiles [s]brightly [/s]to himself once he starts painting the last paragraph.

I'd either nix the bolded description or improve on it. It's unnecessary and smacks of cliche.

-One by one they fade away like white clouds on a rainy day

Mother Goose, much? ^_^.

So, overall, very promising. Just think about clarifying things a little. It gets hazy at the end.

Ta,

-Kylan