Lucky Ashes

© Mar. 7, 2015. All Rights Reserved.

Warning: The sentimental scenes and premeditated ideas provided in this explicit book are a foretaste of my actual dreams that I imagine at night. Every word used in this book are not expressed through my secret desires; it is to gain not only additional realism of horrific acts and possibilities, but to gain the hearts of my readers’, giving them multiple scenes that they can relate to. In addition, based on my theories, from various forms of entertainment, the subject of romance is sometimes utilized to manipulate others, (causing stress and horror), but that does not mean that romance should be forgotten. There is no romance without horror and vice-versa. The scenes should not be acted out by anyone with the audacity to, for this book does not condone physical and mental abuse. Any of the gruesome scenes should not be attempted in any imaginable way, which includes sexual and drug-related content. If you easily can receive a mental image of things and can become squeamish, vulnerable to following the orders of anyone, and/or obsessed with death to the point where you may want to punish innocent people, please be completely aware that this fascinating book does not serve you best for entertainment purposes.

The viewers’ option of reading this book is theirs. I encourage none of the viewers with the thoughts and murders that transpired in this blood-curdling book to hate other people and to engage in horrific activities. The creation of this book is not to offend anyone for any personal reasons but to serve as various possible ideas for the future of talented authors. This book is for the faithful fans to hopefully unite as a family, and care for one another by defending them with defensive habits, in the time of struggle and danger. No members of this fan club shall be alone during any predicament in life with the support of the family that they can rely on. With organized respect, we as a whole can reach nirvana. Thank you, I hope you enjoy the book.

Acknowledgments

I would like to first thank God, who protected me through countless times. Then, I thank the many writers and readers of the horror genre. Without them, this book would not be possible. Also, I thank the rejects of society and the ones victimized, for without them, I would not have the courage to make this book.

Table of Contents

Prologue:
Part 1: Tragedies and Miracles
Chapter 1: The Thrash House
Chapter 2: Obsession
Chapter 3: Faith
Chapter 4: Disturbance
Chapter 5: Remembrance
Part 2: Trust
Chapter 6: Red Drama
Chapter 7: Relationship
Chapter 8: Punishment
Chapter 9: True Killer
Part 3: Tortured
Chapter 10: The Gift
Chapter 11: Slit to Slash
Chapter 12: Moon Her
Chapter 13: Somber Street
Chapter 14: Dead Thought
Chapter 15: Love is Her Name
Part 4: Safe
Chapter 16: Sacrifice
Chapter 17: Backwards Bullets
Chapter 18: The Charm
Chapter 19: Deserving
Chapter 20: Heartless
Chapter 21: Personal Words
Chapter 22: Kiss to Hurt

Short Stories

Wish Girl
Loves World
Note Kill
Heidi’s Friend
Dripping Red
Molly Runes
Death for Jessie
Numb Shift
Running Hope
Birth Role
Name them Witches
Glass Night
The Left Born

Charming Poetry

Lust of Gravity
Marriage is Not
Are You Still Hugging
Nature Toys
Cornea Flood
Likably Dead
Love from a Survey
Airy Spirits from South
Chiseled Parts
Smile Mañana
Love Files
Beast of Epicene
A Cricket’s Place
A Maggot’s Meal
Worse than Bliss
Unheard Yoke
Connect to Form What?
Confront the Bell
Music in a Ring
Palace of Hope
Relief Belief
Gaping Sin
Clone’s Minions
Thieves’ Talents
Love Fortune
Lovable Tragedies
Prologue

From a gang infested area of Englewood, IL, inside of a cottage, containing only two bedrooms, Ryan Carillon was born. As an unfortunate event, he was born with a deformed heart. Abbey, his biological mother, was happy for a temporary moment. As a major disadvantage at life, she was aware that her son would need extra support. From the thought of her son’s natural birth, it was a huge relief, for she was informed that she could never reproduce a child before the age of forty, when in fact, she was in the process of having her first and only child.
It was an indelible, miraculous occurrence for her. On this special day, first, she achieved the happiest memory of her life, seeing her child’s first breaths in the warm arms of her best friend, Francesca Atkins. Francesca was parallel to her living room black couch watching a near death experience before driving her to the hospital. On the same, unforgettable day, his mother rushed inside of the hospital by the support of her concerned best friend. Thus, Abbey’s happiest memory also became her worst memory on the same day, for she suffered two miscarriages and because of that, the month and day December the 15th always haunted her.
Before Abbey had been involved with her child’s life, she had to undergo unforgettable mistreatment throughout her past relationships. Ethan Elson, her first ex-husband was very abusive to her. He assaulted her, and he did not hesitate to absorb her leftover feelings of felicity. Complicated enough for her, three days before Ryan’s birth, she underwent her second divorce with the biological father of her son, Rick Warden. She sobbed for countless hours every night. Rick was an unfaithful person, who decided to abandon her on the day of their honeymoon. Several rumors by various people around the neighborhood were stating that he is indeed a cheater. Always, she felt like he had sexual intercourse with another woman. Regardless of the cheater, Ryan was on Earth with an extraordinary behavior to smile whenever he would look at Abbey, finally.
Furthermore, her emotions then began dwindling, which unfortunately caused her to become a serious alcoholic. As a result, she took illicit actions to utilize drugs that can ease her distress, such as: heroin, crystal meth, cocaine, and marijuana. To make matters even worse, three days after the birth of her only son, both of her ex-husbands were murdered in a diabolical crime scene. She would reflect on that memory with major disappointment. Needless to say, with brimming tears, she would metaphorically feel like a disposable object. So, with the full custody of her son, as a widow, she tried battling her awful addictions, alone as she raised him. The question would always occur to her, will this child blossom?
Years later, when he was eleven-years-old, that was the exact age he was diagnosed with bipolar 1 and schizophrenia. Thus, he was placed on hallucinogenic medication. He had necrophilia one year after he was diagnosed. Sadly, this was the exact memorable year that he murdered his polite babysitter, April Winters. Specifically, at that time, his mother was working as a veterinarian. Knowing that she owned a thick knife with a serrated edge, which was approximately nine inches long and four inches wide, he snuck down the basement in a deliberate fashion. Then, he came out, peering at his babysitter while she was doing the dishes in the kitchen. He lunged at her with the knife on her right calf, her left knee, and then, once she plummeted to the tiled floor, he targeted the area of her right kidney.
Blood oozed from the knife. She screamed desperately for help, but she was in despair. The dismal moment would not cease for her just yet, for he stabbed her in the haunches—twice. He laughed with exhilaration. From the sight of her being defenseless, it caused him to have an inexorable obsession over the sound of her shrilling cry. The loudness that came out of her mouth caused his hormones to rise. From the demented mind of his, absolutely nothing could ever replace a fascinating memory such as this, especially if he finally found a way to reduce his anger.
On the kitchen floor, with the intention of stealing the virginity of April Winters, eagerly, he made a gratuitous decision of penetrating her. Dehumanizing her as a woman, he wrongfully molested her, and then, he personally realized his disturbing ways of sadomasochism. As disturbing as it sounds, he could specifically remember her suffering from a chronic seizure, shuddering, gasping for necessary oxygen, while he made a derisive glare in her innocent eyes. The agonizing, immutable fact of his mental distress that there was nary an opportunity to see his biological father, Ethan, caused him to brim with underestimated rage. He then thought about the abuse that he have undergone with his mother, for example: his mother would cuss at him, clobber him, and sexually touch on his body. Reliving those memories made him feel like a frail human being, deserving of punishment.
No more did he try accepting the mundane thought that he may possibly be an insignificant person. He is not breathing on Earth for any positive purpose, for he recently deflowered an innocent female. Strangely, he strongly believed that there was a positive destiny for him in life, but that destiny was completely unknown. Besides a positive purpose for existence he finally believed that he discovered his reason to live—simply by harming people, including himself. What other way to make himself feel bliss than what he can possibly do to living organisms? In his mind, he just cannot be a role model, giving advice to people that can relate to his life.
His babysitter was his first victim, and he cherished every moment of it. How could he in the slightest way forget stabbing the sharp knife through her right cheek as she gaped from the dreadfulness, leaving her mouth open? How he achieved an orgasm from her is definitely something that he refuses to forget. She had possessed a terror-struck face, which gained excessive wounds, because of his uncontrollable manner to inflict pain on her. Just remembering the sight of the last moments of her life is nary a daunting occurrence; feeling her delicate skin and tangible breaths actually placed a smile on his face. And ever since that memory, he never even made an attempt to form a smile.
Later on, that same day, he pelted a Dalmatian with colorful rocks inside of his mother’s top dresser of her room, and then he stabbed her in the living room, watching her yelp, forcefully struggling to escape his repeated attacks. He carried his Dalmatian, Millie, into the kitchen, stuffing her body and the body of April into an oven, placing it on 500 degrees. Eventually, the house caught on fire, and he fled the place, running outside in the snowy weather, heading toward a frozen lake. Below the lake were several corpses, which looked like an exact replica of him. They ascended beneath the cold ice as blood traveled up. Blood then wandered around the corpses, so uncontrollably he quivers, horrified by the appalling event, severely disturbed to an ineffable extent.
He just had to be hallucinating, he thought. The noisy, red, and blue siren to an ambulance entered the area. Already, he was crying on his knees as if he was an innocent person, but he was suffering from rage within. Because he made not only the police believe that a robbery took place, luckily, never was he caught. He felt like a predator, and he definitely had no regrets for his perilous behavior, but from his behavior, it was a presage of what crimes he could commit.
Eventually, years went by, and Ryan grew up to be thirteen-years-old, receiving multiple struggles. The four, unpleasant, major struggles that Ryan Carillon received were: attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), bipolar 1 disorder, schizophrenia, and the suffering of necrophilia. Voices would constantly speak to him sometimes to tell him to wake up or go asleep before sexually touching dead mammals. Nobody truly desired to socialize with him at school or home, thus, he possessed an increased, troubled mind. Deep voices he never heard before would enter his unlikable mind and effectively speak, for example, “I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and I create evil: I the Lord do all these things” (KJV, Isaiah 45:7). That quote, he heard on an Easter morning, when he was lying in bed, patiently waiting for his cell phone to stop ringing. Just finding the strength to sit up, he heard them say, “Now, therefore, kill every male among the little ones, and kill every woman that hath known man by lying with them” (KJV, Numbers 31:17). They get louder, “For I testify unto every man that heareth the words of the prophecy of this book, if any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book. And if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life, and out of the holy city, and from the things which are written in this book” (KJV, Revelations 22:18-19). Thus, since countless actions could had occurred in the past, he strongly thinks that the bible may provide some wrongfully translated information and is deeply in spiritual confusion, following the paths that his voices direct him.

Part 1
Tragedies and Miracles

Chapter 1
The Thrash House

Due to the horrible condition of Ryan’s old home, as an unfortunate event, with his mother, he dwells in another gang infested environment, in Oakland, California. At this time, he is eighteen-years-old, lying in a prone position on his bed, waking up from a 30 minute rest, to look in the direction of a closed closet. So, he raises his head from the comfortable pillow remembering that it was a struggle for his mother to find another home, then he raises his haunches from the red bed sheets, disliking the fact that he exists in the ghetto. The blustering wind travels through the opened window, which moves the blinds back and forth, reminding him of temporary quietness, which is before the sound of daily gunshots. Thus, he does not hesitate to close the window, trying to avoid the aggravating thought of where he actually exists.
Before he could turn his head, away from his cluttered, mahogany desk of papers, a raven flies outside of the window, nibbling on several grains, making an echoing noise, “Pruck-pruck!”
Interestingly, the eye-catching animal fascinates him. If he would have owned this raven as a pet a long time ago, maybe he would not want to kill it, he thinks. The ravenous bird appears like she may symbolize a large extent of natural significance. This is the only animal that brings him joy, but that could not possibly be why he is seeing the bird now. So, he really thinks to himself, what does this bird symbolize?
“I’m … I’m going to name you Spooky,” he says and stares back at the ominous eyes of the animal, “Do you want some … some food?”
Spooky nods her head up and down in a quick fashion, making him eager to get food. He walks toward his door to open it and he is startled by the sight of his unemployed mother, Abbey. Her entire body is completely stiff, and she is standing in one position, glaring at him. Unsure if she is drunk from the usage of liquor or suffering from daily mood swings after the usage of narcotics, he stares back into her eyes. From this point, he is aware that she may attempt to harm him, but he does not want to harm his biological mother. She sidles to the right side, allowing him to walk out of his room, and he heads the direction of the bathroom.
Once he closes the door shut, he sighs at the mirror, drawing out a thick knife from his back pocket. He sits down on the lowered toilet seat and decides to squeeze the sharp edge of the knife with his right hand, refusing to make a breath that would express any sound of pain. As he pretends as if pain does not exist, he comprehends that pain surely does exist within him, but he simply enjoys the feeling of it. Bloodthirsty, he is, by taking a glimpse at the opened wound on his palm. Thus, he licks the blood from the flesh of the wound, hearing a disembodied voice of a young female, echoing in his ears.
The female voice says the same vitriolic words repeatedly, “She says she doesn’t like you…,” then, she laughs in a mischievous manner and says, “Wise voices speak through flames…”
He shudders and struggles to maintain control over his body, but he feels irate, wondering about why the disembodied voice is bothering him. Every word that the voice says feels as if it is actually provoking him, pinching him on the back of his neck. He drops his knife to the floor, staring at the plaster wall. A few seconds later, he falls from the toilet, then he stops shuddering, rising up to the sight of his own self in the mirror.
“Behold God’s mistake,” the disembodied voice says.
“Stop,” he yells, striking the mirror, cracking the glass, and says, “I … I talk to myself when I am alone. People do not comprehend. I mean, they just do not know how … how I feel. Me, my only hope. This cannot be my fault; not all of it can be my fault. Or can it be? If so, then a slew of people demanded their fate by my choice of actions. I cannot be crazy. …Crazy.”
As he looks into the mirror, the glass looks as if it is turning darker by every second. He can see his dismal expression, his black, curly hair, his brown eyes, his black, flannel T-shirt, having an eyeball above a red rose, and his dark, blue jeans. Due to the position of the mirror, the reflection does not expose his black shoes. It appears as if his body is trembling the longer he gazes, but in reality, he is hallucinating. Shortly after, he leaves the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him, pretending as a strong gust of wind did it.
Ryan looks in front of him, seeing a vacant path. His mother must be downstairs, he thinks. So, he makes a decision of turning to his right, and from his peripheral vision, he can see a fly wandering pass the reddish-brown, square-shaped baluster, directing at his jaw. Making an attempt to swat the fly, he misses, walking down the creaky, wooden stairs. All seems normal as he walks down the stairs, which is until he spots his mother in the kitchen, doing the dishes. He was always forced to do the dishes, and as he watches her clean the dirty plates from the sink, he is in a mixture of shock and confusion.
Suddenly, several nits fly out of the faucet, and he is unsure if his psyche has existence. It is just another hallucination that is deceiving him from reality, and he becomes aware of it. He approaches his mother and swiftly, she turns around with a tight grip on a sharp kitchen knife. He realizes that it is aimed just two inches from his jugular. Thus, he jumps up in terror, and he is aware that he could have been killed by the paranoid behavior his unpredictable mother. If she would have stabbed him, obviously, his blood would have squirted on her blue, silk, ruffled blouse, some of the blood would have squirted on her dark, blue, jeans, and some of the blood would have squirted on her white shoes. He can see his mother squint her eyes with a hateful glare. As he thinks about walking backwards, remaining in complete silence, she then hesitates to communicate, lowering the sharp knife from his throat.
“Don’t you ever sneak up on me, you worthless, good for nothing shit,” she yells knowing that he was surreptitiously moving behind her with a reason, “You are dumbfounded by the piece of trash that you are, you putrid entity. Just …when it turns six O’ clock, I need you to get my narcotics. If you promise to do that, I will promise you that your girlfriend can stay over here.”
Deeply, he breathes for a quick moment, shivering uncontrollably out of utter rage, “She’s not … not my girlfriend! I do all that I can around here. What have you done ever since you’ve been hooked on drugs, drinking all night? Now, I live with a fucking … fucking whore for a mother, a hag struggling to pay off her own damn bills!”
With a face of concern, she says, “Don’t you cuss in this house!”
She pushes him against the wall, which causes his head to smack, nearly dislocating his medulla oblongata. He falls to the tiled floor weeping with blood on the back of his injured head. She fails to rue what she did, and she immediately drags him by his legs in the direction of the stove. Then, she opens the oven door, clutching his wounded right palm, positioning it on the door. As a result, he yells in agony, feeling the temperature of the oven door, which had been placed on 500 degrees for approximately ten minutes, cooking a seasoned turkey.
“Don’t you ever call me a whore! If it ever happens again, there will be dire consequences,” she says as she raises his bruised palm from the oven door, glaring at him with scorn, “Promise me that you will get the narcotics.”
Immediately, he makes a shrill yell in unforgiving anger, loathing what just occurred, “I promise!”
She lets go of his hand, and she allows him to endure the pain, and think about why she harmed him, but he fails to think about what she recently did, thinking about another event. So, she chuckles, leaving the harrowing scene as he lies on the floor, gasping for air with glistening tears that trickles down his cheeks. It could have been a lot worse; he could have received a bullet to an opened wound or perhaps an event like six days ago, when he was tied up, naked in a bath tub. As he can remember, he was sitting down on his knees, struggling to break the ropes, but they were too tight. Cold water filled the slippery tub, and she lowered his head into the water, nearly drowning him before raising his head above it. Instead of receiving a bullet, he can remember her jerking a belt from her blue jeans, then lashing at his back nine times. The welts grew on his back, and she laughed in the same volume as she is currently laughing at him.
That memory affects the way he feels about his mother even more. Out of many of his thoughts, it is a thought that will never be deleted from his mind, unless he suffers from amnesia. It was an unnecessary action to take place. So, the punishment made him feel deserving of it, giving him life-altering intentions of harming people. He knows this is enough abuse that is making him want to retaliate, but never can he imagine striking his own mother.
At least he has the opportunity of seeing his best friend, Nicki Love Ashes, but she only lives next-door. Regardless of the possibilities of the female he faithfully dreams about arriving soon, he feels like he permanently loss his dignity. He is in the state of inamorata thinking that she may cease liking him. How can he overcome this adversity? Throughout the two weeks that he has known her, she always seems to know the right things to say that will make him feel so much better. Only if he is brave enough to inform her how much she really meant to him, but one day, he just might be.
His domineering mother finally left the house, which eases some of his stress. Although she left, he cannot avoid thinking about how much he is upset with how she is involved in his life. He simply hates the fact that he is told to clean the house nonstop until she arrives home. And the fact that when she arrives home, he is forced to remain upstairs in his bedroom while other people his age are engaging in fun activities, for example: attending concerts and attending parties. While other people at his exact age are enjoying their youth, he realizes that he is busy being homeschooled by his mother. It may be a terrible condition to live like this, but he is adapted to the lifestyle.
It occurs to him that Spooky is still hungry. He rises up and reacts to the bloody wound in the back of his head with a sigh. Refusing to open the refrigerator with his wounded hand, he uses his opposite hand. What could Spooky’s last name be, he thinks, while takes out a transparent container full of eggs. Igniting in rage, he does, limping up the stair with the container.
By the time he enters his room, he can see Spooky ejecting a silver, stainless, snake-shaped, pendant from her beak. The pendant is attached to a silver, stainless chain. It is a miracle, but how could this actually be happening? Is spooky really that intelligent to offer him a precious necklace? It seems too great to exist as something real, so he walks toward the window, opening it. The necklace has not disappeared yet, and he worries if it might.
He clutches the necklace while gazing at it in amazement. It feels like the moment of a great dream that results into a phase. Because he appreciates the necklace so much, he opens the lid to the transparent container, taking out an egg. He then places the egg outside of the window and shuts it, feeling guilty. He feels guilty of accepting an expensive necklace.in exchange for an egg. Spooky pecks the egg and a dead chick is in it. The carcass is the resurrected and moving around. This has to be impossible, but witnessing this experience personally tells him differently.
Again, Ryan leaves his room, heading downstairs to take a red, luscious apple from the refrigerator, but before he can take the apple, he spots a gossamer web beside it. He ignores the web as if it fails to exist, and he allows the refrigerator door to shut by itself. By the time he takes a bite from the apple, a hairy leg of a tarantula erupts outward. Now, one of the eight of the tarantulas legs are missing. He panics, and he immediately drops the noisy apple, spitting the rest of it out, absolutely, disgusted from what he took a bite at. Because of the fact that he has “arachnophobia,” which is a fear of spiders, he does not believe that he will sleep tonight, especially knowing that he suffers from insomnia.
Several disembodied voices then communicate to him while echoing in his sensitive ears, “The walls are staring at me…”
In an automatic fashion, he rushes out of his room, running directly into the bathroom, rinsing his mouth out with fresh, cold water. He opens the cabinet door and seizes a transparent glass of prescription pills. The pills are circulating inside the glass causing him an indescribable emotion of fright. So, he hopes that the weirdness will go away, as he opens the lid, without hesitation. Before he can even put the pill in his mouth, he hears several voices speaking to him, echoing around his surroundings, “You have to listen to me. Her body is in cement. … The moon is falling. They’re watching you. You’re going to die.”
This is in fact his worse hallucination from this point in time. He swallows the pill and wonders of why he has to suffer so many hallucinations. And unlike his quarrelsome mother, he is not even addicted to drugs. Never have he even asked for such a disability, but he is forced to experience life with it. At some times, it is like an unending illness, confusing him from what is happiness and what is sadness.

Chapter 2
Obsession

It is the afternoon, and Ryan is possessing unremitting thoughts about his best friend, Nicki. He only knew her for two weeks, and he is obsessed with her, especially by knowing that she is the same age. Nervous, he is, for the last thing he wants her to realize is that he is indeed a delinquent, relishing everything about her. Not only does he appreciate her beauty, but beyond that, he appreciates her personality. Only if he could replace his delusional memories with the habit of peace and joy, but that is not the case. Her existence is a foretaste of heavenly love.
Thinking passionately about her, Ryan does, sitting on the side of his bed, taking out a black binder, which contains several photographs of her. Her gorgeous life-altering, photogenic pictures sends him a special feeling as if it is his birthday, and he is about to unwrap his present, excited about the mystery inside. He could honestly faint right now and die in a coma, and he would not be disappointed about the last thing he saw. She is an impeccable person to him, which gives him the strange thought that if he wants to be at least half as loving as she is to his emotions, he must be better than nearly everyone combined on Earth.
Obsessively, from the title of a poem “Lovely Words,” he speaks every word that he writes, “I miss you like the clouds above a bottomless hill. Avoiding you is like trying to bypass the wind. Oh, my divine angel, you’re my one and true thrill. When I’m finish speaking, will you become more than a friend?”
“I’m a wingless butterfly overcrowded by bees. Together, we can swat them away and leave the rest to shove. I’m waiting for you by the nearest of dead trees. Forever be mine, my love, and that you’ll always be of.”
“Cheating is an exception for deception. If you reject me, I’m living in the myth of love. Be mine, and cherish your lovely reception. We’ll unite, and we’ll be forever, always above.”
Again, he looks at the aesthetic pictures of Nicki. He looks at them as if it is actually her breathing. The artistic idea of creating a handmade, life-sized sculpture of her germinates in his mind. One day he shall create the sculpture; he wants the object not just for decoration, but an eye-catching object for him to cherish forever. Lucky, he feels to even possess her pictures, for she gave him them as something to make him smile. In one specific picture, he gazes at her heart-shaped face, mostly mesmerized by her wet, brown hair that is in a cascade of curls from her head slightly below her shoulders, her dark, chocolate colored eyes, and her soft, red colored lips.
He then proceeds speaking about what he writes as he hears his voice echo, “Some days may contain a halt even when it’s not your fault, my love. I cannot lie to you, for I love you ever so much, and whenever I think of you, the voice in my mind goes up an octave higher than what is considered normal. A whisper among a tale equals a new hell. You are my goal, and if you are sorry, I am sorry that you are sorry. Words are like birds that fly in the air, some are black and some are rare. Don’t let them keep you away from me; I need you, my everything. With you, I shall cherish before I perish. I won’t let you go. How should I ever tell you how much I need you? You are my life. We met two weeks ago, and is this the right time, you are always on my mind. No, I have to stay confident, I am right for you—I know it.”
Remaining focused on what he writes, he reads loudly, “How could I ever forget your birthday when I know it’s on Valentine’s Day? You’re a sophisticated person capable of accomplishing absolutely everything you desire. You’re an optimistic, elegant, and divine female, worthy of my existence. I can only hope to gain a mutual relationship with you,” he refrains from putting down the writing implement.
“You’re a voluptuous gem and a beloved female. You’re someone who makes me feel like I’m worthy to have a life. It’s you, the one, and only person who makes me smile in bliss, feeling complete felicity within myself. Your caring overshadows my thoughts.”
Then, he turns the page and writes, “What’s the sound of rustling leaves compared to a fluttering bird wandering a scorching fire? If I could change, I’d rather have my fate with peace instead of harms way. Sometimes, I feel like a child, confined in a murky basement, each day, forced to gnaw on apples from a container. I need to not be controlled and with the feeling that shackles are on my wrists and ankles.”
He then closes his binder after saying, “I’m a raindrop searching for the raindrop for me. Out of all the raindrops in the world, I’m focused on you. Together, we must create a heart.”
Suddenly, he looks through the clear window surprised to see over a hundred nocturnal bats enshrouding a dead tree with a gloomy sky in the background Just when he thought that his hallucinations went away for today, it is clear that they did not. Certainly, it seems to still be bothering him, nearly being his primary reason for anger. The primary thing which irritates him is every second that he spends without his best friend, Nicki. Without her, he indeed grows a higher level of visceral anger, feeling vulnerable to the passionate rage. He tries to avoid the thought of her, but it is a major addiction that he cannot get rid of. As he stares out of the clear window to look specifically at the bats, he blinks, getting up to then look at the ghastly sky, seeing the clouds plummet inches above the house. After he blinks, he realizes that the clouds never fell but still, the necklace that was ejected from spook’s mouth is around his neck. He then wraps is arms around his ears as he yells in sheer terror. The terror of these continuous hallucinations seem to advance to the point where it seems more of reality before he is fooled. For an unknown reason of what he knows, from both sides of the sensitive ears, he bleeds. Only if he had just experienced a nose bleed instead, he thinks.
None of these peculiar happenings can be real, except for his mother’s actions, and the necklace that he is wearing. There minus well be invisible gunshots speeding through his room, but there are not. The mind of his gives him constant messages that sometimes makes it complex for him to know if he is telepathic, but he doubts it in order to focus on not performing negative unnecessary actions, which are performed by false beliefs. Will he ever receive useful sleep from the awful occurrences? One thing is for sure, when he socializes with Nicki, he will feel better.

Two Hours Later

Nicki is sitting on the side of Ryan’s bed patiently waiting for him to exit the bathroom, and he is secretly scared. He feels like he must impress her every shared second he gets, which makes him utilize his time to calm down. In order to return to her with a focused mind, he imagines that she loves him. The imagination seems real enough that for a couple of seconds, he mistakenly believes that he is betrothed to her. When he opens the door to his room, he is stunned by her beauty, as always. He wonders if it is possible for him to spend the rest of his life with her. Also, he wonders if it is more of a possibility for him to live a reclusive life. If it takes for him to wait until he is older to date her, he would be affected emotionally with temporary sadness of the deepest type.
Hopefully, his fallacious hallucinations will not ruin his chances of building a solidifiable relationship with her. Obviously, she is gorgeous, and is irresistible to his amazed eyes. He can notice her long, black, and curly hair from the front with a ponytail from the back. Also, he can notice her dark, brown eyes, and athletic body. If his eyes did not fool him yet, her height appears to be 5’ 8”, her bra size is a 36-c, and her weight is 175 lbs. She is wearing a ruffled, knitted, velvet shawl with short, ripped sleeves, black jeans with a pocket chain, and black, leather galoshes. A callous person he is not, for he digs in his right pocket to hand her the necklace that he discovered earlier. Trying not to stare at her beauty, he battles his own eyes, seeing a fallacious hallucination of her wearing a black mantilla. Finding a temporary solution to prevent himself from crying in front of her beauty, he avoids staring at her for too long. Her beauty petrifies him as he stares into her eyes unsure of what she could be thinking by every second.
As he gazes in her lovely eyes, he says, “You won’t believe how I found it. Earlier, a raven flew outside of my … my window, and emptied it from its mouth. When I first saw it I thought about giving it to you.”
“Is that a joke?”
While squinting his eyes and wiping the wetness that can fall down his face, he says, “I’m serious. I literally saw a raven give me that necklace. You can have it,” he says with fear, for if this one gift will not satisfy her to the extent necessary for him, he desires to give her cloying gifts instead.
“Now, I feel like I owe you. Thank you so much. Listen, for as long as I’ve know you, I understand that you’ve been through a lot of stress. If you ever want, you have my full permission to stay over my house,” she says as she places the necklace around her neck. Her offer is tempting. As she rises from the bed, he hesitates to say a word, feeling as if something is preventing him from breathing. It is as if the stem of a black rose is extending out of his bellybutton, and he is confused deeply if he should pull it outward. The feeling of the experience nearly deceives him into reality, which causes him to see the stem of the rose extending outward from his bellybutton.
Finally, he speaks, finding air to breath in, saying, “I should be … be thanking you.”
“No need to,” she says as she gives him a sober expression, “Just knowing you is thanking enough.”
“Really, you didn’t have to…”
She interrupts him and in sarcasm, she says, “Spank me or thank me!”
Hearing those humorous words makes his heart suffer irregular beats at approximately 45 beats per minute. It is an unhealthy rate for his heart to be beating in, but after hearing the woman whom soothes his soul speak in such an innocuous way to him, for those three minutes, his heart pumps. It is real, she is still looking at him with a mesmerizing smile, but how should he respond to what she said? Only if she knew how lucky he feels right now, then she would comprehend how much she really means to him, he thinks again. Already, he wants to cuddle up with her in the bed to experience with his hands, touch on her smooth skin, nuzzle her head, and kiss her passionately, only after gazing in her mesmerizing eyes.
It is just his imagination. He could fantasize about her forever living off of her attractive smile, wishing that he strongly felt like a debonair man. If she is not entirely pleased with his life, what would be the purpose of him smiling, for it is difficult for him to form a smile anyway, he thinks. It occurs to him that he must say something to her before it seems as if he is obsessed with her. Because intertwining with her is his usual dream, he knows for an immutable fact that he is obsessed, admiring everything about her. Clearly, to Ryan, she is undoubtedly the epitome of miraculous love.
“I think that I’d rather spank you,” he says in sarcasm, “I’m just joking. Honestly. I’m not that type of person…”
She gives him an odd look as if she is deeply offended by his flirtatious comment. He then panics wondering if what he had just said was literally an offensive comment that is bothering her. It is a relief, she chuckles. He feels like sighing, but he is too intimidated by her presence to show his worrying. Then, he takes shallow breaths, sits down on the side of the bed, and faces the window, pretending as if her smile did not relieve the process of his worrying.
As she sits beside him, he can hear the sound of several more disembodied voices speaking to him, echoing once again, “It’s coming.”
Ignoring the voices, he says to Nicki, “Can you tell me something that I don’t know about you already?”
“Just three years older than me, I have two adopted brothers, (Mathew and Gregory). Ezekiel is in Lubini, Nepal while Joshua is in Nazareth, Israel. I have a twin sister; her name is Heather, and she was never adopted. She died six years ago as a runaway child. … She was raped, beaten brutally, and her body was found on local train tracks. Shortly after, her killer was found, and he was rightfully placed in prison, being murdered the next morning with a knife stuffed inside his rectum. … I know a lot about you, Ryan. Like how you had a deformed heart ever since you were born, how you had a baby-sitter five years ago, how your mother is a single parent, furious over her terrible relationships of the past, taking it out on you. So, she would not stop being an alcoholic, and she continued her drug addiction, abusing you, daily.”
Ryan is shocked at what she just said, and he is speechless for three seconds, “How do you know that? How much do I know about you?”
“I’m psychic. Everything that I told you is the truth, don’t worry,” she then makes a sarcastic comment by saying, “I’m still your next-door neighbor…”
“This can’t be real,” he tries denying what he heard.
“It’s real enough. Do your voices threaten you now? Listen, I understand how it feels to be taken advantage of. When I was thirteen, I was forced to gnaw on a container full of apples as my only food.”
“We sleep in the most silent rain ere walking in the most given distain,” says the voices, thus, he ignores them, making a concerned face, uncertain if he should believe Nicki’s words, saying, “Really?”
“Yes, and I wasn’t born with this ability. When I was thirteen, I was walking home from school one day, and thunder struck me from the foggy sky, which was right before a heavy rainfall occurred. I was left unconscious for three hours, and when I finally woke up, I was temporarily blind for five minutes. After that, I realized my psychic ability. That was the same day that I knew that my twin sister was dead. Ever since I developed this ability, I knew that I could help you, somehow, in the best way that I can. One thing you need to realize is that I moved around this specific area waiting for you—my soul mate. And you don’t have to worry about your mother, her fate is coming up.”
“Do you know how weird this sounds? Why should I trust you? What fate?”
In a calm voice, she says, “Because lying to you would be an exception for deception. The fate of your mother will result in death. I’m informing you so that you can be prepared.”
He places his hand over his forehead and sighs in the air, “I showed my binders to nobody.”
“I’ll give you time to think about this. Trust me, if I had a much faster and better way of telling you all of this, I would’ve done it.”
Because he knows that she possesses enough spunk to reveal personal information to him, what should he do? How should he think, and if he can successfully think, is it a virtuous thought? When he thinks deeply about it, he fails to believe that there is a known fact of what is virtue, for he has a labyrinth, choosing the path of his own view of what he strongly believes it is. Will his mother die? If his mother dies, in what way, and to what extent may it affect him, he thinks.
Nicki speaks, “Right now, you’re thinking if you should believe that I can love you, when it should be an irrefutable fact that I already do. You’re also thinking about what you did to your baby-sitter, April. You wish you did more to her. You wanted to decapitate her, empty her insides, and place them with pebbles. All that would’ve been left for you to do was sew her flesh back together.”
“What am I thinking now,” Ryan says with fear in his voice.
“That Earth is hells collision. I’m here though, so why should it be considered hell? It can’t be hell, and you know it.”
“That’s scary. Ummm… I don’t know what exactly to think right now. Do you know everything about me?”
“No, I know a lot though. The longer I’m around you, the more I know.”
“What do you want to do?” I want to take you somewhere, but it’s a secret. It’s your choice if you want to trust me.”
“Why can’t you tell me?”
“Because. … I really want it to be a surprise. You like surprises. Do you trust me?”
“You’re the psychic, you tell me. Haven’t you surprised me enough?”
 He refrains from smiling, and he exits his room. Just discovering that his best friend has an abnormal ability causes him to think and get extremely curious of who Nicki Love Ashes really is. Besides him knowing that she is a superhuman being, he knows that she may be a secretive person, ready to harm him. Without a doubt in his mind, it is a terrifying feeling for him to even predict what may transpire. Maybe she can be trusted by him as he travels to the unknown destination with her, but by then, he would be frightened to know if he would be humiliated by her from a bunch of rude teenagers laughing at him as a believer of a cruel joke.
“Kill,” the disembodied voices yell into his ears, echoing in his surroundings.
She follows Ryan downstairs and says, “Trust me.”
He hesitates to turn around feeling the caressing wind blowing from the living room window. Once he looks into her eyes, he feels extremely guilty for walking out of the room without saying anything. She seems too innocent for him to continue to think of her possible desires to hurt him mentally and physically. If she has premeditated schemes directed at him, he is willing to take that risk, for he trusts her. He refuses to listen to the voices that bothers him and refuses to believe that she can oppose him.
“She’s the killer,” the voices say to him.
She then speaks, “Perfection is just blindness blocking reality. Those voices that you are hearing are deceiving you.”
“I know. I,” he struggles to speak, “It just felt so. … So, real. … I trust you.”
“Well, let’s not waste any time then.”

Unknown Forest

It only took eleven minutes to get to this place. There is a murky forest with mostly dead trees. Nicki is leaning against a hollow tree feeling the humid environment, and staring at Ryan as he takes a glimpse at her black motorcycle, with a kick start. He then looks around his surroundings with a vibe that someone else is watching him, but he fails to know who it can possibly be. The only person who he can see is Nicki, the perky woman who drove him specifically in this area on a motorcycle. He is about to open his mouth to speak, but she speaks before he gets the opportunity to.
“Ryan, here’s my B.F.F., Ashley Welmers,” she points her finger, which is directed behind her.
Ashley ambles out of the darkness with a black cap above her short, dark, blue, and spiky hair. Ryan notices that Ashley has a silver piercing on her right nostril, a black T-shirt, dark, blue camouflage trousers, and black, leather shoes. Her appearance is similar to Nicki’s, but her appearance is only similar to a small extent, which can makes him possess strong feelings also for her. She has black eyes glistening from the livid moon. Also, she has a frown that can depress nearly anyone’s day, showing in her changing expressions. Her appearance definitely affects Ryan’s mood. Just when he had faith that this day would not disappoint him, he is now sure that it will, until she gives him an air kiss on his right cheek and the opposite side.
“Sup? So, Nicki, what’s been going on? So, this is the man you’ve been talking about all the time,” she talks to Nicki, then she faces Ryan with a smile, and she says, “So this is the man you’ve always been talking about. Hello Ryan. It’s a pleasure to meet you…”
“Hello Ashley. It’s a pleasure to meet you too.”
“I’d kill to smoke something right about now, does he smoke,” she asks Nicki.
“Of course not,” she responds and says, “I apologize Rye-bear, Ashley’s just still upset that her mother died from an unknown illness three months ago, and two days after, her father was murdered in a robbery in her home.”
For an unknown reason, he can imagine where Ashley was when her father was gruesomely murdered. Never did he imagine something that he recently heard that seems so real. He can imagine Ashley hiding in the closet watching seven anonymous men assaulting her father. The men were dressed in all dark attire, and they all had black masks on their faces. Her father was shot in the head, but he was breathing afterwards. In a slow manner, he rose his head up as a struggle to not die, but unfortunately, he was shot two more times to the temple.
“Why didn’t you prevent it from happening?”
“The vision comes to me at unexpected times and sometimes, I don’t get the visions that I want. I have no control over them. I may see what have happened from the past, what is currently happening in the present, and what may happen in the future.”
Hearing this information puts him in awe. He is daunted by what transpired, but the day is not over yet. More weird happenings will certainly occur, and he knows it. Only if he was psychic instead of schizophrenic, he thinks. That way, he might use the ability to achieve everything he wants. Maybe the only reason that he was capable of imagining Ashley’s father’s death is because the adorable female with the agile mind, Nicki, wanted him to.
“I don’t mean to be a jerk, but you should’ve known.”
Nicki sighs and says, “How could I if I’m normal until I receive a vision? I seriously didn’t know. And I didn’t give you a ride over here so that we could chat about this.”
Curiously, he questions her, saying, “Well, what did you…”
She interrupts him and says, “If I don’t see you, it’s complete calamity. I can drink your crimsonness gaining more amity. Feel the passion of mine aiming at you. The imperishable lust between us two…”
Making a slow walk toward him, she gazes into his eyes. He looks around his surroundings, and Ashley is nowhere to be found. Panicking, he does, believing that something is wrong. He receives an awful vibe, but ignores it, continuing to look at him. Matters get even odder, for he witnesses the dead trees wandering the area, shaking the ground. He could mistake the ground movements for a severe earthquake as the tangible wind hits him. The trees then enclose the area.
“What’s going on? Where did Ashley go?”
“She’s behind the trees sauntering to a convenience store.”
“Your love calcifies my bones. I love you,” he says as a deer walks pass him, which was a few inches away from him.
The scent of her breath passes his nostrils smelling like natural herbs, “I love you too. Ever since I was six-years-old, I would race Ashley in these woods, and we would share are secrets. I brought you here so that we can create a memory here.”
They kiss passionately as they wander toward a hollow tree leaning against it. He rubs against her delicate cheeks, and he touches her hair, watching her shut her eyes. Now, he knows that she is comfortable with him. She may be comfortable, but he is surely uncomfortable, knowing that Ashley can be observing his every movement. After kissing her, he then moves his face back and speaks.
“How do I know if Ashley isn’t over here?”
“The trees never moved, my love. She’s just making a quick phone call. So, she won’t return until twenty minutes.”
I thought you just said that she was behind…”
“Relax,” she interrupts him to say.
“I’ll try,” he says and takes a deep breath from the nature.
They make another deliberate attempt to kiss passionately. As they kiss, their affection increases. Her tangible lips are unquestionably amazing to him, giving him a nervous feeling that he simply cannot explain in words. He feels pleased to even be in the same presence as her. Never will he forget this sentimental moment, and he definitely does not want the moment to go away. Thus, their kiss is not short, and their powerful feelings for one another are magnifying.

Chapter 3
Faith

Ryan just got done purchasing a white, plastic bag full of narcotics from a stranger. He then places the bag on the kitchen counter for his mother’s enjoyment, and he head out of the house, locking the door behind him. It is already six O’ Clock, and he is desperate to enter his girlfriend’s house. Before he can even knock on the door, she opens it, excited to see him. Truly, every time he sees her with a smile, he smiles back, feeling as if it is the first time he is looking at her.
As he steps inside of the house and closes the door, she says, “Tell me you love me. You know I love you.”
In a calm voice, he says in return, “I have faith that you love me. I love you so, very much.”
“Oh, I do know that. Our love is eternity and nothing less.”
“I love you like the light in the stars. Why are some sections of the Earth divided by rules of stupidity? For example, in some areas, the public display of affection is considered unlawful behavior. The world would function easier with equal rules, but since authorities want divide rules, it only teaches immoral competition for global power.”
“Many members of authority figures are susceptible to crowded beliefs. They sometimes believe that they can come to a full agreement on various subjects… Missing you is like you’re ditching a wedding and a funeral. Chat in my room. My friend is busy meditating in the basement.”
He did not even recognize that he is in the living room. His full attention was on her the entire time, and he darts his head around the living room. As a result, he sees the following things: an upright piano behind a black couch, a glass table stacked with Ashley’s Real Estate Papers for owning buildings in front of the couch, a silver chandelier directly above the table, a silver, flat-screen television that is hung on the plaster wall, a circular, black lamp, white candles sitting near the window, and a black, shaggy rug over a grey carpet. Already, the house gives him a welcoming feeling. He then follows her to her bedroom door and from the kitchen, Ashley is exiting the murky basement, walking behind them.
Again, he can hear voices speaking to him, but this time, he hears over seven different people, “Listen to me! She’s lying! You liar!
A lively Dalmatian comes out of the kitchen and cuddles against Nicki’s left leg. She pats the dog on her back, picks her up, and kisses her on the head. From this point, the dog jumps out of her arms, landing in his. Although he dislikes dogs, this is now his favorite dog, but he is jealous of the time the dog spends with her, which makes him want to throw it across the room out of utter rage. Instead of harming a living organism, he then pats the dog, and he asks his girlfriend a question.
“What’s her name?”
She responded, “Millie. She’s five-years-old in human years.”
“I had a Dalmatian named Millie. That’s weird…”
“You must be kidding me. … Well, are you, huh? And what happened to her? She didn’t deserve it,” she says in a sharp temper, “She deserved none of the ways she was treated!”
“Okay. I think that’s enough for now, “Ashley says, “I thought you were going to play the piano.”
“I’ll get to that,” she responds.
He says to Nicki, “If I knew you a long time ago, I never would’ve harmed a thing. … What do you expect me to say? I’m sorry about what I did.”
“Be sorry,” she says, and enters the room, closing the door shut.
It is shocking to him that his girlfriend would get upset about a past occurrence. Was he really wrong for what he have done, he thinks to himself. His eyes turn watery, but he refuses to wipe them. He then heads into the living room sitting down on the couch with intense anger, inhaling and exhaling from his nostrils roughly. Ashley sits beside him, trying to calm him down by talking to him.
It’ll be okay. She just hates the bad actions you do, not you.”
I know that. Having her mad at me is worse than every killer in the cosmos gawking at me. She’s the cornerstone of my happiness. It’s just that I thought she forgave me for my past. Let me ask you a question. What’s your worse fear?”
She hesitates to respond, “Imperfection.”
“Atelophobia. So, you strive for the best in life. What happens if you don’t get the best?”
“I would try to improve myself until I can. It’s a very unpleasant feeling if I am not perfect in what I may do.”
“She nods her head up and down, and she then says, “You must have gotten straight A’s in high school.”
“That’s correct. My parents would beat me if I didn’t. They were locked up for harming me. Nicki told the police. I was fifteen at that time, and I was struggling to live on my own, getting paid minimum wage as a full time waitress. Now, I’m eighteen, and I’m a car saleswoman.”
“Straight A’s. You’re a sycophant. Do you know that? Nicki’s fear is herself. That what she said.”
“I am not,” she says feeling offended, “Maybe. What do you fear?”
“Love. … And I’m living it. I hope I met her criteria.”
She laughs and turns on the television with the remote, which may indicate that she is attempting to cease the conversation, but there is no luck ending it. There is an electrical interference with the television. Ryan notices that the area is turning dark. He rushes off the couch to look out the window, thus, he sees a full moon descending from the sky, getting closer to the roof. From his peripheral vision, he sees a dark figure vanishing in his presence.
The darkness then goes away, and in a desperate manner, he looks to his side, seeing nobody. Ashley remains sitting on the couch, and she sighs, turning off the television, looking at him. His body is stiff, but he sits back down, trying his best to relax on the couch. It seems impossible for him to feel relaxed, especially knowing that his girlfriend is upset. Sadly, he has a horrifying thought that his problems may increase.
The voices return speaking into his ears, “Tremble, my dear onyx mind. … Expose my burgundy sign. However will I find? And capture what’s mine?”
She speaks, “Do you have any hobbies?”
“I can draw. I write poems. Don’t you know all of this since Nicki told you about me?”
“Yeah, I just like speaking to you. I would enjoy seeing your talents. Can you show me?”
“Not right now. My head hurts. What about you? What are your hobbies, talents, or whatever you want to call them?”
“I am a ventriloquist. I can perform magic tricks. I recently learned to paint. Oh, and if this counts as a hobby or a talent, I am addicted to Real Estate. I plan on owning a lot of property one day and investing in my money to make more money from doing different things.”
“Interesting, well, you can teach me how to paint. I would appreciate that.”
“My pleasure. Whenever you’re ready,” she says while chuckling.
Evidently, talking to her is not making him feel any better, because he really wants to talk to his girlfriend. If he cannot continue his relationship, he would rather be cremated and placed in a sarcophagus. Being with her makes him an ecstatic person. How often will she get upset with him, he wonders. Experiencing his mood alternate between elation and despair over and over again will definitely affect him in the future. What will be the main emotion that he feels from her? If it is stress, can he endure it, always trusting his girlfriend to be there for him throughout tenacious problems?
The ostensible purpose why he is in the living room is because of his uncontrollable disappointment, but the real reason is because he is in deep fear of his girlfriend, and he possesses a thought that she may despise him for his harsh actions of the past. It is the fear that he is in that makes him believe that she could inflict bodily harm on him, but when he thinks to himself, although his problems may become worse, at least they are not. Although he was born with a deformed heart, he remains living, but he questions himself, fearing the thought that she lacks caring about any of his disabilities. He could have been suffering from erectile dysfunction due to him having bipolar and schizophrenia, which would lessen his emotions, possibly causing his libido to not function properly. Thinking about all of this increases his dissatisfaction, which makes him want to leave the house without saying one word. Trying to communicate with his girlfriend can make the situation worse, and since that is a possibility that he is afraid to take, he makes the decision to speak to Ashley again, but in a miserable voice.
“I’ll be back in five minutes.”

Five Minutes Later

Nicki is exiting the kitchen holding a glass of red liquid. She takes a sip and walks toward the couch, sitting beside her best friend. Then, she clutches the remote from the glass table, and she turns on the television, seeing that the new is on. This is the exact same moment that Ryan knocked on the door and it catches her attention. She rises from the couch opening the door to see him holding a black binder.
He tries to apologize for his comment about earlier, “Sorry if I made you angry. I didn’t mean it.”
“It’s okay,” she says as he walks in the house.
She then closes the door and he speaks, “Can you play your piano for me? I’m just really eager to see you play it.”
After hearing his voice, with confidence, Nicki walks toward the piano and comfortably sits down on the wooden piano bench. Then, she places her glass above the musical instrument. Taking slow deep breaths, she does, preparing herself to perform. Ashley then turns around and observes what is going on as Nicki finally plays the instrument in a sublime manner. The music soothes her boyfriend and she knows that she is talented enough to do so.
Trilling with her voice, she sings with emotion, “Full moon, soothing wind, and rustling leaves. Night sky, city lights, and speeding cars. From a rooftop, she stares and grieves. Constant thoughts, bruises, and scars.”
“The stars are watching her, don’t be shy. They don’t wanna’ see, take her out this misery. The scars are taking her, baby don’t cry. You don’t even know; it was meant to be.”
“Hidden like the shadows of the rain. Fading and sobbing in tears. Trying not to go insane. Hurt for all these years. A whisper joins a scream. She can see the star. As what it may seem. There is no scar.”
She had an astonishing voice that galvanized him to nearly cry and played the piano like a professional pianist. He gazes at her sweet face. Her voice was perfect to his ears. If he could listen to her sing him that song every day for the rest of his life, he would never grow tired of it. While his mind is focused on the song that she stopped playing, his mind is in profound shock when Ashley points a gun at the back of his head, pushing him against the piano with force. Nicki giggles, “Don’t kill him. We were just making progress.”
“What are you doing,” Ryan yells in innocence.
“Did you honestly think that I would want to have anything to do with you? You raped an innocent woman, and you murdered her. You then killed a dog. I am an animal lover, and my mind is telling me that you were never capable of loving me. Yes, you have experienced the myth of love.”
Ryan suffers quick flashbacks of the past. The flashbacks are hallucinations. Like when he saw two dark figured people standing behind a black shower curtain and they vanished before he had the chance of opening it. Another flashback is when he saw an expensive chandelier that fell to the living room floor. The next flashback is about bosoms nailed against his wall.
He exits his past memories seeing over a hundred insects surrounding the couch and a gun aimed at his forehead. Ashley teases him with the gun pretending as if she is bound to shoot him excessively. He drops his binders to the floor believing that he is going to depart. She then lowers the weapon and laughs with her best friend. It then occurs to him, it must have been a cruel joke.
“Baby, it’s just a joke,” she takes another sip from her glass then speaks to Ashley, “Nice work.”
In sarcasm, she says, “I know, right. I believe that Ryan needs to trust you a little bit more.”
He expresses himself, “How was that supposed to be funny. I thought …”
His girlfriend interrupts him, “Consider this as a lesson. If I were to use my ability for evil, you wouldn’t have lived this long. My friend and I would never harm you.”
“Ooh! Ooh! I have an idea,” Ashley says as she places the gun above the piano, “How about I read in Ryan’s binder, and you tell us what I’m reading?”
Before her friend can pick up the binder, and open it, Nicki quotes precisely what is written on the first page, “I don’t have to read it. I know exactly what it says throughout that entire binder. Page thirty-three, ‘Although I have been hugged, why should I receive a hug? Hugs are for affection to reveal the significance of caring. Why should I want to be touched even by a family member by just feeling their body parts, especially a female body part. I don’t want to feel that, and I damn sure don’t want the woman of my dreams to experience such a mind game, for her only affection shall be with me.
Still in a shocked state, he says, “This … this can’t be real. You’re not real. And what is your friend doing with a gun in the first place.”
She responds, “I’m as real as it gets. That gun is for you to shoot your mother. It’s fate. I can be the diamond on your bullet. If you don’t kill her, she’ll kill you, and I can never allow that to happen.”
“Why do I have to be the one to kill her? She’s my mother.”
“You have unfinished business with her. I’m only informing you of what will happen, tomorrow morning—I’m sorry. Decode the number seven thousand seven hundred and thirty-four. That’s your time.”
“No, my head hurts. This can’t be happening. I’m confused, and my head hurts. And it hurts to hurt, you know? Please, let’s not talk about that.”
“You will realize that it’s only fate. Page seventy five, ‘Why are animals mostly adored, especially cats and dogs? Some people find them more worthy of life than humans but also, some of the so called animal lovers would crush an insect within an instant second. Animals on earth have minds—most of them do. So, why aren’t the dogs trained to realize that humping is wrong. It’s a sexual habit, for even when a cat cuddles on you, it’s a sexual mind game for affection. I just won’t get caught up into it. It’s figured out, people claim that they love animals, based on how adorable they look.’”
“It’s creepy when you do that. I would appreciate it if you didn’t frighten me like that.”
“How else do you expect me to have fun?” Page twelve, ‘What’s the point of fighting when all your victim is bound to do is retaliate. The person is still breathing. Even if you kill, someone retaliates. Let them all suffer by creative minds, which are the innovators of complete death,’” Ryan heads to the bathroom closing the door shut as his girlfriend continues speaking, “So, the way I see it, if you’re not bound to murder someone, never act tough.”
In the bathroom, Ryan stares at himself in the mirror. Then, he hears an earsplitting sound of glass objects breaking around him, but he sees nothing breaking. This experience is causing him to lose his composure by constantly glancing around himself with perspiration trickling down his forehead. The uncanny hallucination gets worse. Is he ever going to feel normal, somehow, for he is deceiving with a vestige of truth.
His mother’s voice echoes in his ears, “Humor me. I said humor me! Always, you do the opposite of what I say. Your fears minus well be soaring the air hovering over me—like the rain. Your demise shall stop the rain.”
He makes a whimsical smile and laughs. From both sides of his eyes, tears then form. The laughter stops automatically, and he bewails his mother. More tears fall as he ponders about what he may have to do to her tomorrow. The thought affects him severely, but not as much as murdering her would. If this is being evil, then this is the greatest asset, he thinks.
Important questions are always bothering him, and he does not know the answers to them. How much of what he is seeing is actually real? Is he really capable of finding love? Will he ever feel secure? How will his future turn out to be? And before the day he dies, will he be proud of the progress that he made on Earth?
Those are the words which haunts him. It is complex for him to think about anything else at the moment except his gorgeous girlfriend. Can even his girlfriend be just his imagination, he then wonders, trying to deny the life-altering possibility. He is lucky to even realize that that he possesses schizophrenia. But, lucky, he fails to feel, having faith that very soon verisimilitude will occur. Then, unquestionably, he will no longer wonder if all he is seeing is literally just an imagination.
It occurs to him that somebody is knocking on the door. Immediately, he suppresses his crier and opens the door. Thus, he sees his girlfriend giving him an unforgiving look as if she detests him. It startles him, and she flinches, taking a couple steps back. Further confusing him, she pulls pieces of her hair with the both of her hands, glaring at him, and then cobwebs appear on the floor.
Never did she pull on her hair, and never did she glare at him. He is recognizing that she has a harmless face, but he has a deathlike face. He honestly feels as if she may be a domineering female taking advantage of him. Still, he has a problem trusting his girlfriend. If he cannot trust her, why is he in a relationship with her, he thinks. She is too irresistible to avoid, and he knows that regardless of deceiving occasions, there is a possibility that he can trust her.
“It’s going to be okay. Just relax. You just need to rest right now. And when you wake up, it’ll be better.”
He then walks into her room and quickly notices that the walls are obviously painted black. There is a canopy bed with purple, silk curtains. A black, wooden table beside the bed, a pair of sixty-pound dumbbells sitting underneath the bed, and a silver, flat-screen television hung on the wall is facing the bed. Near the window, there is a guinea pig from a cage, eating her nutrients from a silver bowl. There are white candles sitting on the closet shelf above her clothes. A black carpet matches the color of the walls and nearly blends in with several ghostly posters of vampires nailed on the wall. The room simply puts him in awe.
“Lie down,” she says.
Before he can make a sudden movement, Spooky’s shadow appears behind the black drapes of the clear window. She flaps her wings and eats the grains from outside. While she eats, he has a powerful vibe that this bird has a peculiar relationship with his girlfriend. Indeed, it is an odd feeling. He is curious and looks at her in disbelief. This cannot be his girlfriend’s first time seeing this bird, for her face looks absolutely normal.
As if she does not know the answer to her own question, she asks him, “Do you remember the story that I told you about my twin sister?”
“Yes. What about it?”
“Well, she was reincarnated. She lives in a bird’s body with her memory from her past life.”
Ryan shows skepticism and says, “I don’t believe that. I’m not sure if that’s possible…”
“You don’t have to believe. I believe that we all lived countless lives in the past. She told me about you.”
Wondering to himself, Nicki could not have lived in the past without dating someone that is not himself. If she did date someone else, was she even psychic. It occurs to him, she could not have been psychic, for in her current life, she was not born with such an incredible ability. Dating others in past lives would mean that he may not be the greatest person to fully satisfy her in a healthy relationship, when dead or alive, there is only one partner perfect enough for everyone. The frightening thought makes him wonder where she received such a belief in reincarnation, but he knows that she has her own organized views about the subject.
In a curious manner, he says, “What did she say?”
“She says she doesn’t like you. She’s just jealous that I have a boyfriend now.”
He can swear that when she said, ‘she says she doesn’t like you,’ the voice came through the celestial clouds. Trying to behave as if nothing had went wrong, he does, sitting down on the bed as if he is relaxed. It is another life-altering event, and he is shocked that he is not trembling uncontrollably from what he has heard. Slowly, he lowers his head down to his lap, then lies on his back. The bed is relaxing, but regardless of how relaxing it is, what has already transpired will remain in his awful memories.

Chapter 4
Disturbance

Ryan wakes up strapped to a wooden chair with a blurry vision. Desperately, he struggles to move his arms and legs, but the ropes are too tight. Preventing him from yelling loudly, black tape is wrapped around his mouth. He then realizes that blood is leaking from his forehead. His eyesight gets clear, and he realizes that it is in Nicki’s basement, which is beside a wooden table in the midst of the area. And the area is too dark for him to see much.
Out of hope, he tries to remember what may have happened before he was strapped to a chair. One of the only things that he can remember was resting on Nicki’s bed while Nicki lightly moves a sharp knife down his chest. He was shirtless, and regardless of his nagging pain, he did not have enough energy to yell. His fingers were lingering and blood sunk into the bed. As he can remember, shattered glass cluttered the bed, and he could see her forming a smirk above him, as his eyes closed in a slow manner. Lastly, he then heard her say, ‘Aren’t you excited? We’re gonna’ have some fun.’
While the chair he sits in feel like a rickety one, he sits in the basement, wondering if today is the day he shall die. A bright light flickers on. It shines in his eyes and, thus, he closes them, turning to the left, as if he possesses an unsavory face. As he groans, he tries to be wise by tilting the chair over with his weight, but he fails doing so. Then, he adjusts his eyes to the light and he notices that she is glaring at him. She had enough time to change her clothes, so for how long was he unconscious?
She has on a black corset made out of lace. The corset has a shoulder strap and a ruffled design below. He looks down, and he sees her black, fishnet stockings, and her black, leather heels. What she is wearing adds to her malicious look. No more is he skeptical of her personality, for she seems to possess a sinister one, which enhances a scary look to what she is wearing.
She removes the tape from his mouth and says, “I’m giving you until tomorrow morning to figure out why you’re in here. All of the clues you need to figure that mystery out is in this basement. If I come back down here, and you still don’t know why you’re down here, you’re dead.”
“Why are you doing this,” he says by questioning her, then he grunts as she turns around with her head lowered, “I did nothing wrong! Get me out here!”
“If you find the clues around this basement, only then will you have a full understanding,” she turns back around, “I just don’t want to believe it!”
“Believe what?”
“That’s for you to remember,” she says smirking.
“You never loved me, did you,” he pauses from speaking after seeing her smirk, “You murdered Ashley’s parents.”
“We made an oath to do so. You know, I’m tired of looking at you. What you did was far worse. I helped kill her parents only because her parents wanted her dead. Oh, yeah, don’t worry about your mother, Ashley will bring her in here, and you’ll have to kill her. There’s one more thing that I must do before I return.”
Footsteps are heard coming down the wooden stairs. It is Ashley, and she is wearing a white and red mask. The red on the mask is designed like blood, which oozed from many wounds. She has on a red blindfold also, and it is covering her eyes of the mask. Her tank top is white, and her jeans are red, blending with the same color of her shoes. She has a tight grip on a thick knife, and she thrusts it on the railing after each step she takes. The haunting sight of her sets a more demoralizing feeling within Ryan.
Nicki walks to the left of the basement and opens the bottom drawer to a black, wooden dresser. He worries from the chair as she takes out red pliers. Yelling in terror, he does, but he is preventing himself from yelling once she attaches the black tape to his mouth. She then unbuckles his belt, and she pulls his pants down to his ankles. With the pliers, she teases him, pretending to lunge at him, causing him to flinch.
At this moment, he tremors with the scary thought that he will have to sustain collateral damage. Once she cut through not only one, but two of his testicles, he yells in agonizing pain, inhaling and exhaling roughly. Amused by his suffering, she chuckles. Just when he honestly believed that she was done inflicting pain on him, she drops the tool and jerks a sledge hammer from underneath the wooden table. Then, she digs in her pocket, takes a nail out, and removes the tape from his mouth.
“Show your teeth.”
He feels like he is going to die already, and his heart rate slows down. Instead of suffering the physical and mental pain, he would rather exchange it for acid to be running down his lungs. Refusing to open his mouth, he wonders if he will ever stop punishing him. She raises his upper lip, positions the nail on his front tooth, and swings at it with the sledge hammer. In excruciating pain, he continues to tremor, trying to yell for help.
She walks away, and she says to her friend, “He’s all yours.”
Ashley walks toward him and says in sarcasm, “Did you miss me? You know, I was hoping that we could just become acquainted. What’s the matter? Why aren’t you speaking to me? You’re hurting me.”
As perspiration drips from his brow, she taunts him with the knife, positioning it in her cleavage, as she stares at his missing tooth. He spits out a mixture of blood and saliva on the concrete floor, which gets some of the liquid on his own jeans. The expression on her face looks as if she has bloodthirsty intentions.
What more can he possibly undergo today? Of course, he has a clue of what he may undergo, (a foretaste of Christian hell), which is more torture. As he thinks about the miserable things that he will undergo, he watches her take the knife out of her cleavage, removing her mask and blindfold. Thus, if he had never been physically tortured, her surprising action could have liberated his mental pain. She surprises him with a passionate kiss on his bloody lips. He is totally confused of why she would even do such a thing. At the moment, his physical pain bothers him more than what she just did, but he feels like he can see the constellations in her lovable eyes.
So, as he groans, he wonders if he was actually kissed by her girlfriend’s best friend. If it was not a hallucination, then why did she kiss him? When he gazes into her charming eyes, he easily grows strong emotions for her as if by magic. The sentimental feelings that he did not have for her a couple of hours ago suddenly turns real. He refrains from quivering, but he maintains rough breathing through his nose.
He feels like he is going to turn unconscious again, but he does not. The pain feels like it can be permanent. Looking at her does not cease the fatal feeling. She unties him, and he drops to the floor, nearly hitting his head on the way down as he laughs like everything that just transpired is a humorous joke. Although he is still trying to endure the pain, it also pleases him.
“I know you like it,” she says while fidgeting her hair, “I always wanted to do this. I actually thought you were cute even though you obsessed over my friend. Her birthday is tomorrow, but I’m sure you didn’t forget. You owe us, but I’m making an exception. Tomorrow will truly decide if you shall be with her.”
He stops laughing, “You think you’re this remarkable beauty queen, don’t you. You can burn my tongue, but I’ll take your lung.”
“I think you need your mother around here to make you feel better. To protect you from danger. But, before I get her, I have a question,” as he balances himself to his feet while touching on the brick wall, she says, “What’s going down…”
“I’m going to murder…”
She interrupts him, “You!”
Without hesitation, she drops her mask and blindfold, then she lunges at the midst of his spinal cord. Again, she lunges at him in the same spot. He screams as loud as he can. As a result, his voice echoes throughout the basement as he plummets to the floor. As he lies on his side staring at her pitiless face, from upstairs, it sounds like somebody is purposely breaking the kitchen dishes.
After the noise from upstairs goes away, she speaks by saying a poem that is titled “Baby Eyes,” and she memorized it, “Baby eyes can see the sweet rain. Nothing’s wrong with innocent eyes. Eyes from the abyss of the sane. Innocent eyes of ghastly cries.”
“Pinch her behind strict laws of pain. Cold tears from the sewage are hers. Forgotten heart by someone’s brain. Memories are gone in numbers.”
“Hope won’t fade and life dwells up. Unseen journeys when I walked far. Learned to climb and drink from a cup. One day, she’ll become a huge star.”
“Sometimes, wet tears cannot be seen. Invisible to live on Earth. Broken hearts can turn really mean. Forced to dwell in this pain since birth.”
Then, she leaves the scene, and he hears disembodied voices speaking to him, “She’s immured in the wall.
He yells, “Don’t do this to me!”
“You have a flair for poetry, Rye-bear,” she says in a loud voice.

Nightmare

His body feels numb, and he stifles from moving. Oxygen seems as if it is lessening around him. The bright basement light turns off, terrifying him. Then, he can hear the exit door slamming shut. He takes deep breaths for a couple of seconds, then he falls to sleep, suffering a bloodcurdling nightmare.
Over a hundred bloody bosoms are dangling from sharp hooks, which are attached to the ceiling. There is an edible chocolate cake formed like a tarantula, which is sitting on the table. He limps pass the table peering through the darkness to see Nicki on her knees eviscerating his mother’s corpse. Disturbingly, she clutches his mother’s heart, and she gnaws on it like a cannibal. She rises up to her feet appearing as if she could attack him at any second, especially due to him being exhausted. Looking at her seems more alarming than an influx of cold-hearted serial killers. He is unsure of what to say, and he feels as if he would not make a difference if he did have a word to say. She could have actually spoken as long as several paragraphs, but she uttered nothing. His focus remains on her as she rises out of the darkness. Thus, he sees blood around her mouth, and he sees the evidence of blood dripping from her hands.
As if an invisible ax hit him in the both of his knee caps at 45 miles per hour, immediately, he falls to the hard concrete floor, landing on his right shoulder. Blood rushes out of the injured spot of his knee caps as he suppresses from crying. He could have sworn that the landing dislocated the joint of his shoulder, but as another strange happening, there is no scratch on it. She then stands over him and squats down to place her hands inches above his chest. Killing him instantly, the blood pumping heart of his rips through his chest.

9:00 P.M.

Ryan wakes up strapped to a wooden chair again. In front of him is a clear circular mirror on the wall, approximately twenty inches high and eighteen inches wide. When he looks in the mirror, he can see his mother, Abby strapped to a chair behind him, which is the opposite direction of his. He also notices that the mirror on his side has the same exact look, and it is parallel to the mirror on her side. His mother appears to be asleep with a bruise on her right cheek, and he can hear Nicki heading down the creaky stairs hastily.
Quickly, he looks to his left side, ad he can see her rushing down the stairs with a gimlet in her right hand. Just by watching her unforgiving face, he grows scared, biting his tongue by accident. Before she even gets to the bottom of the stairs, she vanishes, which makes him unsure even more of what abnormal events are actually happening around him. His mother then wakes up, and she spots Nicki behind her in the mirror, which causes her to scream in tears. He struggles to even make a sudden movement because his body feels sore. The ropes are too thick for him to break.
From the mirror in front of him, he is forced to watch his mother scream, and he tries to calm his next-door neighbor down by saying, “Please… don’t hurt her. I’ll do anything you want.”
“Well, that’s sad Rye-bear, because I want you to kill her!”
“I can’t do that!”
“Follow my orders if you want to live. You’re suicidal, but you know that it’s dangerous. Am I not important enough for you to live for? Oh, that’s right. Not to you, my love. After I done with you, I’m going to make murder sound like a bruise mark.” You’ll know what you did.”
As he feels many tears drop down his cheeks, he says, “What did I do? Tell me”
Ignoring his question, she then says, I’m going to unstrap you, and you’re going to murder your mother with this gimlet.”
Abby screams, “Why are you doing this!”
Nicki says in a calm manner, “Because.”
“Because what,” she says out of frustration.
“You were going to murder your son. Don’t deny it, or I’ll kill you myself, right now.”
“How do you know that,” Abby says in great confusion and fear.
“I know things… I just know. Enough questions.”
As he looks into the mirror, he can see Nicki kiss the palm of her hand, blowing on it in the direction of him. Thus, without the sight of anyone in front of him, he witnesses red lips smear against the mirror, then the color turns black. This must be a hallucination, he thinks. Or, could it be real, knowing that he has never suffered this many hallucinations in such a short period of time. It occurs to him, he may never know.
Millie, the Dalmatian speeds down the creaky stairs, then jumps on his lap. At least Millie appreciates him, but he fails to appreciate her in return. By the time she jumps off of him, Nicki walks in front of him, holding crutches that can be used as weapons in her right hand. The primary thing that he can think about at this moment is where did the crutches come from. From his perception, he was blinded by reality, failing to realize that she not only walked down the creaky stairs with a gimlet, but she walked down the stairs with the crutches as well.
She places the crutches on his lap and says, “You’ll need these.”
Instantly, his entire body quivers, and he speaks to himself, “I did nothing. Nothing. Why did it come to me—this pain—this misery—this disease? Contaminated disease. You make me feel like a puppy that suffered brain damage.”
He looks into her unavoidable eyes and makes a face of scorn. Regardless of how much he is mad at her, evidently, her beauty enhances every second he looks at her. He denies her existence, but she seems as real as his existence, which frightens him even more. As another surprise, she kisses him passionately on his lips. Could this actually mean that he did not discover the horns of love, but he somehow found true love, he thinks. Why exactly did she kiss him, he then thinks afterwards, in concern.
No, it cannot be true love, for the power of love does not die, no matter what the case may be, he thinks. Thus, he thinks to the point to where he nearly severely overloads his mind. Maybe she is just fooling him to believe the last thing that he would believe is possible. As she unstraps him, he is nervous of what she may do to him, clutching the crutches, then using it to support him up from the chair to see her making a serious, caring expression as if she literally loves him.
How could she love him if she had harmed him mentally and physically on purpose? So, he wonders about her harsh actions of possibly harming him, believing that she may be the right person for him to spend the rest of his life with, only if he learns more about her. Barely, he can comprehend of why she harmed him, but by him being a vicious person, maybe that could be the true reason. That cannot be the reason or at least, that cannot be the only reason of why she harmed him. Surely though, he should find out after this day. Or, maybe, he just might die before the morning.
So, the disembodied voices speak to him, “She was raped. Do you not remember? Help her solemn ways,” the voices then echo louder, “You didn’t do that, did you? Are you deserving, or did you get what you deserve?”
“Please don’t do this,” his mother yells.
Nicki yells positioning her index finger up, which is one inch away from her lips, “Ssssshhhuut the fuck up!”
“Don’t speak to my mother that way! Just tell me what I did!”
“What you did speaks for itself of why I am doing this to you, and that’s what I am going to allow it to do. Speak for itself.”
Ashley then walks down the creaky stairs, and she flicks on the switch to the light. The entire basement shines in a red color that definitely makes Ryan want to faint. She has a frown on her face directed at him. Then, her expression changes rapidly once she looks at her friend, Nicki. With an innocent face, she looks at her, and she speaks with her face directed away from the bright red light.
“You have rehearsal. What’s taking so long?”
She responds, “I just engaged in a little too much fun activities for today. I’m coming.”
“You have the opportunity of your life next month. After you perform on stage, you’ll finally make it into the music industry. And the best part is, I was behind your back one hundred percent,” she says, and she walks up the stairs, only to speak again with a swell of happiness, “I can’t wait.”
Nicki fondles Ryan’s cheek, then she fondles his head, saying, “Can you excuse me, Rye-bear? Don’t worry, I’ll be back shortly.
They then leave the basement. Still, he is in shock about what occurred just today. Instead of constantly wondering of why he is suffering, he utilizes the crutches to walk toward a black, wooden dresser. Instinctively, he darts his head toward the stairs and spots nobody. Then, as he opens the top drawer to the dresser, he can hear the piano playing from upstairs.
Two binders are inside of the top drawer. One is dark, blue and the other is sanguine. He willingly takes the binders out and instantly falls from the crutches, which causes her to land on the floor. As he lies down on his tummy, he can then hear the wonderful voice of Nicki. Deciding not to make a movement, further putting himself in severe pain, he shuts his eyes, and he positions his arms beneath his head. So, he listens to the loud noise coming from upstairs, feeling as if he is now paralyzed.
Nicki starts intoning every vowel, then she says words with the voice of an excellent singer, “Watery eyes. Watery hearts. The burning lies. The burning parts. Watery eyes. Watery hearts. The burning lies. The burning parts.”
“The hollow trees and open doors. A confined space hurting me. I can’t accept what is yours. No need to share, just see.”
“It burns and it turns—open your eyes. It shows, and it goes—don’t you know. It turns, and it burns—just realize. It goes, and it shows—let it go.”
“I bruise, and I cry, bleed, but I walk. Accept and sigh, hate, but I talk. Breathe, and I try, turn, but I don’t. Wish me to die, try, and I won’t.”
“Watery eyes. Watery hearts. The burning lies. The burning parts. Watery eyes. Watery hearts. The burning lies. The burning parts.”
“I learn to breathe and just keep trying. I run a hill but don’t keep still. I let my love start magnifying. And it’s just a life—it only real.”
“And it hurts to breathe, and you know why. And it hurts to leave, and it hurts to cry. And it hurts to feel, but don’t you die. And it hurts to know you’re living a lie.”
“So, Soothe your heart with an open mind. And just grow your love and don’t be shy. You’re not alone if you can find. Someone to love—it’s worth a try.”
Watery eyes. Watery hearts. The burning lies. The burning parts. Watery eyes. Watery hearts. The burning lie. The burning parts.”

Chapter 5
Remembrance

The voices echo into his sensitive ears as he moves his arms from his head, “How’s my Ashley?”
As his mother sobs from the chair with a tinge of red on her face, Nicki continues to take advantage of her covetable talent by playing the piano again. This time, she does not sing, and is wondering while he is downstairs in the basement, he is wondering of what is happening upstairs. He reaches for a sanguine binder, then he opens it, seeing only photographs of Ashley as he flips the pages at a swift pace. It surely gives him an odd feeling, which causes him to wonder of why her photographs are even in the binder. Immediately, he opens the dark, blue binder, and he sees a note on the first page.
He does not hesitate to read the note, but as he reads it, in his head, he says the words, “Her formidable eyes were mine helplessly watching fate. It was the night I felt truly born enduring my pain. You’re killing my emotions, open this gate. Just keep me from breaking, from going insane. A glimpse of fire crossing by, go away. I’m a naked victim, it’s me. I still won’t forget it to this day. Let me show you what I see.”
He continues to read her messages in the binder, “On a scale from one and ten, will my partner be a permanent ten. I can’t accept a nine no matter what the case is. Forget about my grades, he’s not like other men. You want perfection, well perfection is his. Don’t take me away, I’m still passing. You killed my goal early, why so? I’m under enough pain, quit harassing. It’s a lot to feel, you don’t know.”
Suddenly, the basement door opens and a handcuffed man is punched down the creaky stairs. As he turns his head to the noise, he can see that the door then shuts by itself as the handcuffed man is yelling in agony, falling in the same basement where he is trapped. He wonders of who this mystery person is. The stranger has a low and black hairstyle, dark and brown eyes, and a muscular body type. He has on a grey polyester button-down shirt, dark, blue jeans, and black shoes. He also notices that the stranger has a miserable frown as he rises from his back, groaning while staring at the exit.
“Who are you,” he questions the stranger.”
Nervously, he darts his head and says, “Why should I tell you? You tell me your name first.”
“Calm down…”
He interrupts Ryan, “Don’t tell me to calm down! A woman just pulled a gun up to my head from outside. How do I know that you’re not…”
“Tell me your name! They did this to me also.”
He says after the piano stops playing, “They? I only saw one person.”
Abbey speaks, “They’re going to kill us.”
Apparently, the piano is not actually playing at the moment. That would mean that someone must have left the house. After wondering about being a victim of a gruesome murder, more questions enter his mind. Why is this stranger even inside this house? Could there be a significant reason of why? And by this stranger existing in the basement, how will it affect him?
“Just tell me your name.”
“My name is Eric Grunts. What’s yours? And who’s the lady strapped to a chair?”
“I’m Ryan Carillon. The lady in the chair is my mother. How did you get here?”
Eric sighs as he says, “All I know is that a woman pulled a gun up to my face when I was walking on the side walk, which was just two block away from my house. I couldn’t see her face. I could see her clothes, but her face blended in with the background.”
Abby speaks, “How could you not see her face?”
“It sounds crazy, but I’m telling the truth,” Eric says.
“I guess nobody was playing the piano from upstairs. If you could see this persons face, how do you know that it was really a woman?”
Curiously, Abby says, “Wait, what piano?”
Hearing his mother’s brief question allows him to realize that nobody was playing the piano. He feels extremely paranoid deciding to look at his mother’s depressed face in the mirror. Then, he looks at Eric’s concerned expression. Nervously, he looks back at his mother’s reflection from the mirror. Thus, the mirror cracks by itself, exposing a long, horizontal separation of the glass pieces.
Eric speaks to Abby, “What’s wrong with him?”
She responds, “He’s bipolar and schizophrenic. Just tell me what else happened.”
“She handcuffed me,” he says while staring at Ryan’s shivering body movements, “she then lead me here.”
“What was the person wearing? Do you remember,” she asks.
“She wore all dark attire. She had a zipped hooded jacket, leather gloves, studded jeans, and leather heels.”
She then rolls her eyes and says, “It’s just my son’s obsessed girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend, she’s just. Look, we need to work…”
His mother interrupts expressing a little of her anger, “You need to get me out of here! I don’t deserve to be here!”
Nicki and Ashley then comes down the stairs, and neither one of them are wearing exactly what Eric described, and it seems worse to know that they are smiling. They are both holding hot plates while walking down the stairs as if they are dwelling in a peaceful world of jolly people around to pleasure them; Nicki is holding one plate while Ashley is holding two. On the plates are ingredients mixed with chicken; boneless chicken wings, dainty cashew nuts, fried carrots, celery, yellow onions, broccoli, a zest of orange peels, zucchini are mixed together with an added ingredient of salt. On both plates, three Acapulco Enchiladas are on the side, and beside it is a black bowl of potato soup. Without taking one glimpse at anyone, they place the plates on the wooden table.
“Why are you doing this? Answer me,” Eric yells, “Answer me!”
Together, they walk half way up the stairs, and they speak at the same time in a calm manner, “Eat up.”
As they leave the basement, the sound of thunder erupts from the sky. After some of the torment Ryan has absorbed, he uses the crutches to walk near the table. Every stop he makes hurts him in a profound way. With a numb face, he stares at the food. Due to his condition, how will he even be able to eat the food?
Eric moves the chair near the table with his stomach and says, “We’re going to have to work together if you want to live.”
“Who are you? I can tell you who I am. I’m eighteen years old, I was born with a deformed heart, my father abandoned me, I’ve always been homeschooled by my mother, I have no friends, and my mother’s an abusive, alcoholic junkie, struggling to pay the bills as a late night sex magnet.”
“I told you to keep your mouth shut!”
He ignores his mother and says, “Tell me about yourself.”
“The two women that I just saw. I knew them ever since they were eight. I was one year older than them. Then, it happened.”
“What happened,” Ryan says in great concern.
“Nicki was a nice girl. That was until her mother got a divorce. The mother unfortunately left her cherubic children with her father. Nicki and Ashley would play together in the woods just eleven minutes from here sometimes, they would invite me. They were bossy. If I didn’t do what they said, they grew impulsive.”
“What did they do?”
“Every time I came over there, they demanded that I race them.”
Ryan then sits down in the chair with his head tilted to the right. Carelessly, he lets go of his crutches, causing it to hit the floor. The food increases his hunger just by looking at it, especially by the wonderful smell. He realizes that Eric stopped speaking. Then, he wonders of why there are three plates on the table if Eric is handcuffed and his mother is strapped to a chair. So, he receives a suspicious thought that somebody will die tonight, for he is the most capable person of eating at the table.
Appearing from the bottom step, Nicki says, “Tell them the rest of the story,” she catches the attention of everyone and says, “Tell them how the loser of the race would have to strip naked and bathe in a swamp. It’s funny, right? Tell them about the time when you were thirteen. When you almost got my best friend pregnant.”
“It was an accident! It only happened once!”
“She didn’t want to be touched,” she speaks in a volcanic temper, then speaks at Ryan calmly, “Acknowledge us, we exist. You may notice that there are only two plates on the table. I took a lot of time to think about this, so I would gladly appreciate if you do not bother with arguing. You have until tomorrow morning to kill Eric. If you’re against this, then allow Abby to take your position, and you can surely have her to commit the murder. But, be warned, if she kills him, you’re dead.”
Ryan says to her, “How many people have you killed?”
“That’s none of your business. And to answer your question, I kissed you only because I wanted to. It’s your will on how you will take it. You have a choice, choose me, or you can choose my friend.”
“That’s … that’s what this is about? I didn’t even know your friend. You should’ve known that this would’ve happened. What should I learn by being strapped down here, sign language?”
“Baby, sweet is temporary. Trust me. This is the best way for you to decide. Do you know how long I’ve waited for this exact moment? When she kissed you, you enjoyed it, didn’t you? You shouldn’t.”
He rolls his eyes and hesitates to speak, “You set this up.”
In anger, she says, “You will follow my orders or die, my love.” I really don’t want you on my list.”
How many other victims did she kill? He is traumatized by every word she made. He wonders if there is a more understandable reason of why she would torture him. Although he would have done literally anything to get in a relationship with her, he would now do anything to end her life. Disturbingly, he has the intentions of inflicting at least half the pain that he feels on her, but he is just too weak to make a sudden movement.
“So, what’s it going to be? Who’s going to kill Eric, huh,” she ambles to the wooden dresser, picks up the opened dark, blue binder, then speaks, “Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Well, I’m waiting”
“I’m not doing it, he says.”
“Well, congratulations. You’ve just denied a wonderful offer. What about you Abby? Don’t you want to live?”
Abby lowers her head and says, “Don’t talk to me.”
Eric expresses himself by saying, “I don’t want to die.”
Giggling, Nicki says, “Please what? Are you going to arrest me officer? I thought not. Since nobody wants to kill Eric, I will. Don’t worry sweetie, you’ll get another opportunity to live.”
Again, he hears voices speaking to him in a lucid way, “You don’t get it.”
As she places the binder in his lap, he speaks to himself, “I tried to be nice. … Absorb this pain of mine, chosen one. Only then, you’ll comprehend me. Wait, baby dragon. Everybody’s different. … I have my personality, and you have yours. Oh Francesca …”
Trying to defend himself, Eric makes an attempt to tackle her, but she dodges it easily, tripping him to the floor. As he looks up trying to rise back to his feet, she walks slowly toward the dresser, pulling out a long whip from the drawer. At this point, he finds way to stand on his feet, and he looks in front of him, seeing the exit. There is no hope, for Ashley opens the door in a rapid fashion, standing perfectly still with a silver, metal bat in her hand. He then hesitates to move watching everybody stare at him.
As if he is alone with another person, Ryan continues to talk, “It hurts. … She was stoned, Francesca. I want no part of this. She was my sister. … My mother should be here soon.”
In a calm manner, she speaks to his mother, “After seven years, it comes down to this. Your son killed your forgotten daughter. Your best friend, Francesca then took the blame for his impromptu actions. As a result, ever since then, she has been in the mental institute for a crime she didn’t commit.”
“How do you know this,” Abby says in shock.
“Your daughter speaks to me. Her name’s Millie. You named your dog after her forgetting that she even existed. She cries at night remembering her horrific death. She wanted me to tell you that she forgives you.”
In a slow manner, Ashley walks down the steps, approaching Eric. She is in an elated mood, and she is staring at him, which makes him more intimidated by her. Seeing her blocking his escape is metaphorically like him discovering harmful impurities within his brain that causes him nothing but torture. Nervously, he darts his head across the basement. By the time he looks up the stairs, she is half way down.
He panics, and he leans against the brick wall in an uncomfortable position. She then walks faster down the creaky stairs, and she hesitates to assault him with the bat. Thus, the hard bat hits him in the ribs, and he certainly feels the pain. He falls in a dusty area of the corner getting hit twice from the back of the head, then getting hit three times on his left shin. Blood leaks from the back of his head and smears against the wall. Abby screams from watching the sight of violence from the reflection of the mirror. Although she is squeamish of blood, that does not cease any bit of what already arose.

Part 2
Trust
Chapter 6
Red Drama

There is a black, digital alarm clock sitting beside Ryan as he sleeps with his back against the firm canopy bed. Then, the alarm clock wakes him from her bed, disturbing him from a deep sleep. He then rubs his eyes, and he glances at the time on the clock, realizing that he slept throughout the night. The time is unseen, but he has a vibe that this is the time that his mother would have attempted to end his life. Nobody seems to be in his room, but his eyes do not leave the sight of the closed closet doors.
He tries to focus on what occurred last night, but the last thing he can remember is going unconscious after he took a bite from his food. The awful thought occurs to him that his food was poisoned. And he wonders of why he is in Nicki’s bedroom knowing that he had many appalling occurrences with her in such a short period of time. He panics wondering about what may happen, absolutely confused if today is the chosen day that he will die by his ex-girlfriend, who he believes planned his unpleasant death long before she met him. The closed closet door still seems suspicious to him, and he is extremely desperate to flee the house, but he is still in severe pain from yesterday.
Automatically, Nicki enters the room, slams the door close, and she says, “Happy Valentine’s Day. Since it’s my birthday, can you do me a solid?”
“What do you want?”
“I want you, silly. … Inside of the closet are Eric, and your mother. Choose who should die first. I kept them alive. I know you’re mad at me, but I’m doing this to better you.”
He looks at the stainless necklace around her neck frowning as if he will stop for nothing to kill her. When he looks at her face, she seems so innocent. Frightening himself, he has a mixture of emotions, feeling confused in despair, and rage. He then looks at her silver, studded, black T-shirt with the word, “Love” on it, her thin black jeans with several silver chains attached to each of her pockets, and black, leather boots. Quickly, he looks at her glamorous face, somehow, refusing to get impulsive. He is bewitched by her undeniable beauty.
“Fine. Be that way. You win,” he sighs and says.
“I knew you’d see this through,” she says.
“I choose my mother.”
“I was waiting for you to say that,” she takes a long, thin rope from underneath the bed and says, “I’ll take her out. All you have to do is strap her down.”
Immediately, she opens the closet doors, and she disturbs his mother, pulling her from the floor by the tight handcuffs, which are attached to her wrists behind her. He watches her physically push his mother to the floor, and he forms a smile when she removes the black, sticky tape from his her mouth, receiving excitement from her scream. She then digs in his mother’s right pocket and takes out a sharp knife. Startling his mother further, she then threatens her with the knife. Inches away from her jugular, she maintains a tight grip on the knife. By him witnessing this, he honestly believes that his mother has suffered enough discontentment already, watching her remain silent, staring at the keen knife.
For the moment, he can care less if his mother is a thrall to fear, rightfully deserving of torturous pain. What would overshadow his distress putting a sinister smile on his face would be his mother deleted from his life. Maybe, just seeing her mother die would not thrill him enough, for he secretly wishes her the worse in life. Only if the knife which Nicki is holding is a custom-made knife or a personally created knife; by it being a custom-made knife or a personally created knife, the handle could be made out of wood, containing a button, which electrocutes people from the sharp steel at approximately 800,000 volts. He knows that his mother will suffer though, but he still fails to know if anyone actually loves him.
As his mother is then positioned on the bed, he is desperate to know if his life may be more convenient without the existence of her. Perhaps he will achieve happiness when, and after he assaults her. First, he decides to tie her hands and feet tightly to the rope. He is fascinated by hearing her scream, so he accepts the knife from Nicki. Thus, he realizes that his mother regrets the ways she treated him in the past.
While Nicki takes a transparent jar of liquor from the closet shelf, in a lucid way, Ryan’s mother cries, “Please. You don’t have to do this.”
As his mother screams while crying in misery, the Dalmatian enters the room, traveling near the active guinea pig, which is running around in her cage, adding to the noise, “Woof!”
In an odd way, he believes that metaphorically, his mother is a fly with a contagious fear, about to get hit by a speeding nail. He laughs at her feeling like a superior human being, then he lunges at her sternum with pleasure. In agony, she struggles to breathe, feeling the horrible pain of him removing the knife from her body. Without hesitating, he jumps on the bed, stabbing her three inches through her right humerus bone not once, but twice in the same area. He refuses to show mercy stabbing her on the left side of her clavicle, her jugular four times, then her sternum six times.
The wounds on her curvaceous body pleases him more and more as he stabs her. He joins Nicki in laughter, and he gladly continues to assault her, targeting her face approximately twenty-one times. Then, he targets her sternum sixty-five times, forming a face of pure scorn, as if he will never cease assaulting the dead cadaver. Although he has committed the nefarious act of matricide, the sight of the cadaver amuses him. Thus, he licks the blood from the knife, but he is careful of not cutting his tongue.
This type of enjoyment of playing with this particular victim is almost his fixation. With his left hand, he gently rubs her forehead, then he shuts his eyes as if he is in a meditative state. He remains perfectly motionless, inhaling, then exhaling oxygen as if he is not the bearer of justice, but as if he is the don of darkness. Then, he reflects on watching her last shallow breaths, wishing that he could have further tormented her. Despite his full satisfaction, it is a ghastly crime, which he will indeed relish forever.
“Tell me why,” Ryan is interrupted by Nicki.
“I want to hold you longer than the existence of gravity. If that was possible, you know that I wouldn’t let go.”
“Why did you hurt me?”
“Because I knew what would’ve happened if I didn’t. You would’ve tried murdering your mother, and yourself in a public area, which would have caused you a lifetime sentence in prison. I know that your stress goes away when you express it to me. And you can express anything to me depending on who you want to spend the rest of your life with. I made my choice, but you need to make yours.”
Ashley enters the room and says, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I just couldn’t help myself, and I heard the great conversation going on. Ryan, I love you. That is all you need to know. I understand that you barely know me, but you can get to know me. If you choose me, I will be here for you as a loyal, trustworthy, and reliable person. You can’t trust Nicki because I know you…”
Nicki interrupts her with a temper, “I warned him about you. This isn’t your business. Leave the room, please.”
She ignores Nicki, “You have to trust me.”
He looks at her in a curious way and says, “Why should I?”
“I thought you had feelings for me.”

Ashley’s Version

Ashley exits the room upset that Ryan does not feel the same way that she feels about him. Her eyes turn watery, and she rushes into the bathroom, closing the door, then staring in the mirror. As she sobs, she reflects on her selfish action, actually believing that she may have not just liked her, but loved her. Will she ever find love, she thinks. If so, how long should she wait, who could it be, and where could this person be located?
The disheartening memories of her past haunts her. She relives moments when she was fourteen years old. Like when she witnessed her father murder an attractive hooker in a creative way. It was midnight, and she peeked through his opened bedroom door, seeing him cut the knee caps off of her corpse, watching him laugh in a crazed condition. Never will she forget about that tragic happening, and never will she forget lacking many clothes, being forced to wear the same seven shirts and the same four pants for four years due to her family’s financial problems. Because of that event, always, it made her felt as though she is a frump, traumatized by something impossible to cease.
So, now, she looks at her appearance, struggling to forget about the past of lacking enough money to buy what she desired. From what she can see, she is wearing a black, ruffled tank top, Dalmatian designed jeans that are blue with black spots, and black shoes. Her hair is no longer blue; it is a Messy Bob with a mixture of black above and red on the bottom. As she continues to weep, she can hear a light knock against the door. For the moment, she could care less about opening the door, even if her best friend’s canopy is on fire, burning Abby’s corpse.
She imagines Abby burning from the bed, then opens up the door, hearing Nicki speak, “I knew it would come to this. And I really enjoyed your company. Really, but I’m not asking for you to change your ways. No, stay jealous.”
“Apparently, you’ve inherited your families’ bitchy genes. Are you going to kill me? Can’t you just see that I need someone? Like what you have with Ryan.”
“You’re as phony as a portrait. … A portrait with red paint on the face. What happened to the conceited Ashley that was also respectful to her friend? People like you are the primary reason why people like me sleep with a gun underneath their pillow. Some of us aim through the night and shoot through the day.”
Evidently, those ominous words does not alleviate Ashley’s mental pain, but she struggles to endure it in order to calm down. The intuitive, psychic senses of Nicki are: clairvoyance, clairaudience, clairsentience, clairtangency, clairscent, clairgustance, and clairempathy. Ever since she was thirteen-year-old, her friends ability terrified her. As a sad fact, she is not sure of why she became her friend. One of the reasons is because Nicki is a sibyl appearing to be enthusiastic about life, but she has never told her if she may finally meet her soul mate. That fact causes Ashley to believe that Nicki had been planning to kill her on this day, years ago. So, without any doubt in her mind, it must have been fate that she may not see her soul mate, she thinks.
The situation gets even worse. A gun is now pointing at her head, and she is reluctant to make a sudden move, for it could be her last. She then tries to stop her crier, but no matter how much she tries, it just fails to work, especially by her believing that she will not be forgiven by her friend. Why exactly should she be forgiven, she thinks. Guilty, she feels for having the intentions of dating Ryan Carillon.
She is then shot in the left tibia, thus, she nearly hits her head against the closed toilet seat as she falls backwards, landing a couple of inches away from the tub. As she holds onto her wound, Nicki emits a wicked laughter, staring at the blood as her personal entertainment. The awful moment just does not cease, for she gets shot again multiple times. She gets shot in the clitoris three times, in the heart twice, and once in the forehead. The blood trickles slowly from her flesh spreading against the tub beside the blood splatter on the black shower curtain. Only if the thrill lasted a little longer, but she really wanted her dead so that she can observe the deceased body, which once frustrated her when it was active.

Outside

“Happy birthday,” Ryan says to Nicki while holding a jar of liquor in the sunny weather.”
“Thank you.”
Beside them is a metal, opened trashcan with two cadavers wrapped up in black carpets. Sitting up lying against the trash can is Eric Grunts as if he is in a paralyzed state, but to Ryan, Eric is alive. With his girlfriend, he stares at him with apathy. As he is forced to stay in one spot, the breathing victim sees the couple kiss as if nothing was ever wrong. As if Ryan can also read the victims mind, he knows that he is bound to suffer a horrible death, just by looking at what he is lying against. So, this is where he will take his last breaths of life on Earth, which is in the backyard of an old friends house with two serial killers around, Ryan thinks about himself.
Nicki says, “Eric is guilty of raping and killing a ten-year-old girl under a viaduct and an eleven-year-old girl in the sewer.”
“Let’s give him what he wants,” Ryan says, “This time, let’s give him everything.”
She talks too Eric, “I’m guessing you didn’t know how those little girls felt before they died. Don’t worry, this will be the day you truly find out.”
Ryan places the jar down on the grass, takes a knife out from his right pocket, and immediately lunges at Eric. Thus, he stabs him in the right eye, his left ear, then to his gut. The victim struggles to endure the pain by crying in loudness, but he knows that he will depart. So, this victim indeed screams as loud as he can with the doubt that anyone will come to help him from further danger. Afterwards, Ryan dumps the jar of liquor in the trashcan and on the victim, which gives Nicki the utter courage to ignite a flame from the lighter, tossing it into the trash.
It is absolutely amazing how the flames travel across the motionless bodies, he thinks. To him, it is not an opinion rather or not the burning bodies are amazing, but it is simply a fact. He feels so lucky to experience this unforgettable moment with his girlfriend. It is as satisfying as watching the sunset on a hilltop. Just by watching the flames with her, he chuckles.
The sound of a lupine chorus howling then catches his attention. He then sees a white, luminous light flashing in his face, which makes him cover his eyes, wishing that the light will just fade. Seconds later, the sound of the chorus and the bright, irritating light goes away. Curious if what he just experienced did not only happen to him, he darts his head toward his girlfriend. Her concerned face lets him know that he may not be undergoing his ghastly hallucination alone.
“You should take your medicine.”
So, he feels weird, believing that he may now have been the only one to hear and see what just transpired, but he asks her, “When I see things, do you see them?”
“Sometimes, it depends if you’re worrying or not. I feel empathy for others, which is one good reason why I comprehend you. Sometimes, I wake up knowing things and sometimes. Visions just come to me.”
Can Nicki honestly be a predominant person, he thinks. Now, he has a vibe that she would not ever take advantage of him. If this is her fun way of controlling him, it is definitely working. Should he believe that her qualities, and should he believe that her roles just might result in him discovering eternal love? Finding love is like trying to find a hidden chemical in a wisp of smoke, but he questions it. No matter if he should trust her or not, he surely feels like he discovered a healthy relationship.
“I don’t need these pills.”
“Yes you do. Believe me.”
“Whatever you say. What do you want to do?”
“Spend time with you, of course. I should be asking you what you want. What do you want?”
“You know what I want. You’re my emotions.”
Sarcastically, she says, “Oh, am I? The same way you killed your babysitter’s emotions. She had a family just like yours. And she had a boyfriend, who will now never be happy with anyone else. Did you really think that I forgot? You better wish that this is not real, Rye-bear.”
Within an instant second, snow suffuses the sky, a gust of wind blows in a repeated fashion, and redness forms. Her eyes turn pure, black parts, and she tilts her head to the right side, quivering in a swift manner. Her complexion turns into a reddish color due to profound anger. In terror, he walks backwards, nearly falling into a garden after witnessing her mysterious face. His heart pounds as he rushes next-door searching in his pocket for the key to the house.
He can feel the key in his right pocket, so immediately, he takes it out. Before he makes an attempt to stick it in the keyhole, Nicki appears beside him. Her appalling appearance nearly makes him drop his key to the ground. As he tries to unlock the front door, she leans against the wall. Then, she stares at him as if she obsesses with seeing him being tortured.
“You can’t escape from me,” she says.
Heather, the twin sister of Nicki flies across the house, and lands on her right shoulder. Ryan ignores the happening and opens up the door to enter the house in a rush. Without hesitation, he makes a prompt decision to slam the door close. He then locks the door, and he makes sure that it is locked, taking the time to look at it. It may be a fact that he is inside his mother’s house, but it also occurs to him that he must take his medicine.
Every breath he takes feels like a risk of dying a horrible death. He turns around surprised to see her standing in the living room and staring at him with pure, black eyes. Heather is still perfectly balanced on her right shoulder, and she even stared at him with visible hatred as if there is not a faux bullet that created a wound in her conjunctiva. The discomfort just could not get any worse, he thinks. But, clearly, his problems would get worse, knowing that he is being followed.
He takes a quick glimpse into the kitchen only to see the light flickering on and off. Because this fails to be an auspicious moment, again, he looks back at Nicki, hears disembodied voices, echoing in his ears. The voices are convincing. This time, the voices sound like they are having an argument, which confuses him. Then, he shivers in fear, covering his ears with his hands, striving to block the ghastly noises.
“Over nine voices speak to him arguing in his distressed mind, “Kill her. I think you need to die. It’s the medicine. She’s going to kill you. Listen to me. ‘Fighting is obligatory for you, much as you dislike it,’” (Quran, Surah 2:216).
“Ryan, listen to me,” she says, “Just focus. I love you. You’re my everything. I wouldn’t…”
He interrupts her, “How did you get in here?”
You invited me over here. Don’t you remember?”
“Lies,” the voices say, “It’s happening again. ‘If you wish to replace a wife with another, do not take from her the dowry you have given her…” (Quran, Surah 4:20).

Chapter 7
Relationship

Instead of overreacting, Ryan lowers his haunches on the midst of the couch, sitting beside his neighbor. So, he concentrates, thinking to himself of who she could really be as a person. It is the most confusing, and also it is the most irritating thing he thinks about, but he would not want to loathe her, especially if she is his girlfriend. What if she is in fact a psychic, and she honestly does have powerful feelings for him, he believes. Angrily, he ponders about what already transpired, and he ignores the voices, which speaks to him.
He looks at Nicki realizing that her eyes are not black but dark brown. No longer is Heather anywhere to be found. How much of what transpired is real? Does this indicate that he is not in grave danger? How may his reality be?
“Earlier, you stabbed your mother to death. You killed an off-duty cop with a gun. My friend was going to kill me with a gun, and it was you who shot her to death, not me. You should know that their bodies are in my basement.”
Oblivious of innocent looking woman around him, he says, “Why is this happening to me?”
“You know the answer to that question.”
“I’ve never harmed you.”
“You keep imagining things. You harmed those people.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“I’m here for you. I just wanted to tell you thanks.”
“You don’t have to thank me. It’s just—what am I going to do now?”
You can come live with me, and I promise that you won’t be accountable for any of their deaths. And in about three months from now, we will move to Brooklyn, New York. That way, I’ll make it into the music industry, and we can create a family.
“Do you know how lucky I am to have you in my life? If anybody ever tells you you’re no different than anyone else, that person will suffer like a boiling pond above ruthless flames. They won’t be lonely either because the pond will not be shy to newcomers.”
“You’re not lying,” she says in sarcasm, “They will land smack-dab in the pond and experience constant torture.”
“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen me do?”
“Good question. Last night when several gunshots killed an innocent citizen for the right to someone’s initiation into a gang, you were suffering a hallucination. You were in my living room believing that over a hundred, ominous dolls were surrounding you. So, you ran out, stopping in the direction of the crime scene, laughing in exhilaration. I miss you so much.”
She scoots closer to him, and she grabs his hand, positioning it on her lap. Then, she gazes it into his eyes, predicting his current hallucination. Thus, he knows that he can see a levitating silver engagement ring inside of a black rose, hovering inches away from his widened eyes. The black rose and the engagement ring vanishes from his sight, but he feels like he is betrothed to his girlfriend. At this point, she kisses him on the lips, and he cherishes the tactile sensation.
How long will this moment last, he thinks. If he always had felt loved by others, how would his life be now, he also thinks to himself as she wraps her arms around his neck, sitting on his lap. Maybe he is just worrying too much, or maybe she has a paramour, planning to devote only the best moments with him. How could she love him, especially knowing that he suffers many hallucinations? His platonic relationship with her seems as if it is leading to an intimate relationship. She is just too beautiful to find him worthy of her time, he believes.
“I miss you more,” he says.
“Don’t lie to me.”
I’m sorry, I just…”
“Just what,” she interrupts him, “Just saying what I want to hear?”
She gloats giggling before he speaks, “Seriously, after what I just saw?”
“The day you miss me more, I’ll be listening. I’m not here to hurt you. You shouldn’t be afraid.”
He kisses her passionately tasting her luscious wet tongue, which tastes like strawberry. It is as if her saliva is a distinctive liquid, which can literally be a drug used to addict people. Her soft lips remains on his as he relishes her caressing wind from the opened window. By kissing her, he is easily aroused sexually. As a result, he gazes at her cleavage, feeling thrilled to be in her presence.
Not noticing her beauty would be like not noticing a missing heart lying near a public gravesite. And disturbingly, he suffers a rapid uncontrollable hallucination about a bloody heart lying near a public gravesite; he tries to return to the site of reality only to see her face. The way he sees it, she is a divine female, helping him flourish by breathing. What would he possibly do without her is the question he keeps asking himself in his mind. Simply, without her, it would exacerbate his arduous predicaments. Lucky, he feels, for she is touching him.
Definitely, he is amazed, watching lips from her black studded T-shirt. With profound intentions of forcefully pushing her over, he squeezes her rumps, then he nuzzles against her neck. He can feel her tangible breaths as he then slips off his shirt hoping that she will strip more. Her bra is made out of black and silver lace, which further gratifies him. Immediately, he loosens the bra from her bosoms, intending to gently touch them in a desperate manner, but she holds the bra, blocking him from seeing her bosoms.
Somehow, he believes that he has the strength to surpass his nervousness of having sexual intercourse with the woman he admires the most, ending his suffering from satyriasis. Nervous, he is, but he is also eager to allow her to lose her virginity. Then, he feels terrible that he is unquestionably not a virgin, but that does not cease her from smooching on his neck, like she is suffering nymphomania. Her actions are making him feel better and while, he sucks on the rights side of her neck. Thus, she gains a hickey, and she bites him on the right side of his neck, sucking his blood like a vampire would.
Her body is irresistible and without a doubt, her moan is even more. He is in a bewildered state, and he is unsure if he will actually have sex with her. She is ambidextrous, and she is gently touching around his body, soothing his physical pain as if she specializes in massage therapy. This breathtaking moment ignites his intentions more and more. If this will not remain the absolute greatest day of his life, he is definitely eager for the future.
Many deep giggling voices come to his awareness. He tries to move his limbs, but he is in an immobile condition, even lacking oxygen. It is a white, transparent, plastic bag wrapped around his horrified face. Making matters worse, Nicki is pointing a gun at him. How can this be happening right now, he thinks.
The moment she speaks to him, he is aware of his surroundings, and he realizes that she does not even have a gun with her, “Ryan. It’s not me.”
Upset about what he saw, he loses interest in having any sort of sexual activity. How many attempts would it take for him to transcend what is bothering him? He wonders about that thought as she attaches her bra back on getting off of his lap. Just watching her standing up in front of him slipping her shirt on nearly brings tears to his eyes. It is as if he will never make her as pleased as she makes him. Just maybe at least for one day, he will surely make her perfectly thrilled, but then he thinks if one day can be as remembering as a lifetime. Or is she already thrilled by being in his presence, he then thinks.
Ryan says, “You knew what would happen. Take your clothes off. I’m ready.”
“I don’t think you are. Next time.”
After hearing those words, it causes him to feel as if his entire life is full of capers, which are aimed at him. It is as if his struggles are nothing more than a mockery of the appalling acts he has committed. So, he wonders of when she becomes a peripatetic musician, traveling the world, and he wonders if his unhealthy heart can handle such worrying behavior. It occurs to him, he can endure the suffering of not always seeing her each day. Regardless of him being dissatisfied with her future occupation, he respects her of her full decision, wishing nothing but the greatest progress each second of her life.
“So, for how long will you be a musician,” he asks her.
“Don’t worry. There will be time for us. There can never be too much time for us. We will experience the world together. It will remain my passion after you die, and until I die.”
“Anxiously, he thinks about what she said and speaks, “When am I going to die?”
Five loud gunshots from outside comes to his awareness. He is now outside in a catatonic stupor while she shuts the window. Clueless, he is as she hesitates to speak to him, knowing that her every word of choice will indeed affect his life forever. Needless to say, although the gunshots are real, he will perceive them as an irritating distraction to the focusing on how she replies.
“I refuse to frighten you about that type of news. I never said anything about you dying. Just know that you’ll die before I do. I don’t want to tell you the time or day.”
“Please, tell me. Are you going to die proud of what you accomplished on Earth?”
“Of course. I’ve been planning my life for so long. There’s no reason for me to not be proud.”
Talking gives him a prodigious appetite, thus his tummy hurts. The last thing he wants to do with an appetite is undergo the process of hearing and seeing nonexistent things. The pensive expression on his face looks as if someone droned about something totally unnecessary. He peers at an iridescent wall realizing that it fails to exist in reality. Afterwards, he slips on his shirt, rises to his feet, and turns around in shock to see Nicki in the kitchen with food already prepared to eat.
There is a plate sitting on the counter with eight spicy, honey-flavored chicken wings, a zest of lemon peels on top, spaghetti with meatballs, bell peppers, and the topping of tomato sauce. She grabs the plate in one hand and a bowl of green, ripe grapes in the other hand, and he is amazed by her. Eagerly, he accepts the plate, gladly thanking her for her cooking. He glances at her sitting down watching her eat a delicious grape. Easily, he gets jealous just by seeing her food go between her lips, knowing that he wants his lips to be on hers.
It is amazing, for she digests the grape, remaining to breathe. Taking one glimpse away from her eye-catching face is an enormous struggle, which almost seems impossible. Although she startle him with her beauty, it is his herculean task to adapt to it, avoiding lifelong distractions, thinking constantly about her, which is nearly every minute of each day. Still, she remains breathing, and still, he observes her eating, feeling like there should not be any reason for him not to feel lucky. Her alluring smile captivates him, but he hides his joyful expression.
She speaks, “Your next-door neighbor disturbs you at midnight playing a guitar on your property, what do you do?”
“Very funny. I’d like to go one day without being scared out of my mind.”
She then yanks the remote, turns on the television in a kickback position, and says, “Eat up. I know you’re hungry.”
“Tell me what you don’t know.”
“How to not love you. If you didn’t love me, I wouldn’t love you. That would be too painful. But, because I love you, I can’t stop loving you.”
“I get the picture. Tell me you didn’t get that from my binder.”
“I didn’t have to.”
Remembering that she is clairvoyant, “Oh, that’s right.”
Voices speak to him again, but he struggles to ignore their opinions. He grips his fork from the plate, and he eats his food. It is so difficult for him to even concentrate on reality. What would be a wise decision for him to make right now, he thinks. He wants to make a wise decision because the voices are eager to make him listen. Although it is his mind, they are demanding his attention, speaking louder than the volume of the television.
“She is using you,” the voices say, “You’re already dead. No listen to me. She loves you. What is love? Don’t believe her. Just trust her.”
Ryan sighs and says, “It’s doing it again.”
“Focus,” she says, “Look at me and focus. Trust me.”
Suddenly, the voices stop communicating to him. It seems to be a miracle, for she demanded his trust, thus, he can no longer hear the opinions of others. If love is truly this powerful, then he is lucky to have discovered it. Finally, he feels peace, feeling capable of relaxing with his girlfriend. He can relax fantasizing about only her while remaining speechless, but that will not help him to know everything about her.
“It went away,” he says.
“No, it didn’t. It will come back.”
Hesitating to speak, “Why?”
“What you’re suffering from is only temporary. You have to trust me. Trust that you can overcome this. And most importantly, know that you’re not alone. We can get through this together.”
“I know, it’s just …these contentious people. These asinine humans. I relive a mockery of my cruel life and sometimes, I feel like you’re tantalizing me with your heart. I need your heart, and I can only hope that this is reality. If this is all an unreal focus of mine, I’m useful in a morgue, failing to exist, realizing how pathetic I am.”
“This is real, and regardless of what those voices tell you, you are not pathetic. Do not be blocked away from love. Somebody cares about you, and that somebody is me. If I didn’t want you, or believe that you could escape this problem, I would not be here.”
“Sorry that I have you going through all of this.”
“Don’t be sorry. That’s something you never have to say to me. It’s my job to help you.”
A phantasmagoric hallucination then blocks him from reality. Voices say, “Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you” (KJV, James 4:7). Thus, he sees over a dozen naked women in a murky subterranean chamber, lying dead on a hard, wooden floor. Then, from a different scene, he sees the bodies lying in a heap on Nicki’s canopy bed. By a masked person wearing dark attire, the bodies are dressed in fashionable clothing with expensive jewelry. All of their eyes are missing from their faces and are lying inside of the top drawer of a dresser, covered in wet, black paint.
An effigy of himself then appears sitting against the bed burning in the fire. This is just a figment that seems to be giving him unusual messages; the figment is showing him grisly scenes that are unexplainable for him to express if he desired. There is a deceased body underneath the bed. Suddenly, the corpse vanishes and a masked person is sitting down on the right side of the bed. The effigy of himself is still burning and the room dims into darkness.
Ryan exits the imagination, and he repeats himself by clearly uttering words like an incantation, “She’s dead! She’s dead! She’s dead!”
“Control it,” she says in a calm manner.
“I tried,” he frowns, “She always told me that her favorite animal was a unicorn. I would tell her that a unicorn fails to exist. And she would get furious and say, ‘Yes, it does exist. Unicorns are just extinct.’ We argued countless times, and I just could not take it anymore, so I slit her parrot’s throat with a knife. It talked more than I did, and she cared for him as if it was her child, but sadly, I have zero regrets for the stupid animal. It was just one month later that I killed my sister, and for some strange reason, it does not feel like she is dead.”
Nicki eats her grapes from the bowl and says, “Breathe. You wronged her, and you’re torturing yourself. But, if you let go of the memories, you’ll be okay.”
Instantly, he rises from the couch and heads into the bathroom, “I just don’t know.”
As he shuts the bathroom door, Nicki digs in her right pocket, and she answers her cell phone in a flirtatious voice before it even makes a sound, “Hey baby. It seems like you’re everywhere these days.”
Sarcastically, a male says, “You’re so busy launching your singing career that I can’t help, but miss you more.”
“I miss you like a morning eclipse from the farthest orbit.”
The male reacts with happiness in his voice, “Aaaaww! Shower me with your compliments. I miss you more, baby. Anyway, are you going to end him? You promised me that you would, love.”
“I promised you nothing, and you know that. He won’t harm much as long as he is with me. You can keep your money.”
“Are you starting to have feeling for him now? Are you going to kill me now? Listen, he’s a potential threat to my future, and I’m taking no risks.”
While Ryan is running hot water to the faucet in the bathroom, he is unaware that his girlfriend is chatting on the phone with someone he never met before. He is overwhelmed by the confidence she has for him of getting rid of the odd hallucinations. It is almost unbelievable to him knowing that she has faith in him when he struggles to have faith in himself. The emotions of his increases the longer he thinks about his girlfriend. But, because he is not aware of what his girlfriend may possibly be doing, he assumes that it is nothing that would mentally harm him.
In a sharp temper, she speaks, “The past is the past, Jeff. We’re no longer together, and I’m not accepting your money.”
“You’re not the only one with a gift. Remember that.”
And you remember that the same goes for you. If I never met you, I wouldn’t have seen Ryan. I’m telling you now, I want nothing to do with you. Don’t call back.”
“I’ll try. Did you really think you could keep me away? My gorgeous little queen is sitting down on the black couch with a bowl of green grapes on her lap. Oh, her alluring appearance makes me quiver. She was honestly preening for me throughout the night not too long ago.”
“You’re still hanging out at the cemetery, I see. That makes me wonder, who’s your partner? I’m sorry for her.”
Ryan then exits the bathroom door with moribund confidence. His girlfriend seems to be in peace only watching television on the couch. Why is he alive if he continues to doubt himself, he wonders. It occurs to him that one day his problems should go away, for his girlfriend would not be helping him if they would not. Her beauty gives him second thoughts of confidence.
It is as if her charming eyes can cause him to linger struggling in the air and can be mistaken for noxious fumes. He covers his nose making a rapid movement into the bathroom, then shuts the door behind him. Oxygen seems as if it does not exist until he then removes his hand. In the mirror, he fails to see his reflection. It ignites him in great anger, and causes him to yell at the air, feeling like a complete dunce.
“Stop!”
His emotions are expanding while he yells. Easily, he gets exhausted and runs out of breath. Then, his reflection appears in the mirror. As he looks at his face, he perceives that he looks like a savage person, ungrateful for living, when the only reason living seems worthy of his time is because of his caring girlfriend. Does he really have a belly button or not, he thinks in a confused state. Somehow, he must feel like he possesses a lion-hearted personality, instead of suffering from a faint-hearted personality.
So, he wonders about his girlfriend more. Thus, it soothes his pain to a profound extent. She cannot be like a vulture in disguise, he wonders to himself. He focuses at his face in the mirror shivering in a quick motion. His body turns numb, and he then hears the disembodied voices communicating to him.
“I’m your myrmidon,” he darts his head toward the shower curtains and sees nobody, “Don’t trust her. I know of her. She wants you dead. ‘Seek out your enemies relentlessly,’” (Quran, Surah 4:103).
He doubts what he is hearing, “No. No, she doesn’t. She loves me—Leave me alone.”
No longer does he feel like an odious person, and no longer does he feel confused with the occurrence of reality. It is clear, these voices and visions are misleading him. At the moment, exhaustion fails to exist within him. The voices are not talking anymore. He takes a deep breath and again, opens the door, walking out of the bathroom.
She speaks, “My ex called me while you were in the bathroom. He’s a Bounty Hunter, and he’s still obsessing over me.”
“Did you tell him to leave you alone?”
“I did, but unfortunately, he wouldn’t listen. He keeps calling me with threats.”
“Maybe I should handle him.”
“That’s not a good idea. He knows about us. He knows more about you than I do. How you talk, the way you walk, the way you think, and everything else. I told you before, I lived with him for about one year, that was until I got a good paying job and could afford a house.”
“Promise me that he’ll leave you alone.”
She hesitates, “I can’t. He’s smarter than I am. He wants to harm you.”
“Why? I thought…”
She interrupts, “Because I’m dating you. No, I don’t know everything in the world. I wish I did. He just knows more than I do. I’d rather have him not interfere in my life.”

Chapter 8
Punishment

Could Nicki be a compulsive prevaricator? Just the thought that he is not living with true love affects him deeply. There is hidden rage within him giving him constant terrible thoughts. One of the things he thinks of is murdering her now, and making pancakes out of her bosoms. But, what if she is being totally honest, he wonders.
Just when he thought he figured out everything that was going on around him, he discovers that it is false. It is as if his life is plotted, but he does not know who controls it. Powerless, he feels with the utter knowledge that a higher intelligence than himself actually exists. Innocently, he gives her an extremely disappointed look, believing that she wasted his time in dating him. She says nothing, and his suicidal intentions return. His entire body turns stiff, and he leaves out of the house, slamming the door behind him. Shocking him more, he does not see anything outside, but he realizes that he is still inside of the house, standing in the living room. He can see Nicki rise from the couch with a confident smirk. So, it is clear, she opposes him, but how is it possible that he is in the same spot if he already left it? Or did he really walk out of the house without the process of imagining it?
“When I was a little girl, at the age of six, I had a fetish for dolls,” she says while fiddling with her hair, “Visitors would call them ‘creepy’ and because of that, nobody ever understood me. I’d bring my favorite doll Hades with me to school. All of the students laughed and bullied me. It wouldn’t end, I was the so called freak in high school, hiding her in my purse while my quarrelsome step brother, Mark ran down the hallways to jump over objects like an animal, always getting involved in arguments, and always getting involved in fights. He’s two years older than me, and he suffers from bipolar disorder. That was humiliation and there’s far more stories beyond that. I just wanted to be accepted into society like everyone else, but since they don’t understand it, they are the mockery.”
“Why are you hurting me?”
“You don’t love me.”
“Yes I do!”
Her eyes then appear as if they are literally boiled as she says, “Don’t lie to me. I know you.”
He hesitates to speak and says in horror, “I can’t believe this.”
“I’m surprised that you can believe anything,” she says in sarcasm with a tinge of anger, “Mark should be here any minute, so don’t think you’ll get too far by running.
He hears voices, “She says she doesn’t like you. I told you about that liar. The myth of love is the horns of love.”
An echoing shrill of a disembodied female voice comes to his awareness. Twenty levitating photographs of Ashley are hovering over him. He looks up and sees that on all of the photographs, her face has a red “x mark” covering it. Immediately, the photographs bypasses him and lands on the floor. On all of the photographs, from the eyes of Ashley comes out real blood, trickling on the hard wooden floor.
The process of time seems to have stopped, for Nicki is standing motionless as if she is a smirking statue. Thus, the television screen fails to stop. He panics, and he darts his head around his surroundings. Then, he positions his arms around his sensitive ears, and he yells with complete distress. From this point, he does not even want to hear his own self, but he yells anyway, and his voice echoes as if it is in a cave. The horrible moment causes him to sweat in frustration.
Nothing around him is in motion. And in his mind, he questions himself if the process of time has actually stopped. Regardless if what he is experiencing is really happening, he comprehends that he is in grave danger. How long will it take for him to die, he wonders again as he hears the echoing humiliation of laughter growing around his surroundings. Maybe he should just flee the house this time, but he is scared to do so. And he is simply scared to flee the house because he fails to know where he will live, for he is unemployed, and he has no money in his pocket or bank account showing a deficit.
The merest sound of glass shattering from upstairs alarms him that somebody else may be in the house. Instantly, the television is functioning, and Nicki is moving toward him in a calm manner. Rage builds within him. He then ignores her and rushes the opposite direction heading upstairs to find out why he heard the sound of the glass shattering. From his peripheral vision, he darts his head to the right side and spots a dark shadow, traveling around his mother’s bedroom. Now, he can hear the disturbing sound of somebody smacking their feet against the wooden floor. By hearing the walking pattern, and seeing the shadow circle around his mother’s bed, it further traumatizes him.
Someone’s footsteps are traveling swiftly up the creaky stairs. He turns around, and he jumps up in fear, remembering that Nicki is behind him. By her betraying him, he truly is misanthropic, eager to harm someone. He feels as if he was born to be a psychopath wanting to torture any human. Just by standing in her presence, he no longer wants to care about anyone, including himself.
A cluster of eight apparitions of different people then surrounds him. Although he is surrounded, Nicki is the cynosure of the ghostly figures. Each of their faces are completely black once he gives them a timid look. They then vanish from presence while she finally walks up the stairs. Honestly, at this moment, he does not know what he is feeling more, which is either a petrified mood or the feeling of a doomed future.
His near future seems black. Causing him more distress, no matter where he is at, it seems to be a bleak place. There seems to be no escape from his massive predicament, especially being near Nicki. All the doors around the area slams shut by itself blocking him from going anywhere. His heart feels hollow, and he surely feels like he is standing with a cramp, watching fate being determined by her.
Voices further bother him by speaking, “How can you escape,” they whisper, “It’s real. So, it’s fate.”
“Aaaaww! My boo looks scared. Let me lend you a hand,” she says and smacks him across the right side of his cheek, “Never walk away from me again!”
“I just want to get out of this.”
“This is Oakland. If you leave this house right now, you’re dead.”
“I don’t care I want to die.”
“I won’t allow it. You die when I want you to. And I promise, it’ll be the happiest moment of your life. He’s pulling up now.”
“Do it. Kill her, “the voices speak to him echoing into his ears, “Kill her.”
He extends his hand out toward her nose, but like a hologram, his hand goes through her face. The doorbell rings, and he hesitates to make a sudden movement. Slowly, he removes his hand out of her face, and he gazes into her gorgeous eyes. It occurs to him that she is not real. If that is a fact, then who is at the front door, he wonders with suspicion. She vanishes, and she appears behind him with a thick, sharp knife. Thus, she breathes on the right side of his neck, and she nuzzles against it.
In fear, he turns around frowning, then she speaks, “You should take your medicine. You’ve been behaving very weird. Just know that I only want you.”
“She’s killing you,” the voices say.
“Who is Jeff?”
“Jeff is Ashley’s ex-boyfriend. My step brother Mark is at the front door. Just take your medicine.”
Since she wanted him to take his medication, he walks to the bathroom, closes the door, and does so. How could he lose trust in her that quick, he thinks, crying silently in the direction of the cracked mirror. Swiftly, he wipes away his tears. He thinks about how her beauty belittled his existence only because he did not take his medication. In reality, he again discovers that she would make him feel just as significant as her for dating her, for they are a dyad.
“Blimey, she would never betray me,” he says in the mirror with confidence.
When he opens the door, he flinches after seeing her face, then she whispers, “My stepbrother is downstairs. I need you to do me a favor. I need you to kill him.”
He whispers in return, “For what?”
“For us. It will make us proud, my love.”
“I’ll do it. Just, please don’t play too much. I thought you were going to kill me.”
“Sure,” she says, and she smooches on his lips, Thank you, babe.”
“You’re welcome.”
“It’s what he wants,” the voices tell him, “It’s what he needs.”
Ryan walks out of the bathroom, and he accepts a sharp, thick knife from her. Then, he walks down the wooden stairs with rough breaths. His loud manner of breathing allows Mark to turn around getting up from the couch. His target is aware of the knife he is holding, and his target is in utter fear. So, his target then wonder of who he could possibly be, and he worries about Nicki.
Mark speaks, “Who are you?”
Ryan remains silent while his girlfriend laughs in a wicked tone. Her voice is inaudible to his ears, for his full attention is on the frightened male. Suddenly, his enemy draws out a gun, and he aims it in the direction of his forehead. The dangerous gun does not seem to frighten him one bit. He appears calmer with the gun pointed at his forehead showing no sign of rough breathing. Automatically, the gun levitates from his enemies hand as if it is by a magical force, and he lunges at him with the pointy knife, showing no mercy for his victim.
Thus, Mark is stabbed excessively. First, he is stabbed on the right hip, then the right earlobe. Mark falls to the floor yelling in agony while holding on his stomach; with his right hand, he holds his stomach while slowly crawling with the other. Clearly, he does not crawl far, for he is then stabbed more times. Specifically, Ryan lunges at his haunches three times, his left ulna once, and one inch below his eye once.
The horror is not over for him. Ryan puts his heavy weight on his back, and he lunges the back of his neck as if he is a serious threat. At this point, Nicki walks down the stairs with a priceless expression as he stabs the victim again. Blood covers the area and the victim appears to be dead. Disturbing enough, she giggles, wanting to see a close-up of the bloody victim.
Soon after she walks toward the body, Ryan is already playing with the blood on the carpeted floor, moving his right index finger in circles. Seconds later, he licks his index finger, and he sucks on it. The blood tastes perfect, and he is eager for more. He observes the victim crying silently, and he gains additional happiness. Then, he darts his head to his girlfriend, curious if she is fascinated by seeing this person’s blood.
Suddenly, he then looks at the levitating gun, and he sees that it vanishes. Never did Mark possess a gun. He ignores the thought of that deadly weapon, and he continues to play with Mark’s blood, licking the evidence from his right index finger. By taking a look at Nicki, he knows that she has an idea of what she wants to do with the body. And there is no doubt in his mind that he will enjoy what she does to the body.

Part 3
Tortured

Chapter 9
True Killer

In a lovable voice, Nicki says to Mark, “Sometimes, I feel like a thorny rose. There are more problems to settle even when I grow a petal.”
Immediately, she walks into the kitchen, and she opens up the refrigerator, taking out a plate, which is wrapped in plastic. On the plate is a fresh, light, green liver from a lobster, a diced pig heart, and eight diced mushrooms. From the plate, she places the food in a pot of hot water, and she boils it. Then, after ten minutes, she adds the following ingredients: pepper, salt, melted butter, and diced onions. So, she stirs the ingredients together with a big spoon, and she takes a glimpse at her stepbrother.
Ignoring her stepbrother, Ryan walks into the kitchen and says, “If you give me your love in exchange for the curtailing of my life, I would be happy.”
“I already gave you my love. But, you’re so sweet,” she gazes into his eyes and says, “That doesn’t mean you’re going to die soon.”
“You’re sweeter. So, what’s for dinner?”
“People. I’m going to save Mark for dessert.”
“How do we explain this to…”
She interrupts him, “The police. Of course. I got that handled. There’s plenty of tie for me to prepare.”
“You make me laugh. Thanks for cooking.”
“No problem. I’m going to be doing a lot of cleaning up around here. I’ll meet you in my house with the food in thirty minutes,” she takes out her house key from her right pocket, and as she continues to speak, he accepts it, “There’s my house key. Make sure you feed Heather.”
“I will,” he says with confidence believing that he will not forget to feed her twin sister.
Three minutes later, Ryan is inside of his girlfriend’s house, and he is carrying three pieces of bread into her pungent, blood smelling bedroom. He ignores the noisy guinea pig that is trying to climb the cage. Then, he opens the window, waiting for Heather to arrive. She flies by, immediately taking the food from his hand with her back and soars in the ocean blue sky, flapping her wings. Acting as if the bird is nothing significant, he closes the window with a frown.
A dark, blue binder is near the open closet, and he notices that it looks exactly like Ashley’s. As he walks toward the closet, the flat-screen television turns on by itself, alarming him of another odd event. When he turns around, on the screen, he can see a close-up of his own face. He hesitates to pick up the blue binder reluctant to make another move. The screen then exposes that his clone is taking shallow breaths.
His clone speaks, “I have faced the faceless, and she is not one. Ashley, I love you. I love you, Ashley,” constantly, he sees the screen rewinding to the last four words, playing them, “I love you, Ashley…”
The television screen dims, and he rushes out of the room with the intentions of escaping the noise. Still, the noise from the television can be heard, which annoys him. Hence, he covers his ears, leans against the plaster wall, and slumps down to the wooden floor. Suddenly, the noise ceases. He remains in the same position, wondering about how his life would have been if he chose to date Ashley.
The frustrating thought bothers him to an ineffable extent. Still, he is adapting to his girlfriend, Nicki, but due to his continuous hallucinations, he doubts that he received the opportunity to fully know her. He is just now trusting her, and he hopes he will never be deceived again, but he realizes that not being deceived is not a promise. Because Ashley is dead, he thinks about what she may do if she was alive. If she was alive, may she attempt to cause not only himself, but his current girlfriend to breakup, just to later date him? How much would Ashley really care about him, he thinks. Once again, it occurs to him, his girlfriend knows his struggles, and she is patiently waiting for him to overcome them, only so they will truly possess a happy future. As he believes, he does not have to live a deceiving life for a lifetime, because his hallucinations will cease to soon exist. But, they will only cease to exist if he believes so, and from his perception, his girlfriend is very encouraging to him.
He opens up the binder, and he speaks while reading the following words, “Dear hate. I’m more than honored to express how I feel right now. Here it goes, ‘Fertility, am I deserving of it? I was born without this ability. Do I really need to admit? Again, surpassing humility.”
“Tell me what I want to know. If it only takes me to smile. Do so, and let me go. Just let me walk this mile. Sincerely, Ashley Welmers.”
“He continues to read, “I miss my Ryan. Am I wrong if I have such feelings for you? Without you, I am so blue until as the sky until it turns black. I just wish that you didn’t have feelings for my best friends. If you’re reading this, here’s a tip on dating. If any woman besides me ever gets hot, don’t let them take their clothes off. Just tell them to stay wet, and that should last her the night.”
After chuckling from the humor of her writing, he rises up, and heads into the basement, rushing down the stairs. The entire area has the awful odor of dead bodies, but he fails to see anyone around, especially knowing that it’s murky. Rapidly, he flicks on the light switch and still, there appears to be nobody around, but himself. So, he feels alone, and he misses his girlfriend more, believing that just the slightest second away from her is unhealthy to his heart. Really, he is just obsessed with her, and he is very terrified of being away from her. Besides the obsessive thoughts of her, he wonders of where exactly his mother’s body is, and he realizes that she was really burned outside. Thus, he leans against the wall, laughing about the memory.

Thirty Minutes Later

While the light is off, he is smoking a cigarette in the bathroom, facing the mirror. A disturbing thought comes to his mind. He wonders of how a burning cigarette feels on a female’s nipple. Never did he smoke before, but today, he made an exception. Finally, there is a sign that he is not alone, for he hears the door opening.
By the time the door closes, he can hear her sweet voice, “put down the cigarette, and help me clean up around here. I just had to throw out the trash.”
He walks out of the bathroom and says, “Sorry. Where did you put the trash?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Yes. In fact, I would like to know.”
“I can’t tell you. Just know that the trash is dumped somewhere that you’ll never look.”
“If you trust me, you’ll tell me.”
“I do trust you,” she giggles, “It’s beneath the basement. Thanks for feeding Heather. I really appreciate it.
Mark appears to be lying on the floor in front of her wrapped in a plaid red and black carpet. In a careless manner, Ryan unwraps the carpet, and he glares into his terrified eyes. He strongly believes that the victim does not seem to have experienced enough suffering. By his feet, he drags his motionless body into the kitchen with almost no effort. He then then kicks the victim to the temple, hence, his head smacks against the dishwasher.
Caring absolutely nothing about the condition of the enemy, he then kicks him directly in the jaw. As a result, before the innocent persons head smack against the dishwasher, his jaw dislocates. Before he could make another attempt to kick the injured being in the same area, his girlfriend nudges on his left shoulder. He takes a couple of steps away from the body amazed at what he sees. It appears as if he has high desires to murder the defenseless person, but he makes an exception of not murdering him.
Ryan’s heart pounds at a swift rate while he observes the male struggling to breathe. He watches the enemy cough oxygen from his body, but his heart sends him great physical pain as it then beats at 102 beats per minute. Also, his face turns to a red color, which is obvious that it came from his rage. Then, he walks out of the kitchen, holding the area of his heart with his eyes remaining on his enemy with an unforgiving look. After three seconds, he sighs in the air, and he ignores him with the intentions of sitting down on the couch.
Again, the voice inside of his head communicates, “You’re in danger. You need to kill Mark. Murder him.”
Automatically, he rises off the couch and swiftly walks into the kitchen. He searches in a drawer and yanks out a sharp knife. Tightly, he wields the weapon in his right hand. He takes a quick glimpse at Nicki, and he lunges at her stepbrothers face twelve times. In a happy manner, he licks the blood from the pointy knife as if it is chocolate. As he licks the aroma of blood, he smells it, knowing that he will indeed be pleasured once he eats his enemy tonight.
“Ashley cared about you. Just not enough. She wanted to ruin us. She wanted to be with you. Today is the day that all that deceives you will go away. Your long-standing problems will cease to exist.”
“Thank you,” he says, staring at her angelic face.
The sound of laughter comes to his awareness. It sounds like a little girls laughter, and he doubts that it is his girlfriend. He darts his head around him, and he hears a loud barking dog from outside. Police sirens are outside the house. In a nervous manner, he peeks through the blinds, and he sees no sign of a police siren or a domestic animal.
“Ignore it,” she says.
He sighs, “It won’t leave.”
In a calm voice, she says, “Trust me.”
Trying to trust her, he says, “I do.”
“After dinner, I need you to burn your mother’s house.”
He says, “Anything for you.”
“Listen to me,” her sweet voice enters his ears, “I have killed nobody. You murdered Eric, you murdered your mother, and you murdered Ashley. I’m here to protect you. You’re not alone. You keep imagining these things that aren’t real, but I need you to realize that you can overcome this predicament right now, if you have faith. You killed them, not me.”
“I believe you,” he realizes that what she is saying is definitely the truth, “Ashley wanted to get in the way of our relationship. My mother tried to get in the way of us, and so I wanted her to see that nobody can get in the way of us. I know that I am a problem, but I honestly don’t know how to fix this. You’re more than I could ever ask for, and so I feel beyond guilty by such doings. Thank you for all of your help. I wouldn’t be alive without it, and I’m sorry about how much pain I’ve caused you.”
Like a slow vanishing light, he is aware that his girlfriend is fading. So, she never existed. He panics trying to touch on her, but as if she is a ghost, his hands go through her body. This would mean that he is certainly a serial killer who imagined a girlfriend to support him. The thought of his lonely cries then causes him to weep in total sadness as she disappears from his sight.
His life feels like it is jinxed. Out of shock, he falls down to the tiled kitchen floor, sitting on his knees. Nicki is a character of his imagination, and he feels really guilty for being involved in multiple disturbing crimes. If she ceases to exist, whose house is he currently breathing in, he wonders. Even more, he wonders if he will be given a death penalty or be placed in a local mental institute for his behavior. Suddenly, the front door opens. She enters the house closing the door, then she looks at his disappointed face as he is sitting on the floor.
“I told you I’d be right back in thirty minutes with the food. What you have just experienced was half real. I never murdered anybody,” she says while walking with a silver pot in her hand, “You’ll be fine. I know you’re hungry.” Immediately, he gets up to approach her, “How is this possible? How are you real? I want you to be real, but it just doesn’t feel real!”
“Sometimes, you make me want to cry. I’ve been supporting you because I care, and it is not because I want you to suffer. I am real, and you need to realize that soon,” she then says in sarcasm, “You have my heart. How often does an opportunity like this comes to people?”
“Sometimes, I feel like you’re playing with my damn mind.”
With hesitation, she walks into the kitchen and places the pot on the stove. Then, she makes a rapid walk to him, and she smacks him across his right cheek. A reddish bruise mark is already across his cheek, and he rubs on his pain with his right hand. Saying absolutely nothing, she walks directly into the room and slams the door. He lowers his head and again, walks to the couch to sit down. As much as he did not want to believe that she is frustrated, he accepts it as a belief, but he simply cannot fathom of why she would smack him.
The low volume from the flat-screen television irritates him, thus, he rushes to yank the black remote beside him. When he turns off the television, he feels severely concerned about what his girlfriend may be thinking. By her smacking him directly in the face, he feels like a failure at life, striving to do better, but never succeeding. The terrible thoughts bother him so much that he feels uncomfortable sitting down, and he rises from the couch, sighing. He is furious enough to vandalize her property but instead, he walks to her bedroom door, and he knocks on it out of hope that something good may eventually transpire.
As he stands by the door with a frown, he says, “I’m sorry. Do you want to talk?”
She opens the door, “You harmed all of those people, and I guarded you. Why? Because I love you.”
“I’m sure it can be upsetting to see me this way. I said I was sorry. I didn’t realize how much you guarded me from what could’ve happened to me.”
“I know. And you seem to respond well to pain. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want you, my soul mate. Don’t worry about the police. They have already done a thorough investigation. I just want you to focus on us. That way, you won’t be deceived again.”

Chapter 10
The Gift

The process of abject pain, and love flows in his mind. It is because of his past behavior of murdering and having sexual intercourse with people that he keeps remembering his terrible actions, and his regrets. He regrets his acts, for his actions surely bothers his girlfriend, and he loathes the fact that she has a problem with his behavior. At this moment, he wants to plot a bomb in various places of the world, just so people could comprehend how disappointed he literally is. Although he is inexperienced with creating destructive bombs, he is intelligent enough to create a destructive one, which is what he thinks. Since he lives in the ghetto, for every time he sees or hears a stranger in his environment, he feels unsafe, wanting to protect himself by torturing numerous innocent and guilty victims. So, he thinks about his girlfriend to calm down, which makes him want to cease his intentions of murdering and raping countless living organisms. Just thinking about his ghastly past even disturbs himself, but he hearkens to the myriad of voices that communicate to him, believing that she loves him in order to regain a safe feeling.
“I just want you to be happy.”
“Promise me that you’ll stop killing people.”
“I promise to stop killing numskulls,” he says in a calm tone.
“I’m not joking!”
“I promise.”
“We’re moving out in three weeks.”
“Time went by fast,” he worries with the thought that he did not get a true opportunity to know his girlfriend during that amount of time and go to various places and says, “Very Fast.”
“Fast? I’m dying to move,” she continues to speak while he hallucinates, “Look what you made me do. I know you’re ticklish.”
Suddenly, she takes out a keen knife, but he realizes that she is not trying to harm him. There is not really a knife in her hand. He remains in the same spot in a calm manner. Then, he enters her room, and he sits down on her soft bed. From this point, he shivers, glancing at the bearer of his love as her sister, Heather appears outside of the window.
“I know it’s complicated,” she says.
Disturbing him, he hears the clamorous voices speaking to him again, “She’s going to kill you. She says she doesn’t like you. Kill.”
Sitting in her bed give him a creepy childhood memory of when he was seven years old, and he would always sleep with a stuffed bear, but he would wake up seeing the face of a lacerated deceased female. He would rush out of the bed weeping in terror only to inform his mother of the abnormal thing he saw. Never did she believe that what he saw was real, so she remained skeptical, believing that he only suffered a nightmare on many occasions. When he would return to bed to lie down in a comfortable position, he would stay awake until he could not, and he would be disturbed by his bed shaking at a rapid pace. In deep fear, he would wake up, and he would see a dark figure of a chuckling woman on his right side, sitting in a wooden chair, which is parallel to his bed.
Immediately, he winces from the memory of his past, and he refrains from speaking while she sits beside him. Already, he feels like he is having another sentimental moment with her, but he is confused if it is going to be an innocuous moment. Nervously, he lies down, positioning the back of his head on a soft pillow, and she does the same thing, cuddling against him in an affectionate manner. Although he is obviously nervous, by her wrapping her arms around his body, it suddenly alleviates his nervousness.
Slowly, she fondles his neck, soothing him to the point where it can be mistaken for an act of magic. The way she moves her hands is so relaxing, that if he was nearly dead on a gurney, he would feel great. It is as if she possesses an incomparable, magical power of healing that can permanently change the daily negative moods of human beings, but if her technique of soothing is magic, then apparently, the magic is temporary. She continues to rub against his neck, and she closes her eyes as if she is in a meditative state. Thus, he rises out of the bed in a happy mood, only to see that she is exhausted, taking a nap.
The sore muscles in his neck are assuaged, and he desires nothing more at the moment, but to rest with the woman he loves. The last thing he wants is for this great moment to be atrophied if she wakes up in a draconian mood. In a calm manner, he sits down, and he lies his head on her stomach as if she is his pillow. Resting in the same bed with her feels so righteous; it gives him the idea that his dead skin cells may not expunge but survive. Being around her makes him feel like he has eternal life.
He wonders of why she is taking a nap before eating. Her tummy does not deserve to get hungry, he thinks. Maybe she ate earlier, but he just did not see it. A bowl of ambrosia may please her if she wakes up with it beside her bed. Or, maybe, he should not risk the chances of him disturbing her, so he also takes a nap.

The Bathroom

Thirty minutes later, before immediately stepping into a tub of cold water and ice, he recoils from the sight of blood flowing around. The water is being splashed by an unseen person. Afraid of what he sees, he shivers, holding on his black towel, which is wrapped tightly around his waist. Just before he is about to run out of the bathroom, the blood disappears, and so does the splashing of the water. The bathroom turns frigid, and he takes rough breaths as he chucks his towel on the floor, stepping into the tub. This moment petrifies him, but he sits down against the wall, struggling continuously to think about sentimental moments that he had with his girlfriend, only to calm down.
A dearth of many nits comes from the showerhead, and he ignores it, washing his body with a wet and yellow sponge. Trying to relax, he feels like a jillion people are badgering him from the get-go, ever since he was born, but he knows that is not true. At least his girlfriend never shunned him, he thinks as he wipes his sad face with the sponge. She lightly knocks on the door startling him from the bathtub. Immediately, he rises up, steps out of the tub, swiftly wraps his towel around his waist, and opens the door. The exact moment he sees her, abruptly, many spiders crawl out of her hair, and they crawl down her face. Absolutely nothing could calm him during this freaky moment, for the sight of his girlfriend is not pretty. A thunderstorm occurs as he flinches from her. He is frightened to watch her face, but he is even more frightened to take his eyes off of her, for he is clueless of what she may do. The mystery of what she may do terrifies him, which causes him to automatically slam the door, locking it to avoid any sort of danger.
He sits against the bathroom tub staring at the door that he recently shut. A lull in the thunderstorm occurs while he focuses on the spiders that he saw crawling on her face. Just sitting down in one position and waiting for something eerie to occur makes him want to bellow. Thinking about the occurrence also makes him want to vomit, but when he looks inside of the toilet, it appears to be a maggoty place. Before making attempts to vomit, he flushes it, closes the toilet seat, and sits down in the same position—helplessly.
Not many people know that he has an aversion of just seeing the sight of maggots, but he pretends as if it fails to bother him by attempting to show no emotion on his face. He struggles to remain calm, but his uncontrollable heavy breathing makes him panic. From the door, as if Millie is scratching on it with her nails on her paws, he hears the eerie sound of it, wondering if Nicki is awaiting him behind the door. Although he is disgusted by the sight of the brimming maggots from the closed toilet seat, he is haunted by the thought that she could possess a real weapon that can cause him bodily harm. Maybe behind the door, she is just holding a billet-duox from his binder, and he is overreacting, he thinks, wiping the perspiration from his appalled face. Frightening him more, the doorknob is twisting at a rapid pace, and he is reluctant to open the door as the sound of thunder returns. To his awareness, when he opens the door, nobody is behind it and not even Millie, but he continues to hope, panicking that she won’t enter the bathroom.
He hearkens to the voices that are communicating to him, “She’s your malediction. Your curse. She’s going to kill you. She stops caring. So, she does.”
As he sits against the tub, his behavior gets worse. He gnashes his teeth, and he quivers as if he can die from it. In an angry manner, he rams his fist down on the toilet seat while slowly moving to the floor in a downward position. Oxygen seems like an unreal thing to him, which causes him to cease breathing, and hearing the sound of his own rapid heartbeats. A heart surgeon seems like his only hope for survival. Of course, there is no one around to help him.
When it seems as if this is his final moments of life, he gains a new aspect. He learns that life is not meant to fear, and that there is no great reason of why he should have been worrying to such a high extent. He should not worry about dying his entire life just to later remember his unsatisfied life as he dies. Sadly, he comprehends that thought, which is possibly seconds before his death. His fingers linger on the floor, and he discovers that he lacks the ability to yell. Maybe this is indeed the prediction that Nicki made about him dying a happy death, he thinks, and he gets second thoughts to believe strongly that he will not die soon.
She opens the door with ease and suddenly, his heart beats at a normal rate of 75 beats per minute as he breathes without any difficulty. It is as if it is a sign that is informing him that he will remain with his girlfriend for eternity. Millie runs pass her while she gives him an innocent look, which appears like it could cure almost anybody with an illness, expect for him. There is not even a vestige of proof that spiders travel across her gorgeous face. Just knowing that he hallucinated again makes him embarrassed to show his face, but it does not make him too embarrassed to block his face from her presence. Her great presence alleviates his distress, and it beckons him even more than the last time he saw her.
Rising up from the floor, he holds on his black towel, which is wrapped around his waist. He gazes into her eyes and steps into the tub with sheer silence. Thus, he closes the shower curtain, and he places his towel out of the tub in an immediate fashion. Deeply, he fancies her, and he knows that she knows she is giving him a nervous feeling in the tub. Still, as he stands in the tub, she remains in the bathroom, observing him, and with suspicion, he wonders of why.
She sits down on the toilet seat, and she opens up the shower curtain only to spot him sitting naked in the cold water of ice. Her eyes does not move away from his muscular body. A wet sponge is in her left hand, and she takes the object from his hand. While forming a flirtatious smile, she then lightly rubs his back. Without a doubt in her mind, she knows that she is relieving him from rage.
“If I could be any animal in the world, I would be a liger,” she says.
“Why a liger?”
“It’s a mixture of a male lion and a female tiger. To me, it represents leadership, power, courage, determination, and beauty. Happiness of nature.”
“Aren’t we all carnivores? Aren’t we all animals? Lions can also be silent and sneaky. That’s how they survive in the animal kingdom. By catching their prey.”
“Funny. I’m trying to cure you and the progress will increase sooner if you try thinking on the bright side.”
“I need to hurt somebody.”
“You promised.”
“I know. I want to. If I don’t, I’ll feel like a kitten, mistaking blood for milk.”
“I don’t think you know how that feels,” she places her fingertips on his chest, “This will be our last time. Make it worth it.” Heather’s ex-boyfriend is bound to knock on my front door and try to date me. After I reject him, he will attempt to murder me and anyone in this house. So, before or when I reject him, that is when you stop him.”
Her majestic smile causes him to smile in return feeling happy about what she said. Finally, he has another opportunity to commit another crime, and he is eager to kill. From his personal belief, he still does not have a nefarious personality, but he is clueless of how to lose his problematic addiction to committing dreadful crimes. For a slight second, he then wonders if she actually wants him to commit a crime or even inflict any type of pain on someone. Thus, he decides to ask her a question, trying to figure out if she personally wants him to murder.
“Are you sure you want me to do this?”
“I don’t want you to do it, but it’s my way of caring for you by giving you a choice of actions. It’s up to you to murder or not.”
There are raindrops galore, and they are falling from the darkened sky, creating a deluge—at least that is what Ryan believes. Instead of focusing on the rainy weather outside, he keeps his thoughts on his girlfriend. A tear trickles down from his left eye, and he reacts to it in a quick manner by wiping it away. When he looks at her face he realizes that he knows exactly why a tear fell from his eye. Simply, he has never experienced this much joy in his life.
Eventually, she leaves the bathroom, and attempts to cleanse his body with a soapy sponge while cold water squirts out of the showerhead. He turns the opposite direction of where the water is coming from, and slowly, he sits down with the both of his legs cross. Humming as if the water is relaxing, he does as he tilts his head to the right and left side, washing behind his ears. Surprising him, although his flesh appears clean, blood trickles from his ears, following the water, which heads down the drain. Even when he rises up to wipe his face, chest, arms, buttocks, and legs, a lot of blood trickles from his body, which makes him worry deeply about why he is very dirty, but it takes him approximately 1 minute for the blood to stop coming from his flesh 20 minutes to finish taking a shower.

Three Minutes Later

There are over one hundred different disembodied voices whispering the exact same thing in his ears at different moments as he sits in the tub, “Show him the light. Make him care. ‘Blessed are the believers… who restrain their carnal desires (except with their wives and slave girls, for these are lawful to them)… These are the heirs of Paradise…” (Quran, Surah 23:1-5)
Near his thighs a sharp knife is under the cold water, and he refuses to hesitate to hunch over it. Once he seizes the weapon by from handle, there is no doubt in his uncanny mind that the dangerous object feels real. It is too tempting for him to prevent himself from performing a demented action, so after cutting the palm of his left hand at approximately five inches, he smiles, glancing out the open door. The blood from his hand leaks into the icy water. He then places his hand in the water, and he watches his own blood travel across the tub as he smiles. Seeing the blood makes him so feel great, he sniffs his blood, and lifts it over his face with his hands, wanting to get drenched in it. As the blood leaks from his hands, he opens his mouth, tasting it.
As always, the blood has a distinctive taste. Tasting just the slightest amount of it causes him to want more. Thus, he lowers his hand, continuing to cut, and stab it while bellowing with a devil-may-care attitude. The pain goes away after a few seconds and the feeling actually turns relaxing as an aftereffect. Again, he lifts his hand, only to receive the taste the he craves in his mouth.
As if he is communicating to his enemy, he speaks, “I’m an artist, I’ll play with the blood on your face and create a masterpiece. I’m a doctor, I’ll stop hurting you for one hour and cure the pain. I’m a celebrity, my victims know me, and I won’t cease. I’m a killer, one with talents, but know I’m going insane.”
The bathroom door shuts by itself, and he fails to worry about the happening as many voices speak to him, “Conspiracy. People are sociopaths. Prove your point. Make him bleed. Do it or you’re damned.”
Those words then causes him laugh in frustration as he rises up. He tries to avoid making a sound, but it is as if he is being controlled of when to laugh. In a quick manner, he steps out of the tub, and he places his hands on the door, checking to see if it is actually closed. Still, he laughs, believing that when Heather’s ex-boyfriend arrives, he is destined to murder him. Heather’s ex-boyfriend is his enemy, and although he has never met her ex-boyfriend, as he stares in the mirror, he imagines shooting him numerous times in the midst of his head, which results in nine times.
Taking the slightest glimpse in the mirror reminds him of disturbing memories that he struggled to forget in the past. It bothers him to remember receiving numerous beatings if he did not eat whatever his mother fed him, and she fed him the flesh of deceased babies at the dinner table. The disturbing fact is that he that event only occurred ever since he was three-years-old, and the events ended by the exact time he met his girlfriend. He can visually remember sitting on his bed, staring at the plate in utter disgust while his mother would yell at him repeatedly to eat it. The memory of how his mother slaughtered the head of a parrot and pouring the blood over his head then returns.
Specifically, she said the words, “You should look in the mirror because you’re worthless and deep down, you know it. Are you going to just allow people to pick on you your entire life?”
As much as he wants to break the mirror, he refrains from breaking it, and he opens up the bathroom door to rush in Nicki’s bedroom, slipping on clothes. Nobody is in the house, and he is in a hurry to put all of his clothes on before she returns with her guest. Once he gets dressed, he looks at the closet doors, seeing his reflection. As no surprise to him, he is wearing a black T-shirt, with blood splatter as designs, leather black jeans with long chains linking together from each side, and black shoes with metal cleats. The sound of the front door opens, and he sighs in relief that the stranger will not spot him naked. At the same moment the front door closes, he hides his weapons on the right of his pocket and walks out of the room.
He walks into the living room and sees the stranger patting Heather on the back as if he is from an amicable neighborhood. The sight of the guest builds his desire to harm him. Immediately, he heads into the kitchen, ignoring the stranger once he gets greeted. He is not even aware of how disrespectful he is behaving, but at the moment, all that is on his mind is drinking a fresh cup of cold water. So, instead of communicating to the guest, he jerks a glass cup from the wooden cabinet, allows cold water to fall from the faucet, and drinks it.
Nicki shows her concern, “Ryan, my guest just greeted you, and you completely ignored him. That’s disrespectful. That type of behavior won’t be tolerated in my house. I would like for you to greet Peter.”
Ryan says with a tinge of sarcasm, “Peter? Since when does Peter come around here? A complete stranger. Will he barge into our conversations now? This is the same guy that used to date your twin sister and now, he only wants to date you. Peter is desperate and after time, he will be a middle-aged cheater, living partly off of his victim’s money.”
“I can leave if that’s what you want,” Peter speaks to her nervously, “It’s my fault.”
She responds, “No, you stay here. I’ll handle him.”
Ryan speaks to Peter while snarling in a shaking motion, “Just leave or else. Don’t come back anywhere around Nicki!”
“What’s your problem,” he says in curiosity.
In a swift manner, Ryan walks out of the house with the intentions of returning to murder the guest. He shuts the front door, and he tries to prevent himself from quivering and grow in bridled rage. No sign of regret is on his face from yelling at the guest. Instead of standing in one position, to the right side, he walks across the street, and he falls to his knees. Rage brims within him as he places his hands around his ears. Going inside of his girlfriend’s house seems like an excellent plan to scare the guest, but he wonders if he is overreacting.
Parallel to his girlfriend’s house he can see a teenage girl, who is wearing a white dress. The woman is on her knees in lachrymose silence with a lacerated forehead. Once the woman sees him, she stares at him with a seraphic smile, slightly exposing her perfectly clean teeth. The sight of her fails to bother him a bit, thus, he attempts to ignore her existence. While he keeps his head lowered in the direction of his chest, the anonymous woman slowly walks toward him with a change in her mood. She has a depressing look on her face, and he cannot see it due to him having his face facing the opposite direction. After seeing several leaves bypass him due to the strong gust of wind, he receives a vibe that someone is behind him, so he darts his head around, and she fails to exist.
Suddenly, his environment changes, and he is completely aware that he is not actually in a new location. Dead trees are around him. One dead tree in specific has the same anonymous girl he recently saw strapped to it. She is tied upside-down on the dead tree with long, black rope tangled tightly around. The annoying moment stops, and he can visually see reality.
“What is real? What is fake. Wiccans and Pagans are the swiftest way to my heart. Independent Satanists are naturally beautiful. Nicki could be one,” he constantly questions in his mind, then hears voices disturbingly speaking, ”’But when the forbidden months are past, ten fight and slay the Pagans wherever ye find them, and seize them, beleaguer them, and lie in wait for them in every stratagem (trick in war for deceiving and outwitting the enemy:; but if they repent, and establish regular prayers and practice regular charity, then open the way for them: for God is Oft forgiving, most merciful,’” (Quran, Surah 9:5-6)”
As he looks at Nicki’s house from the front window, he notices that Peter is looking directly back at him through the opened blinds, giving him a frown of frustration. In return, an unpleasant frown is also etched on his face, showing him of similar emotions. Hiding the fact that he truly wants to murder him, he walks toward the house as if he is only going to assault Peter. At the moment, the only thing that he can think about is how much blood will shed from the person he is glaring at. His heart pumps at a slow rate of 33 beats per minute. Then, causing his heart rate to rise to 88 beats per minute, he sees the person close the blinds, which causes him to return to Nicki’s property, hastily walking as if he has an explosive device attached to him.

Chapter 11
Slit to Slash

Voices are in his mind whispering to him as he opens and enters the door, “Help me find my mind. ‘Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones’ against the stones,’” (KJV, Psalm 137:9).
The front door slams close by itself, and he darts his head behind him. From looking at the closed door, he sees deadbolts on it, locking without anyone touching it. Looking at the door frightens him because he may have possibly experienced a real eerie event. Or, then again, when he further thinks about it, there is nothing eerie happening. Ignoring the front door, his attention is back on his Peter.
There is nary a sign of fear on the face of Ryan, but that does not cease his goal to harm Peter. He runs and hops over the black couch with like an animal and, he tackles him to the hard, wooden floor. With full force, Ryan strikes him in the face numerous times. Blood shows on Peter’s upper lip and left nostril, but that does not fully satisfy him. The urge to make him suffer flows in his mind, thus, he quickly rises up to kick him in the temple. Again, he kicks him, causing his target to turn motionless with only motion of the eyes. Although he has already assaulted Peter, he cannot seem to stop looking at his defenseless body, wanting to make him numb and the opposite multiple times before he struggles to beg to live, which is during him lacking plenty of oxygen to communicate.
Without a doubt, the defenseless male knows that Ryan is a penchant for violence. He then grabs the male by his two legs dragging him down the basement stairs. After walking down each step of the dark basement, the motionless man hits his head hard against the wood. Monotonously, the light flickers on and off as he proceeds dragging the injured male. He glances to the right seeing a long, silver chain, which is sitting above a smooth, tawny table. He takes another second to smite the motionless man in the face, thus, the back of his head joins the final step.
The back of Peter’s neck dislocates and Ryan slumps down on the bottom step. He glares at the males belly as if his personal diary is literally sewed inside of it. The basement door closes, and opens it slightly while he calmly remains in one spot. By the horrified look he is receiving from the male, he predicts that the male would murder him if he got the opportunity to, which makes him determined to murder the male. Before making an attempt to rise, he strangles him around his sore neck until he nearly suffocates.
He can smell his own blood pumping heart as he thinks about the quotes from his diary, “Life is only a tragedy with six major punishments: pain, death, humiliation, distress, anger, and worrying.” As he thinks about his other quotes, he rises up and drags Peter toward a wooden table, “Humiliating people is just like experimenting with chemicals. My hunger is the suffering of others and the others are my pain, which is the sight of entities. I desire to be the bearer of a dominant legion with a mindset of mine. You are an example of sheep bleating above a sleeping ground until an earthquake comes.”
Out of hatred, he handcuffs the hands of his enemy behind him, eager to punish him with unforgettable moments. From a bottom opened drawer to a black wooden dresser, he yanks blue pliers, and he utilizes the dangerous tool. Three of the defenseless male’s fingers are then cut off; his left index finger, ring finger, and right middle finger. As the victim yells in agony, Ryan decides to cut off the rest of his fingers of his left hand in the following order: his thumb, middle finger, baby finger, right thumb, and index finger. Then, he cuts off the rest of the males right fingers in the following order: his thumb, baby finger, ring finger, and index finger. By hearing his victim scream, it brings him exhilaration that he simply does not want to go away.
The bloody tool falls from his hand, and he makes a rapid movement to take out a knife from his back pocket. He squeezes the handle and thrusts the weapon in the direction of the innocent male’s right pupil. Blood splatters across his face, but that fact does not cease him from thrusting the same knife into his left eye. Louder the victim screams while crying in excruciating pain. From looking at the blind male, he is definitely surprised that the male is still alive.
Seeing the victim blind is not enough suffering for Ryan to witness. He comprehends that his victim cannot cover his eyes from the physical pain, and the cruel thought puts a priceless smile on his face as he then hold the victims right ear with his left hand. With his right hand, he switches weapons, bringing out a knife, thus, he cuts the right ear off of his victim. He then cuts the left side of his victim’s ear in a similar fashion after he gives him a horizontal cut on the chest, which is 6 inches deep and 7 inches long. Afterwards, he walks up the stairs and allows the victim to live, at least for now.
Before he can exit the basement, he sees Nicki wearing a zipped, black mackintosh, leaning against a plaster wall, which is parallel to the basement. He is curious of why she is giving him a face of joy. She walks out of the house without saying a word, and surely, it causes him to frown. Because she left, he feels like further harming the inane male in the basement, but he is determined to harm him as soon as he heals. So, instead of inflicting pain on the male, he decides to head outside in order to discover what she is currently doing.
It occurs to him, it is raining outside, and he does not have a mackintosh, but he heads outside anyway. Surprising him, she has a black umbrella made out of fishnet, and it prevents the rain from hitting her. When he peers through the cold rain, her black fingernails seems as though they are as sharp as the stem of a rose. Everything that he sees indeed alters his life once he can see her walking toward her motorcycle, totally ignoring him.
Getting soaked in the rain to walk toward her in utter curiosity, he says with concern, “Where are you going?”
There is silence, and she drives, speeding down the road, making a swift left turn.
Why did she fail to speak to him, he wonder in shock, staring at the same road she drove pass. The clouds turn dark and the weather turns windy, which causes the rain to cross directly against his face. At the exact moment, he see a flash of lightening, and he falls to his knees, wanting to cut himself with the lonely feeling, feeling furious about what he fails to comprehend.

Basement

Ryan walks down the dark basement stairs and undergoes another life-altering event. As he peers down the creaky wooden stairs, he can see a dark figured woman sitting on the bottom step, trembling and sobbing. The woman turns her head toward him in a swift motion, and she appears to be the same anonymous woman who he saw outside earlier. Her lacerated face fails to frighten him, and he continues to walk down the stairs with a sad expression. The woman vanishes, and he notices yelling coming from the injured victim.
“Why are you doing this,” he yells in fear.
Without saying a word, Ryan rushes toward the bleeding male on the floor, and he lowers his head, looking down at him. From the handcuffs, he drags him toward the dresser. Then, he slams the back of his head against it several times. The dresser tips over, and crashes to the floor, which adds more noise with the wounded male’s desperate scream. As the wounded male is being brutally assaulted, the scream of the male increases in volume with constant coughing.
From the top drawer of the dresser, Ryan takes out a sledge hammer and a handful of nails, then he chucks the nails behind him. After chucking the nails, he hits the innocent man on the right side of his ribcage with the object. Thus, the hopeless male suffers three broken bones on his ribcage, forced to undergo the pain without an option of suicide. In laughter, Ryan stands over the man, observing his struggle to breathe necessary air to continue life.
Watching the lacerated male sob is not fully pleasuring Ryan, so he decides to do additional damage to his victim. He picks up a sharp nail, and he utilizes the sledgehammer to place it inside of his victims left palm. He also utilizes the sledge hammer to target his victim’s right palm. Purposely, he drops the tool, and he takes off his victim’s shirt as if he is going to strangle him with it. Carelessly, he then removes his black leather belt, and he lashes at him several times. Disrespecting the wounded male even more, Ryan spits in his innocent face and laughs at the saliva that lands.
From a dark corner, he pulls out a black, steel chair inches away from the wounded person and sits down with a smirk on his face. Perspiration forms on the bloody male’s forehead. He observes the male sob, and he comprehends that the male just desires to escape this horrible scene. Lucky, this wounded male would be to somehow escape, but the male has a huge disadvantage at escaping, which seems like an impossible act. Leaving the wounded male on the floor, he returns upstairs in an immediate fashion.

Peter’s Version

Certainly, Peter is in so much agony that he suffers unspeakable thoughts about harming himself. He wonders of when Ryan was introduced to a depraved life of crime. What Ryan did to him degrades himself in a horrid way, which causes him no palpable rage. It was his bane to know of Heather’s gruesome murder, but his bane is now his physical pain. Feeling terrible enough, deeply he worries if intending to flirt with his ex-girlfriends older sister would have been a righteous decision , and he comes to the conclusion that he is wrong for what he intended to do.
Lying in this position gives him hatred over his life and, also, he is in profound fear that his life may soon be gone. Due to his pain, he can swear that he feels like the vivisection of an animal. He struggles to move his limbs concerned about his loss of fingers, eyes, and ears. Only if there was a feasible way for him to be safe, but he surely knows that there is not. At least if he had his eye sight, he would be currently seeing possible ways of escaping the house.
Seconds later, while Peter fails to realize that Millie is walking down the creaky stairs, Ryan follows her down, holding his personal diary in his hand. Millie walks back up the stairs, and Peter cannot hear or see a thing to know that Ryan is focusing on him. Peter screams helplessly, smelling his own blood out of disgust as the serial killer carelessly slumps down against the wall, opening his diary. The only senses that he possess at the moment are touch, smell, and taste, and he is clueless that the killer returned to the basement. Again, Millie returns down the stairs and cuddles against the killer.
Again, it seems as if Peter will be tortured like an entity of abomination, but Ryan speaks instead of harming him, reading directly from the words written in his diary, which is written in his own blood, “She told me a lot about you. Remember the cool table from the fourth grade when the so-called popular students informed the unpopular students that they were not allowed to sit at the table? You suffered similar disrespect being humiliated with constant, unforgettable acts by school bullies, and tantalized day after day with your belongings. You were haunted by nefarious people and became utterly furious about not even having a relationship with anyone. I know you can hear me, but the pain that I feel when I have to suffer by so called ‘humans’ is arcane. I know you have the cajones to date my girlfriend, but I will not allow folly insults to mess with my mind.”
Continuing to speak in a calm voice, Ryan says, “I know that when you were six, you witnessed your entire family murdered gruesomely by despicable thieves. You in a slightly opened closet while your biological mother and grandmother were brutally beaten, raped, and strangled to death by an extension cord. I know that you would do anything to relive those nostalgic memories with Heather even if it meant to date her sister. Although we can relate, you chose to gaze at her. Although one should not make a prompt assumption on what could be right or wrong, one’s actions will not be converted by transparent opinions, which are considered believed myths, that are mentally trapped in others’ mind. You’re a math instructor dating a woman in your class. Unlike me, my girlfriend can read 50,000 words per minute, she can even read backwards, so what can you do, besides make me want to have disciples poised to torture you?”
Random voices speak to Ryan again, “She has a phenomenal talent. He does not understand you.”
Peter can feel someone touching his right shoulders, and he assumes that Ryan is doing it. He is correct that Ryan is touching him, but he is unsure of why this is happening. Because he is physically hurt, he predicts that nothing good will occur. If he is tortured anymore, he believes that he will die, and he has a vibe that he will definitely be tortured more. Although he has suicidal thoughts, it gets him more nervous to wonder of how he will be tortured next.
There are a mixture of emotions flowing within Peter, but he mostly feels guilty. Guilty, he feels for being in the wrong place and intending to flirt with Nicki Love Ashes. Maybe the hooligan believed that he was trying to date her to experience her illustrious career with her in the future, but sadly, he did not even know that she is clairvoyant. He can easily blame himself for everything that is not his fault only because of one moment that makes him feel like a pathetic person. Besides his feeling of guilt, he is terrified of the darkness, has great hatred for the hooligan, and is jealous of the relationship that the hooligan has with Nicki.

Chapter 12
Moon Her

9:07 P.M.

For about thirty minutes, sitting on Nicki’s bed, Ryan is looking out the window. With moist eyes, he is wondering if she is mad at him. Maybe she is never going to return just because of the bloody personality he has, he wonders. Being without her is simply the worse feeling that he knows of. Only if the damn time to life can speed just so that he can discover why she left without saying a word and possibly not suffer from suicidal thoughts.
Standing behind him is the woman he is hoping to see, and he does not even realize it. He never heard the front door or back door open, so his full attention remains in the same place. As he observes three adolescent males walking across the street, she sits down beside him. For an unknown reason, he does not notice her, and his eyes are still focusing on what is outside. In fear, he jumps up as soon as she taps his shoulder, and he quickly realizes that she is in the house.
Did she ever leave the house, or did he just imagine the event? The insurmountable thought that she could have left gives him a desire to perform another crime, such as: torture an adolescent and giving the person an ephemeral existence. Just to know that at least one day in the future he will extirpate someone deserving, which would make him have a subtle smile, partly makes him proud, but besides that fact, he smiles at her, revealing how proud he is. He refuses to hesitate to hug her. At this moment, he is confused of what may have transpired, but he is again proud.
In the strong belief of Ryan’s, she is the apotheosis of love and forever will be, but that thought does not prevent him from asking a question, “Did you leave?”
Before Ryan can hear a word that his girlfriend says, in his mind, the voices communicate to him, randomly, “Inverted smiles spread like the wind; sometimes, they fall like the rain with a mixture of hail.”
She then speaks, “Tell it to go away. If you don’t, I’ll go. I’m tired of this, Ryan.”
Worrying in sheer fear, he frowns at her face, and he sees her fading away. He is in the state of confusion darting his head around the room and noticing that the room is getting darker by every second. So, he figures that wherever he is, he is trapped in a miserable place with no escape. As the area gets cold, the bedroom door slightly opens by itself. Without a surprised expression, he looks at the door, afraid to walk anywhere near it.
As his deformed heart palpitates from the fading room, he can clearly hear Peter screaming in an innocent voice. He broods about the disappearance of his surroundings only to see darkness and seven red lit candles that appears around him. The candles levitate inches over his height and rapidly circles him in an annoying fashion. Slowly, he inhales and exhales in the darkness, then he falls to his knees in a swift fashion. Soon enough, the candles plummet, and he lies on the floor, suffering a disturbing heart attack.
At the moment he shuts his eyes, a hot, bright, red light flashes on him, which is as bright as the sun. Although he may currently be alone suffering from a tragic heart attack, he feels as if he is publicly being scourged, for he is focusing on the numerous times that his mind played tricks on him, keeping him as a hotheaded person. His entire body turns stiff, and he automatically suffers bruise marks on his body, just by the mental thought that he may never see sassy personality again. With a loss of thought for why he is suffering these consequences, the shirt of his is covering his nasty bruises, and he is in too much agony to move. All he can do is hearken to Peter screaming in pain while he stares at the bed feeling an achy chest.
A few minutes later, he is fully capable of moving his body, because the myocardial infarction stopped bothering him. He feels weak, but he balances himself to his wobbly feet and he looks at the plaster wall, then turns around to peer at his girlfriend in sheer shock. Seeing her sit on the bed nearly gives him another myocardial infarction, but he is proud to see her. It occurs to him that he could have suffered an acute death, and she did nothing to prevent the occurrence. Again, because she is alive, can she be trying to murder him?
“What just happened,” he says.
“You need to get some rest.”
“I feel like I just suffered a heart attack. Where are you?”
I was here the whole time. Trust that I will be loyal, and I promise you that you will never get another heart attack.”
“I do. Stop saying that I don’t!”
“If you have faith in me, your mind has no reason to trick you.”
“I feel like a coin heading the direction of a magnet,” he admits and says, “I’m trying, and I’m sorry.”
Her beauteous eyes makes him nervous, for they turn watery. Before tears can even trickle down her face, she turns around, wiping them. From this point, he remembers that beyond her drop-dead looks is a very sensitive person. He is clueless of what to say, but he attempts to comfort her by wrapping his arms around her. In a slow fashion, she removes his arms, and he grows so disappointed in himself that he leaves the room with his head lowered.
By the time the door slams, he is peering down in the basement, staring at the wall. The red basement lights flickers, and all he is focusing on his girlfriend as his eyes dilate. He refuses to blink wondering of how long she will be upset with him. Tears trickle down his eyes as he wonders if she is going to receive her beauty sleep due to his negative action. While his eyes are staring in the same place of the wall, he slowly walks down the stairs, only to sit on the last step.
As he desperately cover his ears, the voices further irritates him, “Is there a smile underneath this frown?” Yahweh isn’t cryin’.”
When he has his head held down toward his stomach, he wonders of what are the names of the different voices that are bothering him. There are over a hundred different voices, and it is almost impossible for him to know how many will speak to him at once. Sometimes, they all speak at once and sometimes, they do not, which gives him the thought that he is really a powerless person. He gains the thought that his mind is being controlled causing him to make actions that he is not entirely aware of. But, he suffers second thoughts about the voices that haunts him; he has the thought that he is responsible for his crimes, but he is not responsible for his mental illness. Still, the question of who are the names of the unseen voices are in his mind.
Refusing to keep his head down, just when he believes that he is cautious of his surroundings, someone in his peripheral vision distracts him. On the right side of him, there is a clone of himself doing the same thing he is. It is as if he is looking in the mirror, but the clone appears to be breathing directly on him. That startling fact makes him worry of what will occur next wondering if his clone will assault him. He even wonders if the clone has a name, so he decides to communicate to it.
In a low voice, he says, “What do you want? Who are you?”
Disturbing Ryan, his clone fails to respond to him and gets up to walk near Peter. From the odd sight of the clone, it seems like he will relinquish everything he has in order to spend at least one minute torturing Peter. His clone possesses antisocial behavior following the command of his every thought, for the clone then drags Peter by the legs. Closer and closer to the steps Peter gets and the clone refuses to show any sign of empathy. Before Peter can even be dragged in front of the steps, he vanishes without saying a word.
Ryan is in awe about what he recently saw, and he refuses to believe that what he recently saw could have been an act of magic, which makes him wonder about additional things recently after an unnerving event. It was just an odd hallucination, and he strongly believes it. Seeing Peter proceeding to breathe on the dirty floor is a miracle, but he is definitely willing to extinguish Peter. Although he is furious about his girlfriend being upset with him, it suppresses his nefarious intentions. Metaphorically, he feels as though he is a critter running through an endless highway, but nobody stops to help him travel to see his destination. He wants to improve himself in a positive way, but when he hearkens to over thirty voices, he surely does the opposite of improving himself.
Ignoring Peter, he walks to the wooden table, picks it up, and throws it across the room. The table hits the hard, concrete wall and plummets to the floor, nearly ruining half of the pieces of it. He stands by the dresser and peers in the corner of the wall only to see a red apple in it. When he turns his head, he sighs, and he wipes the perspiration from his angry face, then peers back in the corner of the wall as his heart thumps at the heart rate of 101 beats per minute. The same apple is no longer there but existing on the broken dresser in a different color, which is in the color of green.
From upstairs, he can hear a euphony of music as he stands in the dark basement. Assuming that Nicki is playing the piano, he rushes upstairs, hoping to express how sorry he is. When he enters the living room, he realizes that Nicki is not around the area, seeing that Ashley Welmers is sitting in front of the instrument. She gives him a smile, and his expression is fear, for he believes that he is literally seeing a ghost. As she hums softly while playing the piano a depressing song, he can see her frowning after seeing his frightened face, assuming that he never mooned her.
Not for long is Ryan only focused on the music, for he notices Nicki’s bedroom door of opening, and he panics, thinking about what he is seeing. He can see her heading directly in the bathroom without getting annoyed by the noise. It occurs to him that Nicki did not approach Ashley because Ashley is already dead. He struggles to believe that she is not existing, but she remains in the living room, playing the piano. As he hesitates to do anything, he stares at Ashley’s appearance. From looking at her, he can see her unbuttoned black, wool, hooded jacket made out of 100 percent cotton on the inside, a red, threaded tank top with black studs attached, dark, blue jeans, and black, leather boots. She has a short, black, curly Angeled Bob hairstyle. Part of her hair is blocking her pretty eyes and a tiny, silver piercing on the right side of her upper lip. He has a strange feeling that because Ashley is watching him, he is in grave danger, but he is afraid to run away from the situation.
She sings in a beautiful voice as his entire body turns stiff, “Tell me why you’re seeping away. I kept searching for a real cure. Down fell acid, it started your day. Remember that you’ll never be pure.”
“I brimmed with wet tangible tears. Your whisper escaped the cold wind. Don’t pretend like you don’t have ears. You perished fast and made this end.”
“Sore throat when I spoke, baby. More blood you swallowed from me. Your mind is hollow, maybe. How did I behave lonely?”
“Ashes floating on tears. Hush and just go and hide. Blood forms and disappears. Run far and pick a side.”
“My reckless little girl. The blood will fade away. Picture gloomy clouds curl. Wonder of what to say.”
Lurk in the blood alone. Hold your breath in this pool. Hope the proof is not shown. Evidence from the tool…”
Refusing to remain in the same spot, Ryan makes a swift walk to the bathroom door, and he knocks on it, saying, “I need you to help me.”
Within the slightest second, before the door opens, he darts his head at Ashley. Seeing her feels exactly as frightening as seeing poured gasoline on burning train tracks. Thus, his imagination dominates his feelings causing him to remember burning train tracks in her background for a quick moment. He is highly aware of danger, but he is unsure of when it will meet him, which causes him to turn around looking at his girlfriend’s innocent face in a desperate manner. By looking at her face for one second longer, it seems as if she possesses a carefree lifestyle. Relying on his girlfriend to fix his problems is like being paranoid of possible bombs inside of carved pumpkins.
Entering the bathroom and shutting the door close, he does, speaking, “Help me.”
She extends her right arm toward his cheek, but avoids touching his flesh. Instantly, his migraine disappears as she places her palm above his head. Although his migraine may have vanished, he has a very weird, and very dizzy feeling as though his fingernails are replaced with eyelids. Besides his fingernails, there is a tingling sensation within his vein of love, and he cannot feel the rest of his body. Magically, he then feel like he never seen or heard anything that bothered him today, but he still remembers seeing Ashley.
As disturbing as discovering handprints on his tush, the music from the living room stops, and he is concerned if he is safe. Opening the bathroom door, looking in the living room makes matters worse, because he discovers that Ashley is not around the area. He is apt to die, but how is he apt to die, he wonders. By him thinking too much, it can possibly be destroying his life at a slowly, but he proceeds to think about his miserable life being in danger. He takes one quick look at his girlfriend and enters the living room in fear that something eerie will take his life—permanently.
Nothing eerie is in the living room and not even music is playing, but when he looks in the kitchen, the light flickers slowly. He is alarmed of something haunting him currently, so he darts his head in several directions of his surroundings. From the chandelier, the light in the living room turns off, and he peers in the somber kitchen, worrying in fear. Moving backward, he does until he hits his back against the wall, reacting to it as if someone from a horror film is playing a tremendous joke on him. After realizing that nobody is around him, he sighs, making his frown even worse than before. So, he enters the somber kitchen hoping to discover a clue to an escape from this horror that is haunting him.
A heart-to-heart with Nicki about why he is suffering so much danger in his life seems like an unreasonable decision at the moment, for he is determined to somehow truly find out on his own. In the darkness, he looks at the stove after hearing a loud thump behind the wall. He turns around even more frightened and moves reluctantly toward the counter. Still, there is nobody around, but he can hear a whistle coming from the faucet. It cannot be real, and he struggles to doubt the fact that a whistle can actually come from a faucet that is not even on.
Slumping down against the stove, he does, worrying about the weird events occurring around him. Ever since wondering about what event what event may occur in the kitchen, he feels incapable of speaking and physically walking. With his head lowered, and his mouth completely closed, blood trickles between his lips. Out of awareness, he catches his blood with his hand before it could land on his pants. Even his blood disappear, so again, he questions himself about what is real and what is fake.
Everything that he is experiencing feels like a nightmare of reality. All that he sees and hears feels fake, including the primary thing that makes him the most happy. Just how can he enter reality, and does he really want to know what reality is, he wonders. The thought of reality causes him to want to commit suicide without warning anybody as a sign for attention, for he might see what is truly real in the afterlife. But, when he continues to sob, thinking about ending his life, he realizes that it would be a complete waste of time to do so, especially knowing about the things that he has never accomplished in life, such as a job, a wife, and children of his own. Although suffers from delusions, he feels a strong need to accomplish what he wants, and he definitely wants to continue his relationship with Nicki.
A shadow enters the kitchen, and he realizes that it is Nicki’s shadow, for she stands in the area of the light. He currently feels like mumbling in anger, but he refrains from mumbling, staring at her existence. From the glimpse of her, he mentally believes that even if she was half of the way across the world, she will indeed return just to see him. Even if she was lost, he strongly believes that she will eventually find her way to him, by the same way a lost cat or dog—by using their senses as their path through a labyrinth. Looking at her divine face causes his heartsore thoughts to slightly go away, but he is too heartsore for his disturbing thoughts to perish.
Feeling like an absolute lunatic, he remains on the kitchen floor with his eyes directed at her. The light turns on, and he rapidly covers his sensitive eyes, feeling so heartsick that the temperature of his head is slightly above 130 degrees. While he covers his eyes, he receives a vibe that Peter is laughing at him. The fallacious belief makes him want to put Peter through more torture than a dying goldfish, which was lacking water for six hours. After focusing on his thoughts, he does not even want to assume that Peter is laughing at him like a bully would. Instead, he assumes that Nicki would inform him that nobody is laughing if he decides to ask her, which gives him the belief that possibly nobody really is laughing at him at this point in time.

Chapter 13
Somber Street

It is ten O’clock at night and a full moon exits the somber clouds from above, which abruptly surrounds a myriad of vivid stars. It is not raining outside anymore and the sky turns darker by every second, which causes the moon and stars to appear as if they are fading. Currently, it is even very windy with the temperature of 32 degrees but that does not cease gang activity from occurring. In the cold weather, from two parked black cars, gunshots are firing across Nicki’s house, heading the direction of a drug dealer and an opposing gang member near the corner of the block. Due to all black attire worn by everyone, it is not known fully which gang could have targeted the two victims.
The victims of the horrid killing suffered automatic deaths from the gunshots that were fired. As a result, the drug dealer was shot three times. He was shot in the chest while the opposing gang member was shot ten times in various areas. The gang member on the corner was shot in her right bicep twice. Then, she was shot in her upper and lower back three times, and she was shot directly in her head twice.
After hearing the gunshots, Ryan remains in the same position, sitting as if nothing occurred, but he thinks about how much he despises living in this neighborhood. In his opinion, the gangs in this neighborhood are murderers of past, ubiquitous, positive, negative influences and people who are currently positive, negative influences of the world. Because of the gangs being around his neighborhood, he will not be shocked if the opposing gang retaliates, shooting even more innocent people of the world on the local turf—which is really the governments turf. Young children, teenagers, adults, and elderly people are in danger, fearing to go outside due to the daily planned shootings, gangbangings, drug stashing related crimes, and more. Death is a quick result to anyone living around his neighborhood, and if he is not a target, he fails to care about the others dying.
He bangs the back of his head against the stove twice, and he gazes at Nicki as if she is a housewife, who also pays for what he wants and needs. Knowing that she is independent makes him feel extremely guilty again. Shocking him once more, she sits beside him with her back against the stove, and her legs slightly bent up. No one speaks and the dishwasher starts by itself, but it cannot be heard. When he thinks about her dedicating so much time with him in such a short period of time in a serious relationship, he nearly sheds a tear from the both of his eyes, wishing that he could rewind time just to somehow be an independent male.
As the silence in the chocolate smelling kitchen continues, he cannot stop thinking about her. What he is thinking about is how angry he gets when she cries, and he is in bliss when she is happy. Seeing that she is only happy is a temporary satisfaction, for he wants her to be in bliss, which is why he will soon turn angry. When she cries, it affects him in an ineffable way with no complete example to describe in words. He wonders of how somebody so divine as herself can be both, happy or sad at different times.
It seems as if she is not even human. At least in his mind it seems like that, for she is controlling him when he cries. She is definitely controlling him when he smiles. And he metaphorically feels like a lost puppet in a pile of needles when he is not with her to know how she is feeling. Although he suffers from excessive thoughts, he does not want to feel like he is overemotional, but he wants her to recognize how much he loves her.
Nothing could make him forget about her indomitable spirit, but he thinks about how his with her relationship may be in the future. While she is independent making music, will he be independent also, or will he simply be dependent? He realizes that if he is not striving to be independent, he simply does not want the best for her in life, for she would be only overworking herself for his ways of survival. Indeed, he wants the best life for her, which is why he intends on getting a job, but he is clueless of which job. Then, he thinks that asking her of which job would be the best for him to pick is a wise decision that would really benefit him.
He wishes that he can talk to her as much as her thoughts, and watch her as much as a psychic, but because she is an intuitive person, he judges reality. Temporarily, he thinks about the haunting quote, “Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly, they are ravening wolves” (KJV, Mathew 7:15). The quote certainly frightens him, but if he had enough time to spend by just watching her in complete silence for three days without rest, food, or fresh water, he would be fine. Including what effects her breathing pattern, whenever he thinks about her, he wants to know her every thought and choice of actions. As his soul mate, he needs her like the sky needs day and the day needs night. Looking at her, and knowing her every thought will not pleasure him enough, for the full pleasure of himself is truly by her happiness.
She speaks, “Please. Don’t ask me.”
“Why can’t I,” he asks in concern.
“I can’t make your decisions. I can give you my opinions. Your career is your decision. You’ll find the right job for you when you’re ready. And you’ll have my full support.”
While she was speaking, something eerie controlled Ryan, causing him to smack the back of his head against the stove, only after making an unsuccessful attempt to kiss her in a slow manner. Instead of feeling her soft lips, he feels the pain from the back of his head, placing his hands in the same position of where his head hurts the most. Her concern for him comes to his attention as he reacts to the pain yelling at the white ceiling in anger. Wishing that his imaginations would stop harming him, he does while she wraps the both of his arms around his head, positioning his head in her lap. He is in so much pain that he cannot think in a sexual manner with the desire to sniff her bosoms in order to discover exactly what perfume she is wearing.
When he looks at her eyes, he can see his reflection, which is as clear as a mirror. From seeing himself in her eyes, he feels as though he is a scatterbrained dimwit, who lingers in a cesspool while a myriad of cruel entities are jeering his personal life. The jeering enters his mind causing him to hear them, but he bellows, immediately, rising up with the both of his ears covered. Still, he hears the noise, but it certainly feels like a mishap that can easily go away, somehow. Taking no time to listen to his girlfriend’s comment to calm down his nerves, he rushes out of the kitchen and head into the living room, feeling as though he can suffer from quadriplegia any second due to the insurmountable horror he is undergoing.
Due to his rage, the temperature of his head feels like it has been 120 degrees for 3 minutes. Dark faceless figures roam into the kitchen; specifically, six shadows roam across him and into the kitchen, traumatizing him more. He laughs at the air as the people in his mind are laughing directly at him. The living room he is breathing in feels as though it could possibly be a catacomb because he feels like he is bound to commit another murder, and bury them underneath the area with great pride. The voices remind him that Peter is in the basement; He listens to them regretting the fact that he did not lunge at each of Peter’s joints as if he is a doctor, who is intoxicated with alcohol during the process of performing a serious surgery. Without a doubt in his mind, he is willing to finally murder Peter for the sake of feeling exhilaration.
Refusing to wonder of why the shadows headed in the kitchen, he heads out of the house, again changing his decision of not killing Peter, but he decides to take advantage of somebody else to achieve his desire. He heads the way toward the two dead bodies feeling as though he is a brute. Then, he eagerly yanks a powerful gun from the dead female gang member, placing it in his pocket. Surprisingly, nobody is watching him outside, so he carries her into a vacant alley with her belly against his right shoulder, completely unaware that she is not unconscious but dead. He carelessly drops her to the concrete ground. Then, he positions her back against the brick wall, unzips her black, hooded, leather jacket, slips off her white tank top, and positions her bosoms out of her black bra. Her bosoms look like mushy food, so he surprises himself by not attempting to damage the body, but to achieve a sexual sensation from the corpse of her.
Because of the fact that Ryan has necrophilia, his good intentions more likely will not start. He fondles her right cheek staring at her motionless lips as he inhales and exhales in a deep voice. As if a plague of spiders could replace the raindrops at the dark sky, from his eyes, he can see them landing on the anonymous, teenage girl. Thus, he strips all of her clothes off after the spiders vanish, and he penetrates the corpse with a smile on his face, gratifying himself.
Scaring solely himself as if he woke up from a horrid dream, he realizes that he is looking at the two dead victims on the turf. When he raped the anonymous girl, he did not recognize that the gun is still in the front of his right pocket, and he heads back into Nicki’s house. The haunting thought that he even felt like he was cheating on Nicki frustrates him, but he assumes that she understands his true intentions.

Chapter 14
Dead Thought

The living room floor is slippery and Ryan looks on the floor only to see cold water, which is approximately two inches above it. He is unaware of where the water could have appeared from; therefore, he reacts as if a real accident could have occurred. When he looks into the bright kitchen, he notices that the faucet is left on, causing water to brim from the kitchen sink. Without hesitation, he rushes into the kitchen, nearly slipping to the hard floor, and he successfully turns the faucet off. Since he walked into the slippery house, he is deeply confused of why.
The kitchen light dims off, over fifty lit candles on the counter appears, and Nicki stands motionless behind him, wearing a black cloak with a hood over her head. First, he panics from the darkness, and he takes a quick glimpse at the candles, worrying about what they represent. Second, he darts his head toward the woman he loves, fearing the possibility of her wanting him dead. Third, adrenaline rushes through his veins as he peers at her lovely face. And fourth, he instinctively recoils once the fire from the candles vanish.
“What are you doing?”
As the voices in his head laughs at him, she walks out of the kitchen in complete silence. Punching a brick wall with full force for several hours seems harsher than him currently being confused, and terrified that he is being betrayed. It has to be his mind tricking him, but seeing his surroundings seems positively real. Even when he smells the same chocolate smelling kitchen, without any chance in his mind, he strongly believes that he is currently experiencing reality. If this is reality, then his dreams are a less frightening experience, for the personality of his girlfriend appears to have changed. In a quick manner, he decides to follow her to her bedroom, but her entire appearance vanishes, except for her hands. He widens his eyes petrified from the abnormal sight. Seconds after the bedroom door opens, his cell phone startles him by ringing at a high volume, and he takes it out of his pocket, trembling from being nervous. Perspiration is on his lugubrious face as he prepares to answer the caller, but before he can answer the caller, his cell phone that he has reveals that he already communicated for 5 minutes and 32 seconds.
Catching his full attention, Peter is yelling in the basement, “Kill me! Just kill me!”
Millie barks repeatedly as she runs from the gloomy basement. When she hides behind his left leg, he is curious about what she can possibly be afraid of in order to hide behind him. He understands that he is supposed to be brave, but he is obviously more afraid of currently dying than her, which is why he has a lugubrious face. Abruptly, he darts his head behind him, checking to see if any person is behind, but as a result, he did not spot a person. He can imagine Peter sprawled on the basement floor by every second he stands with his eyes directed down the wooden stairs.
“Kill me,” Peter continues to yell.
Fear is an advantage for him. He reacts to his fear of the unknown by rushing toward the basement expecting for something or someone to hop in front of him, then make an attempt to stab him. As he travels down the steps, the dog remains at the top step watching him with sad eyes. By the time he flicks on the switch to the light, the yelling gets louder. The noise does not bother him a bit, but it would never bother him if he took away the tongue of the yeller, who is on the floor in a defenseless condition. At least the yeller is bound to do no harm, but absorb harm that comes to his vulnerable body. But, the question is how much harm will he allow to come to the yeller.
Guiltiness flows within his demented mind as he wonders about harming Peter again. He harmed an innocent person undeserving of the physical pain, and his murderous capability surprises him. Thus, he is currently regretting his violent intentions. More and more, he hates himself as he looks at him, taking shallow breaths. Although he now believes that harming him is wrong, he is not fully sure, for harming him also feels right, only because it partly relieves his stress. He even hates the fact that he hates Peter, but he accepts the fact that Peter fancied his beautiful, huggable, and kissable girlfriend. Maybe there are reasons why he should murder him that he does not know about, or maybe there are reasons why he should spare his life. The confusion builds up in his demented mind, and it nearly makes him careless about harming nearly anyone, who is even related or unrelated to him.

Chapter 15
Love is her Name

Like edible ice cream that would melt if it is left alone, Ryan feels similar as he stands in the basement. He wonders if Nicki still has the silver, stainless, and snake shaped pendant, which was attached to a silver, stainless chain. The possibilities of her losing it are, or her throwing it in the garbage seems low, but the slightest belief that he is not cherishing the only gift he gave bothers him. It is because she is mad at him that he believes she could have permanently gotten rid of a symbol of their relationship, which would deeply hurt his feelings. Suffering from frostbite, and him resting in a pile of his frozen blood on a dark road in the blizzard is not even half as bad as a feeling to know that she is still mad at him.
Unsure if Nicki may have been experienced enough to properly utilize one or not, he believes that he cannot find true love by the usage of a philter, for true love is found by a miracle. But, he walks to the stairs, and he actually stares upwards without motion in his stiff body, just by questioning his relationship with the thought that he is being taken advantage of. As if she could walk down the basement stairs any second, he watches, but he decides to flick off the light, knowing that he wants to be invisible at the sad moment. It occurs to him, if love is literally her middle name, it probably is better if he calls her love, for she represents what he desires in a woman, thus, he makes the decision to call her love as he then strangles Peter to relieve his stress.
Again, like an erupting volcano into a peaceful sea, he calms down by the thought of her. By him thinking about her, he refuses to further hurt Peter for the moment, so Peter is alive—barely. He wants to feel like he has an option to kill without anybody to tell him not to; therefore, he loosens his black studded belt, wraps it around Peter’s neck, tightly, and strangles him while punching him in the face. When he appears to not be breathing, he then realizes that his DNA is on Peter’s flesh. The thought of just allowing him to remain alive did not fully satisfy him, for he is willing to completely consider calming down. But how could he calm down, especially knowing that he must hide the corpse somewhere least expected in order to avoid a future punishment of attending prison or a mental institution.
Automatically, he rushes upstairs, pats Millie on her back, and looks in the direction of Nicki’s bedroom out of awe. He can see her exit her bedroom with a joyful smile etched on her lovely face as she giggles. He notices that she is wearing different clothing, and that she has a change in her hairstyle. Specifically, she is wearing a snake shaped pendant around her neck, a ruffled, black, velvet blouse with short sleeves made out of lace, a ruffled, black skirt with long chains that link together from each pocket, black stockings, and high, black heels. Her hair is has black, wet, long, and curly braids. Also, her eye-catching appearance makes him attempt to rush out of the house, especially after he sees her black eyeliner form to blood, which covers the both of her eyes.
Before he can even open the front door, he hesitates to leave the house by keeping his eyes directed at her necklace. After hesitating, he then opens the door out of hope that he will escape from these horrifying scenes that haunts him. Instead of finding hope, in front of him, the door slams by itself, blocking his path. Struggling to get pass the door, he does by tackling it and twisting against the doorknob. Every movement he makes seems hopeless as he frowns at her while she gloats with her head tilt to the right side, walking rapidly toward him. As much as he wants to scream, he does not, but he does jump over the living room couch in order to get away from her for the moment.
The voices speak to him, “She loves you. Don’t trust her. Liar.”
Suddenly, the blood on Nicki’s face disappears, and she is standing in front of him in the living room with her face parallel to his, saying, “Don’t be scared.”
“Stop! Just leave me alone!”
“You wanted me. I’m here to help,” she says in an innocent voice.
“You want me dead, don’t you? Don’t lie! I can’t stand it when you lie.”
“Oh, Rye-bear. You’re very ill.”
“Why do you keep disappearing? Why do you keep attacking me? Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that you exist.”
“I never disappeared. I was here the entire time, and I would never harm you. You allowed the voices to control you. That’s what made you kill Peter. He may have been innocent, but you made your choice to murder him or not. If I told you exactly what to do, you would not do it.”
“She’s lying,” the voices say.
From this point in time, he slumps down on the couch in lachrymose silence. Nothing, but the smell of blood enters his nostrils, which makes him extremely upset that he craves a dead body. He wants to look her in the eyes, but the voices in his mind tells him not to, which leads him to keep his eyes glaring at the black screen on the flat-screen television. The mental pain he feels makes him want to be left alone temporary, but he is afraid that the slightest moment he may be alone, she may either never desire to communicate to him, or she will never be found again. If every tear which trickles down his face was a letter at the moment, he believes it would spell “End your life” because his tears were running down his face a lot ever since seeing her.
Immediately, he rises up and digests a handful of narcotics after rushing into the bathroom. With the narcotics sitting perfectly still in the palm of his right hand, he places them in his mouth, and he uses a handful of water to swallow them. Remaining awake does not seem humanly possible, but he balances himself by holding on the sink as the muscles in his legs warns him of inactivity arriving in that area. His entire body turns weak, and he surely turns into a woozy state as he falls to the floor, causing him to land on the back of his head. The impact causes blood to leak from his wound but unluckily, he did not vomit the narcotics from his mouth due to his disgust of how it tastes.
The overdose causes him to turn motionless, hoping that even a trip to the hospital will not save him. The only person he personally believes can rescue him is his girlfriend, but he is absolutely shocked that she has not prevented him from his folly actions. He is too weak to think properly. His eyes shut close, and he believes that he is about to die. Disturbingly, he thinks about if there were actually forensic evidence to the murder of Peter, but then he thinks about how his girlfriend may explain the death to the proper authorities. Needless to say, he regrets his thoughtless actions, wishing that he can have another opportunity to speak to his girlfriend.

Nightmare

Two headed vipers are exiting the murky mud covering his tombstone. Failing to see exactly which date he died is a problem for him, only because his dream is not showing the actual engraved words and letters on the tombstone due to vipers covering it up, cooperating like a family that strives to hide significant evidence. They slither around the object hissing at a loud volume. Some vipers bleed as if they have just been slaughtered by a dark force. Thus, the rest of the vipers suffer the same pain, falling rapidly to the icky mud.
In front of his tombstone is a dark figure of an anonymous woman laughing. A tad of fog is blocking the persons face, but it is clear that she is wearing all black attire. She grabs as much dirt as possible, and she squeezes it above her head, moving upwards. Then, she drops to her knees, and she releases the dirt while looking directly at it, but the powerful wind blows it away. For a strange reason, she does not stop laughing in front of the symbol of his death—his tombstone. The full moon shows above the somber woods of dead trees as she laughs at the symbol as if though she is a crazed killer.
Automatically, she stops laughing, but she can hear the unpleasant sound of laughter come directly from the moon as she pulls an axe from underneath five pounds of mud. It is indeed not a shovel, but it is a sharp axe that she utilizes in order to break his tombstone. It takes her five attempts to ruin it, which results in it breaking in half. Blood actually squirts from it for a few seconds, then slowly leaks like a million tears would. Regardless of this peculiar occurrence, the sound of laughter proceeds to come from the moon.
The wind blows the fog away and exposes a woman with long, red hair, which is trapped in the hood of her denim jacket. Once her hood blows off, the woman appears to be Ashley. She throws the axe with a lack of caring of where it may land. So, it lands near a hollow tree, and she smirks in the windy weather. Then, she laughs again but this time, her laugh joins the laughter coming from the moon.

The Next Day

It is seven O’clock in the morning, and the sound of Nicki’s voice enters her ears as he sits on his knees with his eyes staring at a wall of her dark bedroom, “Go back to sleep.”
Shivering for several quick seconds, he does while rising up from the floor to speak, “I can’t. If you were somebody else, you would be a killjoy.”
In a desperate manner, he covers his ears after hearing a gangster’s voice yelling with a loud echo from outside as he darts his head to see his girlfriend sleeping comfortably on her bed, “Get your bitch ass down here!”
“One day, dreams will turn into reality like the population of notorious thugs. Brittle bones shielding our hearts shall never truly grow if they are not cared for. For some, a religion is like a flying pigeon until it lands in a vision. Some are perceived to have crashed leading multifarious people in labyrinths. Why must a group or various people fight if we must prevent the true evil from killing us all,” the voices communicate to him.
The gangster is just in his imagination, and he sighs with a tinge of anger. Although the gangster is not real, just hearing his voice makes him want to cower under the bed with a gun in his hand. There are a stream of questions entering his mind, such as: why is he constantly scared in the process of life, why is his girlfriend sleeping while he is despising himself, and at what time in life will he eventually die. Sleep is simply not an option for him at the moment, especially after he recently woke up from a weird nightmare, which makes him want to lurk in the sheets of the bed with his girlfriend, feeling safe, with warmth that blocks the cold temperature, slightly below zero. The gangster seems real to him, and it definitely ignites additional anger within him, as he hyperventilates. He personally feels like his cognitive skills are increasing while he stares at her sleeping on the bed as if noise fails to exist.

Part 4
Safe
Chapter 16
Sacrifice

It is one O’ clock in the afternoon and Ryan never took the opportunity to sleep. He is resting on the floor with his head against the side of the bed uncomfortably. As if he was running up slippery spiral stairs nonstop for two full hours, his eyes shut for him to receive sleep. After two seconds of him shutting his eyes, he imagines a realistic doll that looks like Ashley Welmers, which is replaced with real blood from the inside, sewed flesh for the outside, black diamonds for the eyes, and the cut red hair from a deceased female. The doll is sitting motionless beside him, but he grabs a knife from the bed, only to lunge it at her twenty eight times from random body parts. Thus, blood splatter on the floor, and he easily gets disturbed, waking up.
Nicki enters the room, walks pass him, then sits down, taking a gun out of her pocket, hiding it underneath her pillow. Little does he know that she is hiding a dangerous weapon in the same room he is in. After she hides it, she turns around innocently. She looks at him as if she is concerned with his frustrations. Also, she notices that when he looks at her, his eyes fail to blink at least once as if though he believes something is suspicious. As a result of her entering the room, he obviously does not feel capable of sleeping any time soon.
“What are you doing,” he asks in a curious manner.
“Saving you.”
“You ask me. I need you to go asleep, and when you wake up, I promise that the voices will go away.”
“You promise? Just promise that this is not a hallucination robbing me of my personal desires. How is sleep going to help my problem? I hate the nightmares, and I cannot control them.”
“I promise. Trust me. Just trust me.”
The last two words echoes in his ears getting louder and louder, “Trust me! Trust me! Trust me…”
He immediately tries to cooperate with her without the true knowledge of why she wants him to sleep. As he rests on the bed with his legs on the floor, he frowns with the belief that whatever anger he is undergoing is temporary. He then thinks about how his death may be; he thinks about his death because he was informed that he will die a happy death, and he wants to know exactly how he could die. Maybe she is bound to kill him while he sleeps, he thinks. Or, maybe he will slit his own throat, and by him doing that action, it will put a smile on his face, but that thought does not seem realistic to believe that he would commit such an action. As soon as he places his feet on the bed, she tucks the cover around him, which makes it easier for him to sleep.
A sad thought comes to his mind before he falls asleep. He seriously thinks that he can live to the age nine hundred and ninety-nine or above if he wants to, but there are many reasons why he will not live that long of a life. Ingredients in foods, such as parasites and maggots are killing people at a slow rate, for it is a deadly poison even if it is a nutritious meal. Simply, he is paranoid, but that does not cease him from suffering other profound beliefs. Technology can affect him by possibly giving him several types of diseases due to the heat that it produces, and nobody cares about his safety, but he simply does not care about his own safety. People, such as: gang members and burglars are willing to haunt him down, and they are willing to murder him instantly. They may attempt to rob him of the life of his beloved girlfriend, which would then make him attempt to commit suicide or murder someone. As a result, if he is not dead, he may soon be in prison by either a death penalty or by an inmate’s violent actions. If he ever possessed earned money, all of his money would mean nothing in the end, and when he thinks about the possibility that everyone can be trying to harm him, he believes strongly that he could actually live the past ten decades if people stop destroying him with their careless actions.

2:00 P.M.

Only one hour later, he wakes up after dreaming about nothing but utter darkness, and he sits on the rights side of the bed to extend a keen knife, which is parallel to his nose. Revealing two words that are not capitalized, the alarm clock is flashing with a red light, “hi,” and he looks at it with a fake smile on his face. Thus, he prevents himself from laughing, and he glares at the knife that his hands are currently on. As if the knife could absorb his anger, he aims the pointy end of it in the direction of his heart, and he lunges at it. In utter agony, he holds the wounded area and sheds tears, falling directly to the hard floor.
Scaring him even when he is in physical pain, he can hear the disturbing sound of his girlfriend, screaming in agony, and he worries about her safety. He wishes that he has enough energy to rush, and see why she is screaming in agony, but he is in utter fear that his heart will stop functioning. As he crawls out of the bedroom, he looks into the living room, and he sees her resting on the floor with her hands above a stab wound, which was in the same direction he stabbed himself. Before he can even make an abrupt attempt to scream again as if he was daydreaming, he is aware that he is sitting on the side of the bed, and that he is holding the weapon in front of him with no stab wound on his body. What was the purpose of sleeping, he thinks as she arrives in the room holding a gun.
“You need your sleep. Please go back to sleep, baby. I have to hide this gun.”
“Ashley keeps speaking to me. I keep thinking about Peter, and I keep thinking about the rest of the people I murdered. I cannot fathom of why they will not disappear from my thoughts.”
“This was what you wanted.”
Changing the subject, he says in a calm manner, “Do you have any other friends?”
“Yes, but I prefer to not bring them over yet. Look, I’m going to be gone until tomorrow morning to perform at the concert. If you get worried, call me. Okay?”
He responds, “Okay. I’ll keep the house safe. I wish that I could be there to watch you perform.”
“I know you do. I love you!”
“I love you too,” he says.
She leaves the bedroom after giving him an inexorable kiss on the lips, then says goodbye, which causes him to miss her more. Regardless of how much he misses her, he surely comprehends that she must ambitiously pursue her goal of becoming a successful musician. As if relaxing music is playing, he remains in one position in satisfaction, nearly crying by the sight of her leaving. Surprising him, he can see an aura surrounding her; behind her pubic bone, it is a dark red light, from the navel, it is an orange-yellow light, slightly beneath the breastbone, it is a light-yellow light, on the solar plexus, there is a bright, emerald-green light, in the center of the breastbone, there is another bright, emerald, green light, between the face and the lower area of neck, there is an ocean blue light, above and between the eyes, there it is indigo, and at the top of her head, there is a violet light. The black cover wrapped around him would not keep him relaxed getting him too cold in a time to be comfortable and too hot in a time to be comfortable, for he now does not want to sleep. No matter if he receives more covers to wrap around him in the cold room, he will feel cold, and if he does not wrap any covers around him in the hot room, he will feel hot, but he would force himself to sleep. When he attempts to sleep, he then fails to be aware of the cold room, and he even dreams about her passionately kissing him while he is lying on the living room couch.

9:00 P.M.

Standing outside of the house while the front door is shut, Ryan yearns for his girlfriend to return, smoking a cigarette in the foggy weather. He can hear the sound of his heartbeat at a slow pace of 45 beats per minute as he focuses ahead watching several loud ambulances speeding across the street. The ambulances cause him to think about his obsession with death; he thinks about cooking the body parts of innocent victims, and tasting them with delicious ingredients added to their organs. As he puffs on the cigarette, the smoke he inhales blends in with the fog, and he sits down on his knees, only keeping his eyes ahead of him. Eventually, no vehicles are visible, speeding across the street, and he rolls his eyes out of unhappiness, throwing the cigarette aimlessly in the fog.
Angrily, he speaks in a deep voice, “They want me dead like dying roots to a plant, yet I’m still breathing throughout the gloomiest times, which can be found in my mind. I may not be the founder of hate, but I will decide their fate, and if it causes me to gasp my final breath, I will over retaliate as a hero to the public eye.”
A little girl with long, black hair is walking on the sidewalk, and she is heading the direction of his house as he looks at how defenseless she is for him not to take advantage of her. He is a lecherous male fantasizing about how she would look naked and sitting motionlessly in a ditch of other little girls’ burnt corpses. Specifically, he can see her wearing a red, zipped, leather hooded jacket, black jeans, and white shoes with cleats. Her face is not clearly visible in the foggy weather, but he clearly notices that she has a black ponytail. Lust is obviously on his mind as he slowly rises walking on the lawn in order to clearly see the anonymous little girl. By the time he see her frowning face, he can also see her father walking beside her due to a gust of wind blowing the fog away. Because the girl is currently protected from the danger of him, he refuses to assault her, and he heads inside of the same house.
When he enters the house, he stops hearing the sound of his heart beating as he watches Millie eat her dog food from her black bowl, which was behind the couch. He locks the door, rushes toward her, squats down, and pats her on the back. For the moment, all he can think about is the question of why Millie is adored so much by his girlfriend, and he is jealous of the attention Millie get by her, especially knowing that she plays catch with Millie inside and outside of the house while sleeps. She barks, and as if she is an alien, he gives her a weird look of fear, constantly staring at her eating from the bowl, failing to realize that he now looks like an alien due to his weird behavior. Thus, he controls his violent intentions the same way he believes that he may have done with the little girl he recently saw outside—by walking in a different direction.

The Woods

For about thirty minutes, Ryan dedicated the time to walk outside toward the woods, only because he is bored and eager to engage in a fun activity. The family-oriented dog is left alone in the house, but he does not care if the dog died tomorrow, for today, he intends on avoiding distractions that will somehow make him furious. Partly making him furious, nobody except for Nicki appreciates his existence. He thinks about lunging a lively deer with the same knife that he used on other living organisms in his past, which is specifically in the back of his left pocket. He takes the knife out remembering how he thoroughly cleaned it from blood that was on it numerous times, then he inhales and exhales in the direction of a black bear, which crawls toward his peripheral vision. The bear approaches him, and he reluctantly fiddles with the air, regretting the fact that he arrived in the woods.
Although he was hoping to arrive in the woods to relive his memory of when Nicki drove him to this location, he now knows that he may never relive it. The bear walks around him twice while he hesitates to make a sudden movement. Realizing that his life could be in danger, he regrets his urge that he recently had to molest an innocent, little girl and even more, he regrets actually intending to commit another murder. With the knife, he actually drops it to the ground purposely, and he extends his arms out, which are parallel in a 45 degree angle. As if he is surrendering to a greater existence, or perhaps sacrificing his body in order to see if he will be attacked, he remains perfectly calm, closing his eyes but the bears runs away.
What reason is there a bear in the woods for? Only if he can gain insight to this case, but it seems to be an unreal occurrence, he thinks. But, what if the bear actually exists, he thinks as he opens his eyes, surprised that he failed to not kill him. Instead of leaving the woods, he lowers his arms, and he slumps against a dead tree, lacking to care if the bear returns. As he rests against the tree, he believes that he is not a brave person for his suicidal actions, but he is afraid of life and what may occur next.
“Why did you do this,” a disembodied female voice of his mother utters, then Abby’s voice joins the whisper of Peter’s, “Find me. Do opened ears disagree with opened eyes?”
The voices do not distract him from focusing on harming himself. As he remains sitting on the grass, he lightly allows his head to hit the rough tree trunk, hitting his head harder each time. Repeatedly, with full force, he hits the back of his head against the tree while he focuses at a crawling spider from the leaf of a tree, which is ahead of him. Blood leaks from the back of his head, and he is willing to stop the horror that he have caused in the past.
Several dead ravens descend slightly above a dead tree of a bough to the right side of him, and they land on the grass as the solemn sound of his mother’s voice enters the woods at a high pitched laugh. So, the laugh echoes around his surroundings in a continuous way of torture. Then, the awful laugh sounds increases in volume as he spots the dead raven on the right side of him, remaining calm by the sight of them. Pretending as if he is in a peaceful environment, he ignores the sight of their death, and he shuts his eyes as if he is trying to meditate. Crying would make him feel better, but he feels as though crying would also be nearly impossible due to his manner of suppressing it.

Chapter 17
Backwards Bullets

Backwards bullets are bullets that people use in order to kill, but eventually get shot by the same bullet in return, according to Ryan. That is a thought that he always had, but he did not realize that he literally have bullets inside of him until he remembers his peculiar past, which was seven years ago. He stole his mother’s gun from her bedroom, and he intended to shoot a flying raven from an opened window, but the bullet ricocheted on an unseen object in the ocean blue sky, bypassing him. Mad that he missed the flying raven, he shot himself in the temple once, which was before his worried mother arrived home to see him on the floor unconscious near a radiator. Blood was on the gray carpet, but his drug addicted mother failed to see any wounds on his flesh.
From looking in the dark sky, he notices that it gets darker, and he looks away in fear that he is now lost in the woods. Surprising him, he hears loud barking from a long distance away, but he cannot see a dog behind the myriad of dead trees. As he peers in the darkness, he then sees Millie running his way as if she is trying to rescue him. By the time she steps in front of him, he cuts the flesh from his wrist with the knife he recently dropped and he pulls out an old bullet, enduring the pain of it. Never was he shot in that area and never can Ryan remember seeing an intelligent animal such as Millie desperate to rescue him. Thus, he places the knife in his right pocket with the bullet, and he follows her through the woods, getting closer and closer to the bright, yellow light ahead.
Never did he appreciate Millie as a mammal as much as he does now, for he feels safer on the road with time to successfully focus his mind again on having joy. She leads him to a vacant road, and he drops to his knees, bellowing to reduce his madness as she sits patiently, watching him react to everything that recently transpired. There is no sun in the sky, and in his mind, he questions himself about where the bright, yellow light is coming from, but evidently, he finds no solution to the question as she looks at his irate self with bravery. Seconds later, the sun shows in the sky, and in his mind, the light is indicating that the sun represents him being forgiven by his victims that he unfortunately murdered in the past. By the time he looks at her, he knows that she can see his past victims on Earth, and that he is also saved from them hating him for his wild actions.
Although he is partly happy to escape the creepy woods, he surely does not want to feel like a minion, forced to do what another person wants, even if it certainly makes him survive, but in this case, he does what another wants. He cannot think properly due to the noises that he constantly think he may possibly hear, and multiple things that he may visually see, which causes him to fully decide on an action that he would currently enjoy to do. Only out of serious anger, he harms others, but he does not even realize that he is angry, sometimes, because he is a minion, even to his demented mind. And his mind is dominated by higher forces that will indeed not allow him to think for himself. Because he simply cannot think for himself, he struggles as an innocent being, dominated mentally with the unfortunate result of him dwelling in utter madness.
From his diary, backwards bullets occur during the most unexpected moments in life, and they can alter the life of someone else. In Englewood, Illinois, when Ryan was a seven-year-old boy, riding his dark, blue bicycle down the street, at 40 miles per hour in a dark alley, a stranger in the front seat of a black van blocked his destination by parking. The tinted windows from the side doors headed down, and twice, the mad stranger shot out of it as he tried to stop the speed of his bicycle in order to run away from the violence. But, by the time he stopped his bicycle from getting close to the van, the gunshots stopped firing, and he darted his head around to witness a deceased, middle-aged male pimp on the concrete floor with a broken liquor bottle beside him. Instead of running away, he literally walked to the scene of the crime, noticing that the victim was shot in the left side of his ribcage after being shot directly in the midst of his skull. The disturbing scene failed to bother him the longer he watched the motionless body. After he delved his hands in the anonymous pimp’s right side pocket, he discovered a used gun, which he cannot fully remember the type of that had one bullet left in it. Assuming that this pimp murdered people before he was shot dead, he checked inside of the pimp’s wallet in order to discover that his true name is Richard Boss. So, as he held the gun against his heart, reverberating echoes of a myriad of voices occurred in his curious mind, laughing. He smiled, fondling the wounded areas while shivering with a nervous excitement for approximately ten seconds.

Chapter 18
The Charm

The eldritch sky turns to the color of burgundy as the clouds turn to the color of pure black. It is 9:30 P.M., and Ryan rises his feet, looking ahead at a bright, yellow light, which soon appears to be a truck speeding his direction at 60 miles per hour from a distance of 19 feet. Immediately, he picks up Millie and heads to the side of the road waiting for the speeding truck to cross as the sky turns pure burgundy. As if he is invisible, the truck passes him, heading in the darkness. Instead of putting Millie back in her lair, he places her on the ground. Then, he walks in the opposite direction of her lair, as the black clouds join together, forming one gigantic, black cloud in the sky.
Nine houses down the road to the left side, there are two teenage hookers standing around the corner of a street, which is near a quiet alley. The hooker to the right has the name Kira Willington. The following things on her are blue: her frizzy hair, eyes, soft lips, and fingernails. Her clothing is all black attire; she has a ruffled bikini, a short, satin skirt, and high, leather boots. On the left side of Kira is her best friend, Jane Megan. And the following things on Jane are green: her eyes, short, curly hair, lips, and fingernails. She is also wearing all black attire; to be specific, she is wearing a silk blouse, a studded belt, jeans, and leather boots.
As he walks closer to them, he notices more things about them. Kira has a black tattoo of a skull with angel wings on her back. When he gets closer, he exits the darkness, and he sees her belly button piercing, then, he sees her silver upper lip piercing on her right side. Her best friend, Jane turns around, facing him, and he notices that she also has silver piercings. One piercing is on the right end of her right eyebrow, and it is perfectly round and the size of a grain of rice. The second piercing that Jane has is on the upper lip on her right side of it.
He approaches Kira and Jane, “Hello. My name is Ryan. I’m new around this area.”
“Hello Ryan,” Jane says in a flirtatious manner, “My name is Jane. Does your dog have a leash?”
“No. She’s a runaway dog. She ran away yesterday and returned to me. She won’t bite.”
As Kira takes a glimpse at Jane, she then says, “I hope not. Weird. I’m Kira, and what are you paying for?”
Disembodied voices communicate to him, “Nobody cares about you.”
He says, “Can we just find a dark place. I have money, don’t worry.”
Millie sniffs Jane’s boots, and she says, “Your dog’s friendly.”
“I’m paying for the both of you.”
Kira giggles at his comment and says, “You don’t own a car?”
The last five words that Jane says are echoing in his ears in a repeated fashion for five seconds, “You don’t own a car?”
Jane says, “Come with us, sweety.”
Ryan speaks to Millie, “Stay.”
Although he is following them in the alley, opposing their expectations of affection, the sound of Kira’s laughter remains to haunt him, knowing that it stopped in reality. The biblical quote haunts him with the support of the voices, “And it is easier for heaven and Earth to pass, than one tittle of the law to fail” (KJV, Luke 16:17). The two females reveal their breast, and they kiss him passionately as if they have known him personally for years. Disturbingly, before they can both completely take their clothing off, he eagerly takes out his knife from his pocket, lunging at them at a rapid pace. Thus, he attempts to murder them both with no remorse. The wounds on Kira’s jugular are 6 inches deep; there are three long wounds around her jugular, which are parallel to one another horizontally. When he gazes at Jane, he notices that her wounds are also 6 inches deep, but she has two wounds in the direction of her heart. They scream, but they lose more oxygen, causing their voices to grow lower as the laughter remains haunting him.
Only after the cold-blooded murder of the two hookers, he wonders about how he is going to hide their motionless bodies, and if he may get caught for his vicious actions. While feeling like someone is licking his ears, he hears the voices temporarily distracting him from reality, “And the four angels were loosed, which were prepared for an hour, and a day, and a month, and a year to slay the third part of men” (KJV, Revelations 9:15). Their blood is on the ground and even splattered on a brick wall with green graffiti that says, “Sick Phase” above a green drawing of a broken heart and a skull provided with angel wings. Constant shaking occurs to him when he further wonders about the awful crime that he committed. Since they are dead, he fondles the both of their bosoms, wondering if they had a transmittable disease. He even wonders of why some humans coexist with hookers to please them, but most importantly, he wonders about how he will not get caught from the bloody crime scene.
Just looking at the hookers is something that makes him an irate person. Looking at the sun for an hour seems better than peeking at them but the sun is not shining in the burgundy sky. But, if the sun was currently shining for the moment, and he did decide to stare at it, he realizes that a handkerchief would not prevent his tears from falling, and his eyes would not be vulnerable to overcoming blindness. Because he knows that they are on the ground dead, he does not regret lunging at them numerous times with the sharp knife in his right hand. Twelve times, he stabs Jane on the both sides of her cheeks and thirteen times, he stabs Kira between the bosoms, laughing in utter pleasure of a temporary moment.
Before making a sudden move, he thinks about the stars in the burgundy sky. If stars were to possess organs, where would there hear be, he thinks. Nobody comes around the alley as he further thinks, believing that the heart would glow in the vivid stars. If that is the case, the hookers simply do not possess a lovable heart. They may have possessed a lovable heart if they were no longer hookers, but they are now dead. And may have claimed to even love sexual intercourse, but that comment could even be proven false, for if they are tortured long enough, they will admit that they hate sexual intercourse, which is why they cannot love. So, from his thought, they simply cannot love, for love cannot die.
Although he is a cannibal, the sight of the dead prostitutes could give him anorexia if he dwelled with them, for he would have obviously tortured them until they died in regret. They would have been mortified by even attempting to communicate to him, for he is a greater existence than many people, especially if they fail to respect their body. But, then, when he thinks about it, he never respected his body in any way, physically harming himself until he met his girlfriend, which makes him finally regret his actions. He simply cannot get mad at them for actions that he can relate to in a similar way, but it is too late—he already got mad. If it means that he must eat every part of them in order to hide the crime, he is willing to do so without vomiting out of disgust.
He targets the both of them in the bowels with the bloody knife, then physically carries the both of them by placing them above his right shoulder. In the woods, he carries them as Millie follows him without barking at least once. Then, he heads pass many dead trees, heading toward a hollow tree, which has “Sick Phase” engraved on the trunk. Carelessly, he drops them to the grass, and dedicates three hours of his time chopping their bodies into small parts, including their hard bones. As an intelligent serial killer, he decides to then hide their body parts inside of the hollow tree. To hide the evidence of their blood, he covers it up with dirt. Afterwards, he laughs in a low voice as he follows Millie back to Nicki’s house with nobody around to suspect him as a serial killer.

2:00 A.M.

The burgundy sky did not change, and Ryan exits the house with a shovel in his right hand. Without Millie, he walks to the elusive location where he placed the body parts of the prostitutes. As his confidence builder, it is a great feeling for him to know that he is not captured by the police after what he recently did with their bodies, such as bury them with the usage of the shovel he is holding. Indeed, he buries them once he locates the hollow tree, but he buries their reeking bodies only after eating their organs, and drinking the mouthwatering liquid of their own irresistible blood. After the process of burying them, he sits against the hollow tree, and he stares at the hidden location of where he buried them for approximately ten minutes with an unchanged smile on his face, then he heads home, knowing that nobody knows of his diabolical crimes.
He never thought that anyone except for Nicki Love Ashes and Ashley Welmers believed that he is actually a handsome person until he met Kira and Jane. Although he did not get a long time to comprehend the both of their personalities, he has the feeling that in order for them to flirt with him, he could not have been as ugly as he always though he was. The ugliest person to ever live would never have an existence, for that would be a cruel thing, he thinks. Due to many years of being abused by his biological mother, he always thought that he was the ugliest male existing, but by the four women appreciating his looks, he is clueless about how other women may think about the way he looks.

Chapter 19
Deserving

It feels like a Thursday night because of his believable voices informing him that it is, and they are correct, which makes him more eager to plan numerous murders. He is exhausted, but he refrains from sleeping with his eyes wide open as he rests on Nicki’s bed with a black T-shirt, black pajamas that has white, panda-shaped designs, and a black sheet that is covering it, making him warm. Sleeping is a profound difficulty for him because of his hope to kill more victims. But, he does not want to kill just anybody, for innocent and guilty victims should not be safe from being victims of his choice. He wants to prepare a perfect crime where nobody would ever have a clue about where his victims’ bodies can be found, but he is too exhausted to think properly. The following things occur to him: if heat is hot enough, if a mammal is wild enough, if weight is heavy enough, if a substance is sticky enough, then, it will truly destroy the evidence of a victim.
Nicki opens the front door with her house keys, and she steps inside of the house with a sexy smile on her face. She walks toward her bedroom after locking the door shut and lip-locks Ryan. While lip-locking, she knows that he recognizes the change of her appearance. Also, during this moment, he can see her reflection in his eyes, seeing her long, purple, and frizzy hair, her purple eyeliner, her silver snake shaped pendant, her black ruffled dress made out of lace, her black, fishnet stockings, and her leather, black boots. Being close to him allows him to rest her head on his chest, which allows her to hear his rapid beating heart rate of 148 beats per minute.
“Hello ‘Love,’” he says, “How was concert?”
“Hello Rye-bear. Concert was excellent. I’m going on tour next week. I knew Millie would help you out the woods.”
“I’m … I’m sorry. I got carried away.”
“Then, you killed two women,” she says in concern.
She laughs, and she tickles him while he is resting. Due to her actions, his entire body shakes uncontrollably on the soft bed, and he also laughs. He struggles to prevent her from tickling him by attempting to clutch her swift moving arms, positioning her on the bed to tickle her in return. This fun activity turns into a painful one once he forces her to laugh loudly, but she eventually tickles him to the point where he feels like he is going to literally faint. Instead of laughing at her actions of tickling him, he groans, but she then physically chokes him around his neck, which shocks him in ineffable fear as he glares at her eyes of hatred. Trying to remove her hands from his neck seems impossible as he suffers from decreasing oxygen.
Angrily, she strangles him as if she intends to see his obituary. Although he does not want to harm her, he defends himself. With great force, he strikes her in the face, causing her to remove her hands, covering her bloody bottom lip and bruise mark on her left cheek. As she cries yelling with anger, he suffers an erection from her sweet voice, but he is too furious to hearken to how she feels. Then, he strangles her around the neck, sobbing as he observes her slowly being robbed of her oxygen.
Soon, Ryan realizes that her rage was just a heartbreaking delusion that he recently suffered, and she is currently kissing him passionately. The horrible thought that he was abusing her angers him insurmountably. He can see her closed eyes as she is kissing him, and he wonders if she knows the delusion he recently suffered from. Regardless of the fact that he does not desire to upset her, he prevent her from kissing him again by lightly holding her delicate cheeks, positioning her head away from him in a slow fashion. As he watches her gorgeous eyes open, he receives a very uncomfortable feeling, doubting that she is pleased with what he imagined.
She speaks, “Don’t stop. Please.”
“I can’t do this. I don’t care if the idiotic people torturing me has a tumor in there pituitary gland. I hate these hallucinations.”
“Yes you can. I know that you would never hurt me. I know that you dream about me in over a million ways of love with just one dream. You can overcome this pain that haunts you. You have my support.”
“You always know what to say, and it’s killing me,” he rises out of the bed and says, “I keep hearing and seeing these weird things that constantly brings me down. I love you. Sometimes, it feels like I am being controlled by a greater existence. Sometimes, it feels like you are the greater existence.”
“Our relationship is one. There is no greater existence.”
Over nine voices speak to him with voices that echo in his sensitive ears, “Funny you! Funny you! Funny you…”
Ryan says, “Can you stop doing that? I have always loved you, and I always will. You know what, you can’t control me. When was the last time we went outside together and did anything special?”
Automatically, his body turns stiff as he frowns quivering like a madman, wanting to temporary vanish from her sight. Not even taking the time to look at her, he leaves the room in utter silence. In the living room, he heads, thus, he sees Millie licking fresh, cold water from a transparent bowl, which is on the tiled floor. Wanting to literally throw objects across the room seems reasonable, but he refrains from doing so, and he steps in the kitchen to take a clean, transparent glass from the dishwasher. Swiftly, he turns the faucet, allows the cold water to brim, turns the faucet off, and drinks the water as if it could cure his temper.
Paranoid enough, he then darts his head around his surroundings, feeling as though scientists and other groups of people are watching him on many surveillance tapes, secretly. He feels like his entire life is a huge test subject for scientists’ theory about how psychotic people behave, which also makes him feel as though every bad happening that affected him was indeed planned by them. The feeling of being watched gets him so nervous that he drops his glass to the tiled floor failing to notice the loud sound from the landing. Obviously, he never thinks about how much he does not want to blame himself for his own actions, but he feels as if scientist, which are disguised as doctors, purposely collected specimens of his blood, drugging him at birth in order for him to receive an addiction to sexual activities. Also, they intended on him to receive an addiction in harming himself as well as others. It does not occur to him to clean up the broken glass from the floor, for he is too focused on being watched by scientists, who are fooling him on multiple occasions of his life.
Even though Millie helped him exit the woods earlier, for the moment, he could care less about how concerned she was for him. In complete distress, he kicks the transparent, glass bowl of water away from her. The bowl cracks the moment he kicks it and as a result, she barks in dissatisfaction, and she runs in the basement. Thus, his girlfriend rushes out of her bedroom, and he is yelling as he takes plates, bowls, and glass cups from the wooden cabinet, and throws it above the stove, which causes the objects to break against the plaster wall. All of his energy is focused on destroying property in order to relieve his distress, but he fails to realize that the valuable property he is destroying is not his belongings.
Although he comprehends that his girlfriend’s belongings should also be his, he feels guilty for destroying the items she purchased. He never purchased half of the items in her house, and he hates himself for attempting to destroy more of her belongings. This house that he is dwelling in does not even feel like it is anymore when he stares at her face. Instantly, after a couple of seconds, he drops to his knees, covers his ears, and yells uncontrollably. Shivering as if cold, tangible snow is blowing on his flesh while he sobs, he sits against the stove with his head lowered to his chest, and his legs extending out on the floor.
As he sits against the stove, he gets even more nervous. Without saying a word, he watches her jerk a broom and a dust pan by the handle, then partly sweep the mess that he made on the floor. Before he can continue to sweep, he rises up, and he extends his hand out as a sign that he is willing to clean his own mess. Just by looking at her numb face, he kicks the stove, refusing to speak when he certainly believes that she hates him. Again, he kicks the stove, getting so furious to the point where the muscles in his strong legs feel as if they could slowly die but instead of resting in the kitchen, he chooses to rest on the living room couch.
Once he lowers his haunches on the black, leather couch, he gets annoyed by the dogs loud barking, wanting to inflict unimaginable pain on her, only because he is mad about all of the hallucinations that distracts him from reality. His deformed heart pumps slowly, and it feels as though someone is stabbing him with the sharp edge of a twig. If he had the energy to rise up, he might attempt to sodomize the barking dog out of anger but then again, when he thinks about it, if he tortures the dog just like he would a bully, that would give him exhilaration. Because he wants to sodomize the dog, it occurs to him that his psychic girlfriend knows about his secret desire. He does not even have to inform her about the information, but he wants to. Then, when he thinks about everything that transpired, he comes to the serious conclusion that she planned to help him commit numerous murders ever since he met her. But, he deeply thinks about why she would allow him to live in a dangerous life that he currently does without the goal of instantly murdering him. And it is because of the thought of his possible death that makes him unprepared to sodomize the dog.
From the couch, he panics, quivering his body back and forth against the couch, worrying about dying. It bothers him to believe that she may murder him today, which makes his tears join the perspiration on his face. The ubiquitous of itty-bitty bugs feel as though they are crawling up his shirt, but he expects her to exit the kitchen, once he hears the broom and dust pan smack against the tiled floor. With his head facing the direction of the kitchen, it adds more fear within him, once he fails to see her exit, hearing the continuous sound of her sweeping the broken objects, from the floor. The sweeping sounds of the broken objects even echoes in his sensitive ears, which causes him additional discomfort. Then, he stops hearing the sound of sweeping, but he then hears the sound of continuous barking coming from the same area, which discourages him by the mystery of when he may finally die from this torturous life.
The moment he widens his eyes, the dog stops barking and she finally enters the living room. Thus, his heart skips a beat as it beats at a fast pace of 130 miles per hour. He sits quivering on the right end of the couch, and he giving her a look of fear at her malicious face. It seems as though he will die before she murders him, for his deformed heart is not functioning properly, thus, he bites his tongue, accidentally worrying too much as she walks toward the couch with an unhealthy cigarette, and a lighter with her eyes shut. As his heart proceeds to beat at a fast pace, he watches her rapidly open her eyes, sit down beside him, place the cigarette in his mouth to ignite it with a lighter.
“You know you love smoking. You wanted it yesterday and as you like to call it, ‘yesternight,’” she laughs and says, “Just because I have not gone to prison does not mean that I won’t hurt you. That is what you thought of yesterday, right? You said it to me.”
In a deep voice, he says, “Why do you hate me?”
“Oh, Rye-bear, I don’t hate you. In fact, if I hated you, you would have been dead. You know, you loving me was what you thought you were doing, and so I knew. You hate nearly everything I love, and you fail to notice it. I love communicating to people and engaging in fun activities. I even love animals and so on. And compared to my mother, your mother was not so tough to deal with. Every time my mother abused me, I had to respond to her, saying, ‘God, bless you’ after she clearly said, ‘forgive me.’”
“Why can’t you forgive me?”
“That’s not my purpose. If I never had a psychic ability, you would have murdered me also. So, you want me just like the flame in a cigarette, which can easily go out. I have a boyfriend, and he is certainly not you.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing, and you know this. You’re making me feel like I am hideous person. Like I am no meaning toward you in the eyes of a given fact,” he yells in more anger, “Get me out of this madness! You did this on purpose! I hate you,” he yells, then he lowers his voice, speaking in a calm manner, “You know how I really feel, so stop.”
His heart is pounding, and he feels like he is suffering another severe heart attack. Furious enough, he struggles to endure the unwanted pain by rising up to physically assault her. Laughter haunts him in his demented mind as she gives him a wicked smile that surely surprises him. He holds the area of his frail heart with the both of his hands, but he directs all of his attention at her, giving her a furious face that he does not even believes affects her in any mundane way. Immediately, he falls on the wooden table, and he nearly breaks it with the impact of his fall.

Chapter 20
Heartless

Twelve Minutes Later

The sound of giggling children echo in the ears of Ryan as he darts his head to the right being aware that nobody is in the basement. He is strapped to a metal chair with long, black ropes, and he is defenseless. Panting in the room, he yells desperately, hoping that someone will free him from the tight ropes, which are tied around his wrists and ankles. At least from what he thinks, nobody hears his voice. Sitting in a dark room causes him to frown, hearkening to the children, giggling at him as if he is saying a humorous joke, but he definitely knows that he did not say or do anything that was intended to be funny.
The light dims on, and he then darts his head around to look at the light switch on the wall but there is no sign of a living organism in the specific area. He pouts, and he turns around slowly to look in front of him, seeing a faceless woman with long, brown hair, a white wedding dress, and high, black heels on the right side of the corner. As he peers in the darkness to see if she actually possesses a face, he sees her body literally go through the wall before he can even get a clear look. He knows that she is a spooky ghost with the intentions of communicating to him about an unsolved problem before she suffered a painful death. Or is she really a ghost disappearing, he thinks. Little does he know, the woman he is watching disappear is not a woman—it is really a wall.
When he looks in the center of the floor, he can see a large pile of broken glass. The light switch flicks off by itself and the same feeling is sitting on her knees on the pile of broken glass. With her wrists, she slams them repeatedly on the pile, crying in misery. As he looks at the faceless female, he can see blood oozing from the wounds of the both of her wrists. He cannot fathom of why the faceless woman is attempting to commit suicide, and he certainly does not fathom of why she fails to even possess eyes, a nose, a mouth with lips. For the moment, all he can comprehend is that he is deeply paranoid, but he remains questioning himself of why he is seeing a female.
The lovable voice of Nicki enters the gloomy basement, “How’s it going down there? I can be a sweetheart, and you know so.”
“You’re a damn lie! Everything about you is nothing but a lie.”
“Not everything. Just hearken to me, and I will enlighten you about exactly why I did it.”
“Why?”
In front of his eyes, the anonymous female with the white wedding dress vanishes as fast as the wind can possibly blow at the same moment Nicki speaks, “I have to stop you. Not because you’re a killer, but because if I don’t, you will kill me, and everyone I love.”
“Kill me then,” he whispers, “Kill me now.”
“It’s not that easy. Your death is going to be worth something. I can’t just kill you.”
“Please, just kill me.”
Behaving as if she is a widow, she walks up the stairs with a numb face, and she slams the basement door shut, but she returns in the basement, completely ignoring him for the moment. She ignores him sobbing as she takes a sip from a glass full of an unknown drink, which can be highly mistaken for blood. She is behaving like he died a long time ago, but he did not die, for he is breathing, watching her drink from the strawberry and lime smelling drink. As the evidence of liquid exits the glass, and lands on her tongue, she lowers her haunches to sit in a soft chair. With force, she breaks the glass by squeezing it tightly, which results in her suffering a three inch long and two inch deep vertical wound on the palm of her left hand.
From her bloody palm, she sucks the distinct taste of blood. At this moment, she then looks at Ryan, wanting to enervate him, and also, wanting to give him a torturous death. Her formidable look depresses him, for she is now actually smiling and chuckling. The taste of her own blood pleases her, and she blows the wound from her left hand. As a result, the wet wound magically goes away, but she stares at him as if she could desire his blood even if it is tainted blood.
Ryan would rather be shunned than look at Nicki, but he cannot take his eyes away from her. He is too curious about the painful things that she could do to him, and he panics, wanting to only suffer a gruesome death. Watching her sit in the chair ahead of him, he does, only to observe every movement she makes. Rapidly, she gets up from her seat and picks up a large pile of glass, which gets him extra nervous. While he stares at her holding the shard, he experiences several uncontrollable body movements due to his temper, but she lowers her haunches on his lap, taunting him with the shard by positioning it in the direction of his forehead.
“Are you amused,” she says in sarcasm.
“Let me go.”
“You’re funny,” she laughs at what he said and says, “I don’t think so.”
“Who is your boyfriend,” he says in profound rage with tears trickling down his cheeks.
Millie comes down the stairs at a slow pace like a wolf prowling in the woods at the same time Nicki decides to speak, “Can you imagine the pain that I felt? Not too long ago, I was strapped to a chair, not knowing if I would be given another breath of tomorrow. When I was not tied, I was forced to do push-ups four hours a day as if that was the key to make me strong enough to free myself. As if that exercise was going to make me more powerful than a dominant male. I could never do it, but now, it is your chance to be better than me. By doing this exercise, you will be better than the voices you face. If you can escape this basement, I’ll let you go. Only if you promise to forgive me.”
With a deep voice, he says in a flippant manner, “I promise.”
“Say it like you mean it.”
“In a calm manner, he says, I promise that I will forgive you.”

Five Minutes Later

There is a gash on his right bicep due to Nicki lunging a shard at it, and his chair tilts backwards by itself, balancing on the back legs. Afraid to make a sudden movement, he even hesitates to breathe, knowing that he will not be able to protect himself from hitting the hard concrete floor. He is tied up, but he struggles, failing to escape the ropes before the chair he is sitting in nervously in could possibly tip over, which could cause him to undergo a severe injury in his back. Voices in his head remain laughing at him as if he is an insignificant mockery to life, but he struggles to ignore them, worrying that he may injure himself if the chair falls backwards. At the exact same time she heads up the basement stairs, the chair falls backwards as he yells in deep fear.
His back hurts, and he is lucky to not have broken his spinal cord. The pain hurts so much that he does not believe he is living in the body he was born in, but he believes he is living in another person’s body, experiencing punishment for another person’s misbehavior. Certainly, his belief is wrong, and he is scared that something beyond his biggest fears is bound to occur. He is afraid that something will eradicate him, but he is unsure that if it occurs, he will be eradicated after being tortured. As his ex-girlfriend heads down the stairs, she holds a large, silver container full of fresh, red apples, placing them beside him as the voices in his mind finally stop.
She lifts the chair up with the power of her eyes by glaring at it, and she immediately heads up the basement steps to bring down a large, white container full of gasoline. With little effort, she carries the container toward him, and she places it to the right side of the silver container. From the silver container, she opens the top, yanks out an apple, and rudely stuffs it in his dehydrated mouth. The moment she glares at his eyes, he feels like he is a dirtbag, but he gnaws on the dainty apple as she holds it up. And she knows that he is skeptical of her magical ability, and he questions if it is real in his mind as he desperately proceeds to gnaw on the apple.
From the silver container, below a couple of apples are a pair of rubber, white gloves, and he moves them out of the way in order to jerk the gloves out. As if she is a doctor, she wears the gloves. Caring nothing about how much he is crying, she opens his mouth easily as he realizes the he lacks control over his muscles in his body. She then jerks red pliers from the silver container, which was beneath several apples. Then, she pulls his tongue out, and she smiles as if he should be laughing. Indeed, pain is a wonderful feeling to him, but watching her torturing him purposely out of her wrath bothers him in an unexplainable way of great sadness.
Over sixty voices bother him by communicating in his mind, “Your smiling face just couldn’t hurt. Your inner tears are your blood. Your patched heart is under your shirt. So, save your heart from the flood. When you hate multiple faces. There’s many, many disgraces. It’s where there are bloody traces. On the tough scenes of these cases.”
While his tongue is against her rubber gloves, she positions his tongue to go between the two dangerous sides of the pliers and says, “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t cut your tongue.”
“You know just…”
Refusing to hearken to him, she cuts half of his motionless tongue with the sharp knife, observing the terrible reaction on his hopeless face. He is in excruciating pain with blood dripping from his tongue, and she just stares at it, fascinated by what she is seeing. From looking at her, she appears to be hyper from the sight of his misery. In an uncontrollable manner, he quivers, but she decides to finish cutting his entire tongue with his mouth. Screaming more, he does as she smirks, laughing at his memorable reaction, dropping the bloody pliers into his lap, and removing her white rubber gloves from her hands. Afterwards, she levitates a chair from behind her, letting it descend to the floor, approximately two inches in front of him, which makes her sit down to continue enjoying him scream in despair.
As he watches her happy expression in agony, he grows the ability to move all of the muscles he has, getting in an impulsive condition to spit at her, failing every attempt he makes. His saliva lands on his jeans due to his low energy and oxygen that he possesses at the moment. Watching her smile at him after his unsuccessful attempts to spit at her face honestly makes him want to get a goon to make an attempt to murder her in a diabolical crime scene, but he is too exhausted to think about how he could even discover a goon willing to commit a murder for him. Making matters worse, the saliva on his jeans does not bother him as much as he then sees an opened coffin with his body resting inside of it, which is against the wall behind her. Seeing his own body in the coffin makes him hesitate from the disturbing sight, thus, making him reluctant to use his muscles again, the coffin then vanishes. But, the smile on her face in front of him does not vanish, and he cannot fathom of why her smile exists after what transpired.
Speaking is not an option for him. He hates to speak anyway, and his intelligent ex-girlfriend knows exactly every word he wants to say, which frightens him. All he can do is scream without a useful tongue, which not only makes the noise he makes sound awful, but it makes his breath smell absolutely disgusting. The smell of blood exits his mouth, and it travels around the basement as he worries that he is dying a slow death from losing too much blood. Then, he worries not about dying from eternal bleeding, but he worries if he may die before he may suffer eternal bleeding, for he could be burned to death.
The confidence that he has for surviving this day is just as terrifying as no oxygen in fire until the miracle of a windy storm. Without a doubt, he surely doubts that she will allow him to breathe, knowing that a container of gasoline is actually in the basement. Further raising his high blood pressure, she places her right gloves in the white container of gasoline and out of disrespect, she dips her right hand in the liquid, deciding to flick it in his face. Some of the gasoline even enters his bloody mouth as she continues to flick it at him while making a wicked laugh. As if harming him is the only fun she knows how to have, she smiles, wiping her wet gloves around his face, which for him, surely eliminates every possible thought that she may care about him.
“Eat up,” she says while yanking another fresh apple from the silver container.
Loud guffaws from the disembodied voices haunts him again as Nicki stuffs the fruit in his mouth. Breathing is a huge struggle for him even though some oxygen is indeed flowing in his nostrils. From hearing the loudness of the voices, he then bites the fruit and out of profound rage, he ejects it from his mouth with his blood and saliva that follows it down to his wet jeans. All he can do is watch her squeeze his cheeks while she lunges a knife near the bottom of his two front teeth, which gives him more pain to undergo. At this point, his scream is louder than the loud guffaws from the mean voices that are bothering him.

Chapter 21
Personal Words

Three Days Later

It is 9:00 A.M., and Ryan remains strapped to a chair, and he is locked in Nicki’s basement, forced to experience solitude. The place is approximately 20 degrees, and instead of staring at the walls with no windows, he struggles to concentrate on writing in his black binder on the hard, concrete floor, for writing is usually a cathartic experience for him. Today, he did not write a word in it, but with a black pen in his hand, he intends to begin the process of writing how he feels. Why did she literally free him from the chair, and hand him his diary, he questions himself, struggling to think about the proper words to write. Finally, he figures out what to write about, so he writes in his binder as several wicked sounding voices in his mind says literally every word, echoing across the basement.
“Nicki trapped me in her basement, gave me my black binder back, so I am about to write the rules to ‘The Sick Phase.’ First, I must say that it can be the state of bliss or the complete opposite when one or more people strive to do what he or she wants before their death. Never take a promise at face value, but only from your faithful partner. Do not mistake like for love, for they are both different things. Do not murder unless you are ready for the possible, harsh consequences. Never underestimate. … And never sexually harass someone, or allow another to sexually harass your partner. An example is if your partner is pregnant, so do not allow another person to touch her stomach, for like a human that touches a mother birds egg would follow the tradition of showing care without knowing what he or she truly did. A false example is a queen bee mating with Drones prepared to die while workers work, for the queen is only selfishly aware of the goals she receives.”
As if it is a magic act from a famous magician, ten candles that are red and circular appear in front of the binder, placed in the form of a triangle, and he is unsure if it is fake, but he continues to write as the candles ignite, “I call this poem ‘Lying Little Snake.’ ‘Hissed at the rats that squealed. Tried to hide from the rest. Blocked the poison to shield. But, you wanted the best.”
“My lying little snake. Wonder of what I do. How much more can I take? I can chop you in two.”
“So, cover your eyes now. My tears may fall yet again. And when they end somehow. You are my writing pen.”
“I can control your mind. Find the depths of your heart. Even if you can find. You are not on my chart. What to use the map for. Not for love but to kill. When you ran out the door. Second thoughts with blood spill.”
“I should have cut my throat. To see you with many. Could have left a note. I did not leave any.”
The light to the basement flickers on, and it flickers off in a rapid manner as he finishes his poem, “Blood trickle down your face. Agony targets you. Your face I will not chase. Soon, the days you will rue.’”
Making an irritating loud sound against the concrete floor, the chair behind him moves toward him by itself, causing it to catch his attention. By the time the chair stops moving, he looks at it in a desperate manner to see what is occurring, but he does not see a thing occur. It is definitely something seriously suspicious occurring now, but he fails to know what it is exactly. He believes that the noise must had come from the chair that he is staring at, and he is staring at the chair as if he recently witnessed a monster. Because nothing is noticeable as a huge threat for the moment, he then writes as the disembodied voices echo in the dark basement reading it.
The flames from the candles then grows larger mixing with the wax as he writes, ‘Pearls and Ashes,’ “Your eyes look like pearls made for me. It shines in my eyes and flashes. It seems to rob my energy. The pearls between your eyelashes.”
“You know it belongs in your heart. And it’s for you, my royal girl. You always seem to show your art. Your love beyond your sterling pearl.”
“And you’re more than just ashes. I still remember times with you. Our dreams didn’t lead to crashes. Without you, life is so blue.”
Nicki ashes opens up the door to the basement, and she heads down the creaky stairs as he ignores her by continuing to write, “Never speak of this again. But, only if you’ll soon speak. I want to know how you’ve been. Then, you’re just mine to keep.”
“Don’t be shy anymore. You’re here, and still with me. You know I’m waiting more. Promise you’ll always be.”
“Here with me till our everyday. Every night we’ll always be. So, with me you’ll then stay. As always, you’re with me.”
Flapping her wings, Heather flies in the basement, and she lands on Nicki’s left shoulder. She stares directly at him across the dark room as if he is a huge threat to society. As Heather walks comfortably toward him, she remains staring at him, sitting on the concrete floor. She then flies to the ceiling to observe what will transpire and remains as silent as possible. Then, she decides to observe him while standing perfectly upside-down on the ceiling as her sister sits on her knees.
Ignoring the distraction of them, he proceeds to write again, “Lifeless. ‘I bring you lingering hands. My illusions that stands. My heart can’t swim anymore. My eyes are blinded and sore.”
“So, I’m lifeless without you. So, I’m sorry that it’s true. Numb behind the darkest wall. Frozen tears should never fall.”
The voices in his mind gets deeper as he turns to a blank page to write at a faster pace, “In No Cage. Kill the silence nevermore when you’re bound to achieve a hopeless voice. End the wounds from a broken heart but that’s only by a wise choice. Ignore the frail heart of mine, but dissect it if you fail to ignore. My heart is no longer available, so you can just leave the door.”
“You yap in paragraphs, and you puke more shit than the toilet can flush. You bury my bliss, piss on it, make another wish, but you then hush. You asinine air robber, who giggles below nameless tortures rule. You wouldn’t warn me of snow in the sea, but you’d drown me in a pool.”
“Born to taunt the faceless male, who now wishes tragedy on bitches. Bow down to a greater existence, for you can’t fix these stitches. It’s convincing to me, so how else should I comprehend utter rage. No, I am like no other, and my heart is in no cage.”
Nicki says, “So many souls I will not save. But, I am only lazy in the grave. Their fate is heading toward death. Bullies whom mock my every breath. The worthless air takers shall die. The truth in my words cannot lie.”
He looks up at her without shock on his sad face. Wishing that he could speak, he moans, and he even struggles to sigh due to the large amount of agony he is undergoing. The blood from the inside of his mouth is disappearing, and that fact makes him want to harm people, but he realizes that he obviously cannot harm physically people anymore. Looking at her not only makes him petrified, but it makes him gain additional pain, believing that she will torture him again.
“In sarcasm, she speaks, “You were going to write it, and I know. Are you hungry, Rye-bear?”
He desperately struggles to yell, “Aaaaaahhh!”
“In a calm manner, she says, “Well, eat an apple. You’re lucky that I replaced them with fresh apples. I Was forced to eat rotten apples until nothing was left in the container. You’re so lucky, Rye-bear. I’m not going to further exhaust you by forcing you to do your manly pushups for me. Instead, I want you to rob my heart.”
Face-to-face, he says, “Stop calling me Rye-bear,” he says with a sharp temper, “How do you expect me to rob your heart, lady? What’s to be robbed, but your eyes. Apparently you don’t need them. I’m trying to be a good person! If my diary exists for centuries after my death, I believe that someone could translate it. A cold-blooded somebody like you, my love. Why should I have to receive the answers to my problems by heading to the golden doors of wisdom when those same doors can be found here whenever I beg for help. Instead, I’m stuck listening to you.”
“Well, I’m sorry. That’s too fuckin’ bad. What was that thing that you said in your binder? ‘You are my goal, and if you are sorry, I am sorry that you are sorry.’ So, Rye-bear, you’re my goal. I’m treating you the same way you would treat me.”
By her glancing at the silver container, it automatically moves toward her. She removes the lid, jerks out a wet, red apple, and bites it in the front of his depressed face. The tears that which falls down his cheeks fails to make her feel sorrow, and she bites the apple again as if she is proud of her progress with making him depressed. As if the only apple in the basement is in her left hand, she extends her left arm out toward him. Angrily, he snatches it from her cold hand, and he throws it aimlessly across the basement, yelling again. As a result, the apple hits the ceiling, suffering a hard landing on the wooden stairs, and she does not fail to hesitate to smack him across his right cheek with force.
In a caring voice, she says, “That wasn’t very nice.”
A hundred different voices in Ryan’s mind further annoys him as he breathes the air from the basement, “She hates you. You should’ve known. Don’t trust her. Kill her.”
She speaks, “This is what I’m talking about. You don’t know how to trust. That’s why you don’t have me.”
At 45 beats per minute, his heart beats, and he can hear it by checking his pulse on his right wrist. Not only does his heart rate slows down, but he gets very dizzy, suffering from a blurry vision. He can see a dark figure running behind her, heading by the right side of his peripheral vision. Then, making his heart drop to 30 beats per minute, he can see the evanescence of the dark figure. Then, he wraps his arms around his sweaty face out of distress, but it does not reduce the pain he is feeling. Slowly, he is dying, and he would do anything to prevent his death, but he is clueless of how to escape the predicament.
The ghastly event he recently saw makes him fall to the floor due to a lack of great energy as she grows more hatred toward him. His entire body feels very weak, but she loosens his studded belt. Just when he thought that he suffered enough pain from her, she lashes at his back excessively. Laughing in a low voice, she does while laughing on the welts from his bloody back. Thus, the many times she lashes at him slips his mind due to his history of having short term memory loss. He knows that she lashed at him over twenty-five times, but he eventually gets unconscious.

Personal Dream

From the perception of Ryan, there is an antidote to his delusions, but he is unsure of what the solution could be while he sits thinking on a ten-story building beside Nicki, deciding to then communicate to her, which is before the process of a strong gust of wind blowing pass him, “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“You make me feel the same way, my love,” she says while blushing.
In a serious manner, he says, “Why did you murder your best friend?”
Smiling while gazing in his eyes, she says, “Are you seriously thinking about her?”
“I asked you a question.”
In a serious manner, she says, “The reason why she’s dead is because she wanted you, and I couldn’t accept the fact that it was true. All she ever thought about was you.”
Out of full concern, he says, “Were you jealous of her?”
“Yes. It made me very jealous.”
“I would never…”
“Don’t lie to me,” she interrupts him.
A full moon shows in the gloomy sky as he thinks about Ashley. He thinks if Ashley thought about him to the point where she actually loved him. If she loved him, and he knew about it, he would be in a serious relationship with her. Instead, he worries about the strong feelings that she never got the chance to share with him. But, knowing that she was interested in having a relationship, he nearly cries, thinking that Nicki murdered her on purpose due to jealous feelings. The thought that Nicki would not tolerate him building a healthy relationship with Ashley, but experience an unhealthy relationship with Nicki affects him deeply to the extent where he does not believe that his she actually loves him.
“He speaks, “Do you love me?”
Laughter then echoes from the full moon as he sees the dreadful evanescence of her. When he darts his head in several directions in silence, he realizes that he is indeed lonely, sitting on the two-story rooftop by himself in total sadness. Alone, he is, that is until Ashley appears behind him as he glares down the rooftop, which is in the direction of the street. The horrendous sight that he stares as fails to scare him. Before he could even jump off the rooftop, she touches him by the back of his right shoulder.
Intimidated by her presence once he turns around, his eyes widen as his face remains in complete shock at the moment she says, “Don’t jump. I love you, Ryan.”
Shivering out of nervousness, from her deathlike face, he nearly falls off the rooftop, and after catching his breath, he says, “You barely know me. Go away.”
“I can help you. You can help me.”
“You’re should be dead. There’s nothing that you can do.”
“I read your poem, and it made me think that if you weren’t thinking about Nicki, you were thinking about me. You had a breakup with her, which is why I thought so.”
“I burned my poems. All of them.”
“Away like endless miles. Away and never smiles. Away for many years. Away with constant tears.”
Seven voices repeat the words that he says by whispering, “Away with no return. A way that we will learn. Far away in my dreams. As what your good mind seems.”
She smiles as he moves closer to her and says, “In a world where we love. But, what is it made of? These tears are born now. But, I just don’t know how.”
Fog surrounds her as he questions her, “Why did you read it?”
With the fog, she disappears from his sight. Alone again, he is, and he does not know what to believe. Evidently, he has eremophobia, which is a fear of being oneself or a fear of loneliness. His emotions nearly dwindles, and it feels like all of his emotions are almost permanently gone, for he does not know if he is truly living in the reality of his dreadful fear. So, without the process of essential thinking, he stands on the rooftop, staring down with the thought of ending his miserable life of loneliness.
Before he could make a full decision to jump off the building, the voices in his mind communicates to him again, “I saved her from jumping off of a local roof, and I could swear that the only thing missing on her were wings. She sobbed, and I gave her a promise of love, which is a promise that is beyond my deepest emotion. Her watery eyes wetted her black eyeliner causing it to trickle down with her tears like the angelic springs. When she cleansed me, I would cleanse her with everlasting attempts before my last breath from an absorbing ocean.”
Disturbed from what he heard, he talks to the air, “I tried to save her, but she jumped! Ashley jumped!”
While he yells out of hope that it will decrease the volume of the many voices, they say another one of his poems, “Wonder before the sense of thunder. Wonder before the mystery light. Beware of the target from under. Beware of the bright rapid sight.”
As the voices continue to speak, several nits fly out of the both of his wrists, causing it to bleed and he raises his head up to see that it is raining, “The voices Like a cat, she will find her way home. Where she’s at, she dwells in a love poem. Judder from the water and fall in heat. Somehow, she will land on her two feet.”
When he jumps from the building, the area from below turn darker by every second, and as he falls down at 80 miles per hour, he can see the surface going down at the same rate he is currently going. His body turns stiff as the powerful wind passes him with force. The vehicles speeding from below turns blurry due to the wind heading in the direction of his face. The cold wind hits his flesh, which causes him to get soaked from the weather. It feels like he is destined to fall forever when he is only falling for over 3 seconds, but he soon lands on the hard, vacant pavement from below.

4:00 P.M.

“Seize her heart,” over a hundred voices speak to Ryan, “Seize the pain. Endure it. You’re from the Tribe of Dan! Two… two… two… one… one… one…”
Silver chains are wrapped around his limb; the chains links to another chain that wraps around the mattress, and he wakes up to discover that he is resting on a soft mattress in a prone position. After realizing that he is almost completely naked with only his black underwear on, he feels like he is a spineless person, and as shadows wander around him, Nicki walks out of the darkness, staring at his heavy-eyed face. Struggling to disconnect the chains, he does as the dark shadows vanish in an instant, but they seem to be unbreakable. There is a powerful gun in her right hand, and she aims it toward his left knee cap, observing him scream at a high volume of utter agony.
Waking up just to get is an unpredictable thing in his opinion, especially knowing that she keeps him alive by feeding him. Why would she feed him any sort of food if she is bound to murder him soon, he thinks. Then, finally, he comprehends that she wants him to eat just so that he will survive long enough to be severely tortured again. He tries to avoid even looking at her smirk during the process of his physical pain but as an unpredictable thing, now, she shoots his right kneecap. The primary thought of escaping this terrifying house does not seem like a realistic thought, for she is dominating his life.
To reduce the noise he makes, she stuffs an apple in his mouth, and she wraps a black sheet around it, tying it in a tight knot. Then, she decides to stand over him with his chest between the both of her legs, and she lowers her haunches, causing him to struggle to even take the slightest breath. Showing absolutely no respect toward him, she smacks him repeatedly, approximately 12 times.
She rises up, picks up his black binder from the floor to read a poem that he wrote in an undated time, “I’m obsessed with your poetry. This poem is called ‘You.’ You keep me warm when I’m cold. You help me cross by the road. You kiss me through the long night. You can get through this tough fight.”
As he proceeds to scream in pain, she reads, “You care for me when I’m sick. You tell me life is no trick. You pick me up when I’m down. You keep me up when I frown.”
“Don’t you make a face of lies. Smile to me with opened eyes. You help me face the mirror. You help me through my terror.”
“You don’t have to go and cry. You don’t need a lullaby. You should know that I love you. You’re now here to know it’s true.”

Chapter 22
Kiss to Hurt

Inferno is on Ryan’s mind, for Nicki is pouring the container of gasoline on every part of his flesh, including his eyes. He cries loudly in a disturbing manner, reacting to the gasoline that poured in his eyes, but at the same time, he begs her not to burn him while he is alive. Thus, he to some degree, he sees her giggle at every word he says, behaving as if he is indeed an insignificant entity, who is begging for the worse possibility in life. Watching her ignite a red lighter, he gets louder, damaging his own lungs by the volume of his deep voice. Making an exception, she refrains from burning him, which makes him mentally feel slightly better. Not for long does he feel like she forgave him for his dangerous actions, for he sees her place the lighter in her cleavage, and she hits him in the temple with the gun as he struggles to breathe in the chemicals of the gasoline.
“My boyfriend is coming over today. If you thought that I was mean, I can get even worse. Does it hurt yet,” she smiles and says, “You hurt. I know it does.”
As he rests angrily on the mattress with his mouth blocked from making a lot of noise, she walks up the stairs, exiting the basement. Heather and Millie follows her as if they are starving while he struggles to move his numb fingers around, wishing that the apple stuffed in his mouth did not currently have a black sheet wrapped around it. The basement door slams shut, and he constantly wonders if he can escape the chains that are wrapped around the bed, connected to his libs. With all of his energy, he harms himself more than he does damage to the chains, receiving bruise marks on his wrists and ankles. It is no hope for him, and he simply quits on the goal of escaping for the moment, for he is extremely exhausted.
For approximately 5 minutes, he rests on the mattress, gasping for necessary oxygen, then without the usage of his hands, he gnaws the fruit with his mouth. When he gnaws on it, it does not feel like any sort of a healthy fruit but instead, it literally feels like over a hundred tiny, hairy creatures crawling around the inside of his mouth. From the feeling of the disgusting creatures, he assumes that they are spiders. The creatures multiply to the point where his cheeks feel like they are about to burst. Saving him from suffocation, the creatures crawl out of his mouth and the black sheet, which is wrapped around it.
From this point, he can clearly see that they are a mixture of various spiders, crawling around in his injured body. He attempts to imagine that they are not spiders wandering around him, but he can see that there are in fact spiders. Desperately, he yells, wondering how spiders can possibly exist in any fruit, but he does not find a solution. So, he wonders if Nicki intended for him to experience this cruel event, and he struggles even more to break the durable chains from his limbs, as he nervously shakes in order for the spiders to fall from his flesh. Detrimental to his health, out of over 300, tiny spiders, 23 of them bites him. The event causes him to receive eight disturbing spider bites on his abs, three on the both of his legs, four on the left side of his chest, and five on the left side of his forearm.
Suddenly, all of the spiders die for an unknown reason, and his ex-girlfriend returns down the stairs. This time, she returns with a large viper wrapped around her neck and left arm. By the time she heads down, she allows the viper to travel on the mattress. Thus, the viper wraps around his neck, and it bites him on the temple, which causes him to suffer from ailing health from its deadly poison. Although he can feel the awful pain from the snakebite, he knows that it is not real, for a viper does not dwell in side of this house. When he blinks, the viper is gone and the snake bite is gone. To his awareness, the spider bites are even gone, but she remains standing over him as proof of her terrifying existence.
By looking at her, he does not know what she may do, but he definitely panics. Causing him to panic more, she glares at him as if he recently threw a tied, black, plastic bag full of slaughtered mammals’ blood through her living room window. Her thoughts are unpredictable to him and in a hurry, with very little effort, she drags the mattress toward the left side of the corner. Then, making the situation much worse, she takes out a cigarette, and she takes out a lighter from her cleavage, igniting it in front of his sweaty face of tears. She teases him as he looks at the cigarette in a desperate manner to see what she may do next.
“Do you want one,” she says as he groans, “I don’t think you want it enough. Even better, I don’t think you want me, Rye-bear.”
This is not a typical moment of his suffering, especially by thinking that she is destined to immolate him, but he questions himself continuously of when she will immolate him as the gasoline that is on his flesh dominates his stench. He did not take a shower for days, and he could guzzle flesh and blood, only if he was to receive the chance, but there does not seem to be additional time to enjoy anything due to her tantalizing him with the lighter. The fear that she may purposely drop the lighter is a growing concern of his, and his concern then comes to reality once she actually drops it, but she fails to drop it on him. Instead of making the decision of burning him alive, she makes the decision to drop the lighter on the concrete floor, which is approximately 2 inches from the wet mattress. Even more confused about what she is thinking, through the black sheet that is covering his eyes, he watches her release her from the silver chains, and he possesses a surprised face of horror.
“Follow her,” the voices say to him, which convinces him to follow her directly to the bathroom as they say yet another poem, “Lost angel with brimming tears. Plucking feathers from her wings. Hollow hearts are all she hears. Making a trail as she sings.”
“The voices continue speaking, “Bruised children are in the rain. And they whisper in the wind. Trees decay and tree remain. Bearer of hate, which she’ll send.”
As he stands in the bathroom, he hearkens to her speak to him, knowing that she believes that him lacking a useful tongue is funny, “I changed my mind. I want you to wash up. And after you’re done, meet me and Jeff in the kitchen. I’ll bring you clean clothing that you can wear.”
In silence, refusing to keep his eyes on her, he sits on the side of the tub, brimming with tears. Of course, she is wearing a dress to meet another man, he thinks to himself in jealousy, wishing that she took his eyes away instead of his tongue. At least he would not have to personally see the woman he mentally wanted to spend the rest of his life with actually dating another male. Nothing, but tears fall from his eyes, mixing with the gasoline that was poured on his flesh as he hears her footsteps, which is also the sound of her exiting the bathroom. The question he then asks himself as he sits on the side of the tub is why her boyfriend is arriving when he is being severely tortured. It occurs to him, he is being tortured because she is not the only person who loathes him, signifying that the man she is dating, Jeff Rose could also be a psychic.

The Kitchen

In a bad mood, Ryan enters the kitchen, and he is in utter rage to see his ex-girlfriend lip-locking Jeff, but although he is jealous, he tries to refrain from harming anyone as he stands like a motionless statue. Innocently, he stands in the same position as if he has no good reason to be treated in this type of mental pain. From Jeff’s clear, grey eyes, he can literally see his reflection, but he cannot fathom why. From his reflection, he is wearing a frown, a black T-shirt with the design of a creepy cottage surrounded by tarantulas in a foggy weather, dark, blue jeans, and the same black shoes. As he looks at Jeff, he is jealous to see a male that he believes looks better than he does. He notices Jeff’s short, black, and trimmed hair. Then, he can see that Jeff is wearing a grey, hooded, sleeveless shirt, black jeans, and black boots. The clothing and looks that Jeff possesses does not bother him as much as how long he is lip-locking with his ex-girlfriend, but he is afraid to make a sudden movement.
Jeff gives him a smirk and says, “Is this Ryan? The guy you’ve been speaking about?”
“Yes, my love,” she says, “He’s a real charm.”
Jeff laughs at her comment and says, “Hopefully, he is not more charming than me, Love.”
“You know that I only love you. You should hear one of his poems. He thinks he’s a genius. They really become a part of you once you give them the chance to listen to them,” she says in sarcasm.
As he walks toward Jeff, his breathing turns heavy, and his body quivers at a rapid rate. With his right fist, he punches Jeff in the nose, but he does not fall to the floor. He realizes that he gave Jeff a bloody right nostril, and that he is now in grave danger. Evidently, he fails to care about danger, for he spends as much time as he can receive by inflicting pain on him. Five more times, he punches him, leading to him falling to the floor. Specifically, he punched him in the stomach, the throat, the left side of the jaw, the right eye, and the right cheek, but he fails to believe that Jeff suffered for his behavior.
Before Ryan actually believes that he harmed him, Jeff then punches him in the face several times as Nicki speaks softly, “Have you learned yet?”
As a result, Jeff punches him three times more in the center of his face and says, “What’s your problem? Do you wanna’ die?”
She laughs while her boyfriend rises to kick him in the gut, and she reads another poem as a hundred different voices laugh at his humiliation, “You’re in my mind like a ticking clock. But, like a gust of air, where are you? I live breathe, and need you—tick-tock. My heart pumps, and I need a clue.”
She continues to read, “It’s the wonderful times soothing me. Still in my heart when I just don’t care. Just blow me away until I can’t see. You can’t be gone, so give me some air.”
“When almost every night came a dark cloud. It rained on me, it rained on you—okay. We’re still together, but it rains loud. Together forever but never to stay.”
“My tears are saved for the rainfall. A crier of many it grows. A flood drowning me when you call. Where to go and who knows?”
“Caressing wind just fade away. I never really needed you. So, I’ll forget what’s gone today. It’s what I really hope to do,” she then laughs after saying the entire poem.
Suffering from a blurry vision, he rests on his back, remaining on the kitchen floor, glaring up at the cruel couple. They may be devoted to one another, but he is devoted to absolutely nobody, wanting to retaliate to give them unforgettable memories of only his pleasures. Thus, he attempts to crawl, but his lingering fingers are no help, stopping at the incorporeal walls. Before he gets weak to the point where he loses his senses of reality, they both seize different sides of his legs, and they make the choice to drag him while he is in a very unhealthy condition. No sense of touch exists within him, but if he does wake up, he definitely will not coexist with them. A dream that he could currently have even fails to exist, for he can see nothing but pure black.
Ten seconds later, he opens his eyes to see them dragging him toward the basement, and he makes an automatic movement to crawl away. Although he abhors them, and he will do anything to give them the curtailing of their life, it appears as if they are living a healthier life than him due to their cruel actions of dragging him the opposite direction of where he is striving to go in order to put him in more misery. Their laughter echoes in his sensitive ears as he holds on the rights side of his couch. Unsure specifically of who did it, someone places their knee above his left ankle, and allows it to smack against the floor with the weight, causing it to dislocate. The agony is too much for him to physically experience and retaliate with, so he stares in the direction of the kitchen, screaming with a blurry vision.

Nicki’s Bedroom

It sounds like people are communicating to one another in the murky basement, but he knows that Nicki and Jeff are sitting on the bed, staring at him in silence. Again, he is strapped to a wooden chair in terror, believing that without a doubt, this is the day that he will suffer a death. The communication from the basement increases in volume, but he can hardly hear a word that they are saying, for it sounds like three women speaking fluently in another language with a tinge of anger in their voices. The voices from down in the basement causes him to wonder why they are constantly bothering him, but he realizes that he may never discover truly why. Simply, he will always believe that he is purely crazy if he does not figure out why he is hearing humans, which fails to exist.
Jeff speaks to him, “You know I don’t like you any more than your voices. I know how it feels to not possess a voice. You don’t deserve one because you were with my Nicki,” he laughs, “Wait, I don’t like you. I hate you.”
“She wraps her arms around his neck and says, “I’m going to hurt you until it’s enough.”
“It’s never enough. Escaping this is like a breathless person struggling to build a mansion out of quicksand,” Jeff says with humor.
She then says another one of his poems that Ryan wrote, “Sob with frozen opportunities that may melt. Sob with burning feelings melting on the roadway. Sob with darker days to the brightest that is felt. Sob with courage in the mind of what is to stay.”
After punching Ryan twice in the jaw with full force, Jeff rises up as she continues to read, “Can these hidden walls possess a door that now turns? Can ashes grow to prevent fire from within? Can the soul of a human endure hope that burns? Can mottled scars of red exist without cells dwelling in the skin?”
“Will motionless tears find a bright destination? Will humans and beasts coexist during danger? Will life come to another disintegration? Will final moments be dwelling with a stranger.”
Then, Jeff strangles him as he struggles to gasp for air at the same time she finishes the poem, “Overcome rotting eyes in a large laughing crowd. Overcome the loud voices from two bleeding ears. Overcome solitude and an aging dark cloud. Overcome born pain that fails to glow wet tears.”
Hearing his own poem “Overcome” in someone else’s voice makes him have more of a desire to break free of the chains. In fact, he is too weak to make a movement in his body for the moment. Numb, he feels physically, but utter rage, he feels mentally as he is forced to watch the same faces that bothers him. Then, as he watches them, he thinks that dwelling with amnesia would be better than dwelling in this predicament. Just by them staring at his hopeless face, it feels like they will hurt him rather than hurt a nerd, who is wearing glasses, for he feels deserving of the pain he fails to know how he can physically and mentally endure.
“When I was sixteen, I read an anagram in a letter from a raven that flew to my window. It said ‘flames and other,’ so when I put the letters together, it said ‘false mother.’”
“It’ll be okay,” she says.
“And I had to live with a fake mother, who was really my aunt. My entire life was a lie until I met Nicki,” he smiles at her as he says, “I know it’ll be okay, Love. You bring of simplistic solutions. As long as I am with you, I’m happy.”
Ryan attempts to roll his eyes, but he does not even possess enough strength to do so. Fortitude will lead him to success in escaping this suffering, but he remains a victim, strapped to a chair, yelling in a voice that he is not even familiar with. No words come out of his blood smelling mouth, and from hearing no words come out of his mouth, again, he weeps with an increasing migraine. He focuses on his distress to the point where he fantasizes about them imploding from a cruel act of magic, but in reality, they fail to die. Staring at them makes him feel like a useless villain that lost the knowledge of how his powers work, but he fails to realize that he possess no powers, and forces are working against him.
As he glares at her smiling face, he gains the ability to move his limbs, but the muscles in his body are not strong enough to break the long chains. He watches Jeff turn around to look at her immaculate dress as she slips it off. Inhaling and exhaling with deeper breaths, he does as Jeff fondles her soft bosoms from her black bra, which is made out of lace. Thus, her bosoms jiggle and the voices communicate to one another from the basement, then they get louder in his ears to the point where he could lose his ability to hear, but he does not as he watches him twining the both of his fingers with hers. Watching her more, he sees her crawl on the bed with her black panties, revealing in his eyes.
Eventually, it gets to the moment where he is then forced to see the couple naked and kissing passionately under a black, cotton sheet with the intentions of performing sexual intercourse. Then, he attempts to close his eyes, and he opens them as if this could just be a horrible nightmare, but indeed reality is in front of his eyes, and as much as he desires that this cannot be real, it is. Decreasing his heart rate to 12 beats per minute, he sees her hide under the cover, just to stroke his erected penis with her fingers. The sight of their sexual act is affecting him deeply, thus he cries anew in utter silence, taking shallow breathes. It does not take long for her to perform fellatio on him, and bounce on his penis, moaning from her action.
Ryan yells in anger as he gazes at her pulchritude during the process of the satisfying climax. He watches it while shuddering from the voices that are echoing around his surroundings. By the time she is done having sex, he fails to blink, staring at her with a saddened facial expression of complete jealousy. Losing the migraine in his head fails to be as important to him as her, but certainly, he comprehends that she hates him more than he now hates himself. Due to the action of her having sexual intercourse, he worries about dying without a family or a friend, and he worries, sighing at the possibility that he may be kept alive long enough to realize that she may soon be pregnant.
Like a spurned fish of the opposite gender that is demanding forgiveness from impossible happiness, he proceeds to cry in lachrymose silence as he hearkens to the annoying whispers from the dark basement, “They hate you. These are the temporary scars. Your scars are noticeable like hateful flesh and eyes. Hateful clothing and behavior. Some think you’re ungodly, some think you’re attractive, and some think you’re godly. They judge you sagaciously.”
Interested from his demented thoughts, he is not, for he is nervous in the wooden chair, thinking about an innocent female that he killed, just 1 year ago on New Year’s Eve at 6:00 P.M., and he grows more tears by thinking about how she died. Her name was Amber Critters. She was eighteen, and she was in a forest, running away from him, wearing a black bob cut hairstyle, a white, ruffled dress made out of satin, and black, high heels, making a trail with them as she ran away from him. Desperate to commit a murder, he chased her in the forest with pure, black eyes, a sharp knife in his right hand, a black, wool, zipped, hooded jacket, black, camouflage jeans, and black shoes, which matches the exact color of his eyes. As he chased her, she screamed, darting her head around a lot to see if he is behind her, but every time she would glance at him, his clothing and human flesh would turn into a darker appearance, nearly blending in with the color of the environment. The muddy grass that she ran on got so hot that she could feel it on the bottom of her feet, but before he tackled her toward a dead tree, she wondered of why the inferno did not expand around the grass. As another victim to his memory of murdered people, he stabbed her in the midst of her spinal cord 5 times, dislocating it in three places, which caused her to suffer a slow and painful death.
Shortly after murdering Amber, he tried to then murder her older sister, Sheela, who was only 1 year older than her. He was sitting beside Amber’s deceased body, but her worried sister, Sheela wandered in the forest to look for her—alone. As she eventually came closer at discovering her sister in the woods, a reeking smell wandered around, so she followed the smell even though she was not sure if it was truly a wise decision. In hope that she will locate her sister, she passed up two dead trees to witness her deceased body beside him. She screamed for help, and she ran away, falling in a pond, causing her to fracture her tibia, and nearly dislocate her frail neck due to the impact of the stony bottom. Seconds later, he found her crying in the pond, so he strangled her by her sore neck until she was suffocated under the cold water.
Crying about the past event does not help him forget the pleasure he had with their bodies, for even though he regrets his actions, the pleasure that he had with them cannot be forgotten. Evidently, he cannot forget something so pleasuring, for he looked at Sheela’s black attire, undressed her, then molested her with growing excitement to cease his frustrations. With Amber, he hoisted her up from the pond, and he also molested her corpse. Then, he placed their wet corpses behind a long log, and he decides to stab them until the front of the both of their faces appear as if they possess no flesh but tainted blood. Like the hungry cannibal that he was, he ate their flesh, and he even drank their blood, which had a taste that he can remember as he sits, strapped to a chair.
In an uncomfortable position, while he sits in the chair, the three voices speak to him by saying a poem from his binder, “She dwelled in her house and never left out. Night after night and wanting to shout. She could not cease her lusty maw. Wound after wound from a beasts sharp claw.”
“The intruder howled from what is oozing. The howl echoed and awaked the accusing. Burgundy on her corpse with a cut ear. In a moving hearse to her biggest fear.”
The couple gets dressed, and leaves the room while he hears the voices proceeding to bother him, “Buried underground with widened green eyes. Roses covered her tears as her surprise. Nobody heard her loud echoing cry. Confined in a box where she will die.”
After they said the entire poem of “Beast,” he actually sees Millie enter the room. She barks while running, hopping on the bed. In front of his watery eyes, a mammal smaller than him is living a better life. Only if he could sleep comfortably during moments like this, but instead of him actually sleeping, she does. The sound of him crying does not disturb her once he cries. When he thinks about this day, he cannot remember feeling so uncared for in life and the worse part of the predicament is that nobody cares.
In front of his eyes, the bed shakes, disturbing Millie. She immediately jumps off of the moving bed, and she runs in the kitchen, barking as he watches the bed stop moving. Fear overshadows his hate as he stares in front of him in a confused manner, believing that the bed will move once again. Many disembodied voices laugh at him; over a hundred of them laugh at his misery as he focuses on ahead, feeling like his only problem is that he is paranoid. Yelling again, he does, but he fails to achieve something out of it, staring at the same bed, only to see that it is not moving.
Matters get worse for Ryan, for he hears voices, “Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of darkness of the world, against spiritual wickedness in high places,” (KJV, Ephesians 6:11-12). The bedroom door then slams shut, which causes a small, glass lamp to fall from the closet shelf, frightening him. Knowing that he is strapped to a chair, he cannot turn around to see what object fell to the floor behind him that broke to pieces. What he does see is the black sheet on the bed ascending by nothing that is visible; the black sheet ascends as high as the chair he is sitting. In a rapid fashion, the black sheet descends, and it covers the bed as if someone is positioning it. In complete horror, he panics, trying to escape the durable, silver chains but as a result, he feels like he is about to dislocate his wrists, which makes him quit on the intention of escaping.
People are watching his every breath by every second of each day, and it demoralizes him to remember that. There is certainly no one that he can trust in reality, for it seems like everyone will eventually betray him by trying to permanently end his life, which is after he undergoes excruciating pain. The moving objects are giving him more of a reason to weep; the bedroom toward the left side of the wall and the small pieces of glass that is in the opened closet door ascends across the room at 60 miles per hour. The closet light turns on, and by itself, he hears the sound of three bees, buzzing and hovering inside of a light bulb. Never did he hear the bees buzzing behind him before, but maybe that was simply due to the loud voices communicating to him from the basement, he thinks. No matter what the reason is of why he did not hear the bees buzzing from behind him, they eventually die by the power of the heat in the light bulb.

Epilogue

Because of the consequences for the ghastly ways Ryan chose to live his life, he definitely received a punishment he would not desire. Of course, he lived in the horns of love, and he committed many nefarious crimes, but although he regretted his violent actions, absolutely nothing could prevent his fate. Instead of his ex-girlfriend further harming him physically, she did it mentally by forcing him to observe the process of her performing sexual intercourse with her boyfriend, Jeff while he was strapped to a wooden chair in her bed room. That was not the only punishment he received, for it occurred for four days in a row without anyone to give him food or water, but her boyfriend did not hesitate to give him over thirty scars around his injured body with the usage of a thick, kitchen knife. Her boyfriend strangled him with the silver chains strapped around his limbs, then he poured liquor on his flesh, and he decided to set him on fire with the lighter by igniting it. Then, he tossed it on his naked body, and he observed him burn from the scorching flames.
Unfortunately, before he could burn, he was informed something that he abhorred and suffered another consequence. From her boyfriend, he was informed that they were engaged for six months, and that they have been intending on his death to occur for a very long time. The situation got much worse when he was also informed that they were prepared for marriage, which indicates that she found her soul mate. All he could do was cry, and appear as useless as a gun that failed to have a trigger while he was also informed that they were moving at a destination that they failed to give the name of. They are destined to create a family of their own together. Caring nothing about him as a breathing human being, before he was burnt to death, he was beat excessively, causing him to gain multiple bruises on his lugubrious face. Indeed, it was a fib that he would suffer a happy death, but after he burnt to ashes, they celebrated his death by selling the house and locating a new home in another location, which is where somebody else could be vulnerable to severe torture.

Wish Girl

Dear diary,
There is an uncharted island shaped like a heart, somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean of Europe. On the west side of the island, there is a large, prehistoric, Gothic Cathedral. It has flying buttresses near a cold, ocean blue waterfall. On the east side, there is a large, creepy, medieval castle. It has an irascible dragon, isolated in a dungeon, near lofty mountains, which is where constant snow falls. On the north side, many houses in the woods with multiple stores and restaurant around pyramids can be found. And on the south side, a purified lake, perceived to bring miracles by being immersed in it is real.
It is me, the dearest female on the tropical island, Amelia Harp. I am eighteen, currently single, and my most favorite color in the world is purple, but I prefer to dress in black. My favorite activities are exercising, meditating, communicating, shopping, sword fighting, and horseback riding. Everybody on this island knows that my god-fearing mother, (Vivian Harp) is my role model. She has dedicated her time as a queen on this island for over two decades, and I am glad to say that I am proud of her accomplishment. Being queen for over two decades was not her only accomplishment though; of course, her biggest accomplishment is the birth of me, and one day, I will be queen of “Morbid Island, failing to make blatant lies to people of a lower class than me.”
As I viewed the scene of the Gothic Cathedral from a long, wooden bridge, a bloody nocturnal bat flew by, and bypassed me on my right side. The damn bat caused me to notice him from my peripheral vision. Thus, I darted my head around, peering at the medieval castle, only to witness my mother exiting it. Specifically, I could see her wearing a tiara above her frizzy, carroty-red hair, a velvet, red corset, her diamond wedding ring finger of her left hand, and leather, black, and high heels. I would not get too excited feeling like I have plenty of time to do whatever I wish if I enter the milk-white castle, for I comprehend that she shall soon return only after viewing the island.
My mother is truly my role model, but if she were to die, I would be queen of the island. But, I would not be just any queen. I would be “Queen Amelia,” and just by looking at my middle-aged mother exiting the castle, it makes me think about her leaving the Earth. And just by the thought of my mother no longer existing on Earth, it reminds me of my father’s death. Everybody knows that he was a great king and a warrior, but he suffered a ghastly event of being burnt to death and eaten by an irate dragon named “Salvia.” I deeply despise Salvia, and I certainly would not regret slaying her or whoever mocks my existence as a great leader.
Traveling east, I was crossing the bridge above a bog while the sun was setting from the sky. The cold, tangible wind crossed by while several nocturnal bats sped pass me, and they were flying up toward the direction of the cathedral in the celestial sky. Ignoring the bats, I decided to do as I ambled closer to my destination, but I was still on the midst of the bridge—alone. The sweet sound of the lively chirping birds on the exotic, long, curly, and blackish tree branches pleased me. Before I could travel any further, a disembodied voice then caught my attention.
An anonymous eighteen-year-old male climbed over the metal railings of the bridge, and he said my name in an excited manner, utterly thrilled to be in her presence of mine, “Amelia!”
While smiling, I said, “Hello there. Do I know you?”
“No, but I know you. You’re the queen’s daughter. My name is Trevor Drassy. I just wanted to take my opportunity to meet you in person. My friends won’t believe this.”
“I was heading back to the castle. I don’t have time to wait here. I’m very busy. Sorry.”
“Can I join you? It would be an honor. May I ask why you are you alone?
“Yes,” I walked with him as I said, “The only reason I am alone is because I grew tired of knights always following me everywhere. I want to have a say in what I would like to do.”
“You’ll be queen one day. Don’t worry. That’s no good reason to run away.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you dwelled in my life.”
As Trevor stared at my fashionable clothing, I gazed into his irresistible eyes. My clothing enhanced my beauty, but I was so fascinated to get to know him as a person that I failed to remember my beauty, thus, my heart skipped a beat—twice. I made him extra nervous just by breathing, and he did the same thing to me, which became visible in both of our eyes. Catching his full attention to stare at me, it must have been my black rose in my hair that glowed in the color of burgundy, my silver, moon shaped, diamond pendant that attached to my sterling necklace, and my leather, black jacket that was over my velvet, red tank top. Also, I had ruffled, black jeans, long chains linked together and high, black heels. I surely did not feel like I dressed the best, but if I had known that I would have seen my soul mate, I would have went shopping.
It was nearly impossible for him to remain calm, especially knowing that he met the angelic woman he have always dreamt about, but it is even more harder for me to remain calm. This day was the first time that I was literally ever alone from anyone, and I was proud to have met him as early as I did in life. I was never alone with anyone of the opposite sex with the same age as me, so he was the first male of the opposite sex and same age that I communicated to. I could never stop gazing into his eyes completely ignoring his traditional church clothing, which was in all black attire.
Clueless of him, I was, for he was currently dating a female named Joan Madison. Joan did not matter, and from the very first moment that I have seen him, I was obsessed. I despised his girlfriend, but I have gotten to know her a month before I met him. Ever since she was seven, she was experienced in shooting from numerous guns. On her first attempt to pull a trigger to a gun, in her backyard from the height of 27 feet, she shot a flying lark in the midnight sky.
Only in two months in advance, on her second attempt to shoot a mammal, at midnight, she shot a running deer in the forest. Now, from 5 miles away, she can target anyone and anything blindfolded. I cannot fathom why he dated her, but if I were to guess, it would be because of her dangerous talent. Although he was already in a relationship with a trained warrior, I knew that one day I would be with him to share my likes and dislikes and hearken to his.
On my way to the castle, I could not stop wondering about my two best friends, usually kept close enough for me to banter with, Judith Slash and Fiona Woods. I have known them ever since I was nine. Judith is a sensitive female, who is engaged to an abusive male named Joseph Merks. Fiona is almost the complete opposite of Judith; she is known to commit ungodly actions by dedicating her time Earth as a lawbreaker, who murders people I fail to like, and she has no interest in having children. My two friends are both currently caretakers at the local cemetery, and they will forever help me when I am not feeling the best, share their secrets with me, and I will do the same in return.
Today, three hours from now, I intend on going to the north side to purify myself and receive unforgettable miracle from the lake. I personally love the castle that I live in, but I want to own it, modifying it to a moated, black castle. Maybe I’ll just wish for that as I step into the lake. I can imagine it now; I can imagine the fairies of various colors surrounding me until I am done wishing. Then, the fairies fly toward the dandelions, and morphing into them, making a full decision on if I deserve what I am asking for. The next day, the fairies would have already discussed their feelings to one another, and they will then meet the butterflies of various colors. After they discuss their thoughts, the butterflies will morph into any flower with petals, and hopefully, they will give me my deserving wishes by the next day.
Dear diary,
It is two days later, and I feel completely awful. Trevor tried to kiss me in my room, and he is already in a relationship with Joan, but sadly, I told her. I cannot fathom how she must feel, for she had a lugubrious voice, ever since I told her, by a bodega. She looked as if she was ready to murder him, and I know that this is not my fault, but it surely feels like it is. The scariest part of informing that mamacita, Joan, is the news that Trevor never said anything in return. She trembled while standing in one spot for several seconds. Swiftly, she left with a silent cry that made me want to toss his body in the volcano.
Even worse, my wishes from the “Lake of Smiles” did not turn into reality, and I cannot escape the thought of it. I do not comprehend why my wishes are not currently altering my life, which could then make me have complete felicity as I speak. I specifically wished for me to be the owner of the castle, to make my own wealth, and to be queen of the island. So, diary or someone please respond back to me when I frankly ask, why are those necessary wishes not going to happen. Yes, I admit that I am selfish, sometimes but not all of the time. Maybe one day when I am old enough, I will receive more than what I want, which is what I feel like I need. I need true love, and maybe if I can slay Salvia, then as a family tradition, my reward will be the opportunity to marry anyone on the island within the given time of 6 months. In my opinion, that is a long time to marry anyone, but time will pass. It has been a family tradition in my family for over three centuries, which was ever since the sips of travelers sailed the ocean toward this uncharted island.
Unlike Salvia’s dead parent, she is a different dragon. Salvia has a grey body and face, three heads with two metal horns on the top of each of her heads, black eyes, large, black angel wings, metal, grey spikes that leads down her heads to her long, pointy tail, large claws, and long, sharp teeth that can cut through almost anything. She is twenty-years old, and she weights over 700 pounds. Her parents are just pure black with one head, two horns on their heads, metal spikes on their head, and a long tail. Her parents were slayed by my brave father, who have personally seen them in the dungeon for nearly a decade When I was seven, he told me that they eat unicorns to give them strength, and that they eject the bones from their fire blowing mouths. That was the same age I was when he slayed her parents, and two months afterwards, he was killed, which is the primary reason why Salvia must suffer.
Most people breathe unpleasant lives lacking gravitas of love, for love is when they see me in their presence. To me, love is if I get the most hated prisoners in the dungeon an opportunity to assemble and torture one person every thirty minutes if possible. I have the utmost respect for people that comprehend how much I would love to seek five hundred stab wounds on someone’s body. Or should I say that I desire to seek more when I am in a furious mood. I want my victim’s blood to overflow like a toilet full of horse manure and no hay to prevent it, for my victim shall be a farm animal, prepared to be slaughtered. Trevor is that farm animal, and he is bound to die, for I will murder him for Joan, without saying a farewell.
Dear diary,
The great part of today is that I murdered Trevor before Joan could get the rightful opportunity to. I lunged a keen knife in his writhing body over a thousand times, which was more than I had ever spoken to him. Needless to say, I made sure that he felt the pain, for I waited until he breathed, and his wounds to heal. By the time Joan entered my bedroom, I had already slit his throat like I did Salvia just yesterday. I panicked as she cried with a loud scream heading my direction in utter hatred for me. I thought she would love me for my action, but that single thought was wrong. What was not wrong was my wish that I continued to not give up on. Because I became queen of the island, I comprehend the future, for my wishes make the events. Joan will hide Trevor’s body in the volcano, for all orders are taken from me.

Loves World

In Miami, Florida, December the 25th, on a Wednesday, shortly after midnight, a thirteen-year-old female named Becca Ann Ruins is surreptitiously traveling in a murky forest—alone. In discontentment, she trudges the opposite direction of her quarrelsome fathers house, heading pass many dead trees. Rain pours from the humid sky, lightening erupts, then thunder. From her zipped, black mackintosh, she zips her hood up, blocking the water from landing on her head. Her blue jeans then gets soaked from the unpleasant weather, and she lifts her leather black boots from the mucky mud, only to spot someone dressed in all dark attire. This person is just six feet away from her and wearing a similar black mackintosh. From her view, she notices that the person is leaning against a dead tree, appearing to be completely comfortable of the weather condition.
The person speaks in a male’s voice, “Becca. What are you doing out here at this time?”
“Who are you,” she says while giving him a timid look.
“It’s me, Abel,” he says while chuckling as he takes off his hood to expose his slicked-back, black hair and his hazel eyes, “Didn’t someone ever tell you not to talk to strangers?”
She smiles by the sight of Abel Vellone, but he can clearly notice that it is certainly a fake one. He is a flirtatious male from Gothenburg, Sweden, and she adores his hazel eyes, which causes her heart to pump at a rapid pace. When he makes a concerned face, at a swift pace, her face changes to visible fear. For the moment, she is speechless, and she fails to do anything, but sob in front of him. The epitome of divine is her desire, but she certainly does not feel divine by the appalling event that traumatizes her to the point where wet tears brim from her brown eyes, trickling down her delicate cheeks. Ashamed that she is even crying, she struggles to prevent herself from continuing the depressing action, but she is unsuccessful at the attempt.
Her best friend speaks, “What’s wrong?”
She responds, “My dysfunctional family got on my last nerve, so I ran away to calm down.”
He positions his hood over his head and says, “What happened?”
From this point, she moves her right mackintosh sleeve up, revealing a disturbing 6 inch gash on her wrist, and she says, “Ever since I moved out of Wichita, Texas, my twin sister, Ariana was beating on my mother, because she cannot see her boyfriend anymore. And, so my drunk mother would abuse me mentally and physically, taking her anger out on me to solve her problems. My father never speaks to me. All he wants is sex from my mother, and when he gets it, I’m his steppingstone. I would tell them to stop, but they never listen! It’s been going on for four years now.”
Abel is shocked at what he just heard from her sweet voice. Slightly unzipping his mackintosh, he removes a stainless necklace from his neck, which has clean human teeth attached as if they were expensive beads. He sighs with the hope that she will accept the necklace. Out of the kindness of his heart, he extends his hand, and he shows her the necklace. By looking at her confused expression, he realizes that she is not reluctant to accept it.
“Sorry. Believe me when I tell you this. This necklace should protect you. These are real teeth attached, and as long as you brush them every day, great things shall come to you,” he says as he watches her quiver, “Just promise me that you’ll never take it off. If you wear it, no harm will come to you. Trust me, I wish that you could come stay with me, but for right now, this is the best thing that I can do.”
She accepts the necklace and says, “Why can’t I take it off?”
“If you ever take the necklace off, you won’t get everything you desire. Until it is worn, the power is useless. It’s safe for you to go back now.”
“No,” she says, “If this is real, what power did you receive that was so great?”
“I have no time to explain,” he says as his face changes to fear, “Trust me. Promise me that you’ll just keep the necklace on.”
“You’re behaving really weird, and you’re freaking me out.”
Immediately, he sprints the woods as if something eerie is haunting him. She watches him rush out of her sight, and she worries about him. Confused, she is pondering of why he could not have just told her more information about the amulet as she walks the opposite direction, heading back toward her father’s house. He spoke as if the object is magic, and she is skeptical of magic. But, never had he ever lied to her about anything and always, he was known to behave seriously, which causes her to have second thoughts of if it is actually magic.
Stopping between two dead trees, she then does before removing her hood, slightly unzipping her mackintosh, and slowly placing the ominous amulet around her neck, realizing that it is indeed magical by a safe feeling, which magnifies deeply within her. She feels not only in control of her life, but she truly feels in control of others’ lives as well. The profound power of the amulet is something that she already feels comfortable with, and she comprehends that she will now be addicted to it. As soon as it sparkles, she slips her hood back on. Before walking any further, she smiles again but this time, she smiles in exhilaration. Little does she comprehend about the amulet, for it was discovered in Abel’s grandmothers burial place after it was exhumed, but that information is useless, knowing that she failed to receive the opportunity to know more about it, even though it gives her a heartening feeling.
Two hours later, Ariana is walking toward her backyard in the snowy weather. When she looks ahead at her home, she shivers with an unhappy frown on her face, failing to keep herself warm with an ocean blue, winter coat that has a hood above her head, a sanguine scarf made out of wool, dark, blue jeans, and black, leather boots that leaves a trail in the 6 inches of snow. Indeed, it is windy, and she is displeasured to be walking in the temperature of only 12 degrees. The wind is so strong that it temporarily blinds her eyesight, but she keeps walking straight with her eyes shut from the horrible weather condition. Relying on nearly tripping on the wooden steps, she rushes up them, opens up the door, and she heads inside to take deep breaths as the door slams shut by its self.
Unsure if the wind blew the door close or not, she is startled, glancing behind her as she exits the warm kitchen to enter the bathroom. While she removes her scarf, winter coat, gloves, and boots, her twin sister is naked in a bathtub, brimming with bubbles above cold water. She fails to realize that her sister is attempting to commit suicide; her sister cuts an infinite sign deep in her right wrist with a thick, sharp knife, which is 4 inches wide and 8 inches long. As she falls backwards on her comfortable bed, her sister is unconscious with her head sliding down from the wall, slowly sliding down under the water. With a white, cotton sheet, she places it over her face, then she tightly holds a pillow against her bosoms as if it is a stuffed animal that can reduce her anger as the flat-screen television in front of the bed turns on by itself, which temporarily prevents her from thinking about her sister. On the television screen, there are numerous panda bears eating various foods like: bamboos, pikas, small rodents, and insects as she removes the sheets from her worried face.
Beside the bed, on the right side is a black dresser with three drawers and a clear, rectangular mirror attached above it. She rushes out of the bed, jerks a silver remote above the dresser, turns off the television, then glances at a black, square shaped digital alarm clock that changes from 12:00 to 1:00 P.M. at a rapid pace. The alarm clock then disturbs her by turning on with the sound of a raven communicating to a group of them above an ocean. After hesitating, she turns it off, and she sighs, sitting on the right side of her bed with her hands covering her scared face. She is scared because she fails to remember setting the time for her inexpensive alarm clock to make noise, but she then wonders if Becca did it while she was away from the house. Her heart throbs at 100 beats per minute, and she takes shallow breathes as she sits down on her bed, wondering about what transpired.
Failing to think too long, she rises up, and she blows the dust away from the dirty mirror as her entire body turning stiff. Her black, curly hair is the exact opposite color of her twin sisters. When she stares at her light, brown eyes, for a fraction of a second, her pupils change into the shape of a star, and they change back to normal afterwards. As much as what she would enjoy to believe that what she is seeing is a dream, her eerie hallucinations are caused by her usage of an illegal drug that can severely harm her, causing her to even suffer the sad result of death, especially when she knows that she possesses high blood pressure. Ecstasy is her addiction, and when she thinks about it, she quivers as fast as falling water, wanting to attend a wild party with her boyfriend, which she currently kept a secret for specifically 9 days, 6 hours, 24 minutes, and 11 seconds. Her boyfriend’s name is Kevin Miles, and he is the nicest person the she literally ever met.
The laptop on her silver, rectangle desk turns on by itself, and from it, she reads a poem in her mind that Kevin emailed her, which says:

Rainbow

You’re bright like a rainbow over a lofty hill.
It’s your seven colors that makes me smile.
Red like a rose, and you know you make me feel.
Orange like a pumpkin, and I love your style.
Yellow like the bright sun and, so it always shines.
Green like a tree of leaves—the leaves make me live.
Blue like the ocean with light that combines.
Indigo around, and you’re so positive.
But, you’re clearer than water and lovely to be.
Lovely to see, and brighter than me.

She blushes after sitting down in a comfortable chair to read the poem, but she then reads what is says at the bottom, “I was drunk when I wrote this, but that is not false knowledge of my true feelings for you. I love my ‘Airy.’ How are you, babe? I miss you.”
Emailing Kevin in return, she does not hesitate to type as she reads what she types in her mind, “Thanks for the poem, babe. I’m great, I love you, and I miss you too. I’m just a little pissed about my twin sister thinking that she is the only one upset about life. She proceeds to get jealous every time I bring my friends over by observing them with her little surveillance cameras hidden around the house. She’s a total creep. Sometimes, it seems like all she does is stay on her laptop, observing people as if they are animals. She needs a boyfriend or something. In high school, for an unknown reason, she smote me at the corridors, and I failed to retaliate, because she was simply my twin sister. I was hyperventilating after not only receiving the pain from the attack, but the rumors spreading about the fight. It was not a real fight, but my bloody nose could tell you differently.”
The sound of his voice enters her mind as she reads what he emailed her, “Sounds like the beginning of a psychopath. Don’t allow her ways to make you honestly believe that she is belittling your existence. Your sister needs a relationship. But, don’t get too upset with her. Inside out is our blood spreading parallel to our hearts.”
“I know, Right? Anyway, I kept having a stupid nightmare where gold sand on a large beach is being friendly to her, so I realized that it was quicksand.”
“Haha. Great dream. Maybe she deserves it. Your visible heart is provided by the shining element of a generous mind. I want you to know exactly how much I love you. For you, I have ever-present love. I’ll meet you tonight at 6:00 P.M. at your house. Later.”
“Okay. I’m looking forward to it. Later, babe.”
A disembodied voice that sounds exactly like her mother communicates to her by saying the same two words in a repeated fashion, “Doll face. Doll face. Doll face…”
Once she opens the unlocked bathroom door, to her awareness, the drastic scene of her deceased twin sister causes her a horrid feeling of utter fear and guilt. Her first thought is to flee the house and to immediately call the police, but she refrains from doing so. Instead of fleeing the house, she gazes at the eyes-catching amulet. Then, she extends her hand out slowly, and she removes it from her sisters neck, feeling depressed that her sister would undergo so much sadness to commit suicide. As she holds the amulet, it makes her cease worrying about her as if she is an insignificant entity, so she places it around her neck, breathing deeply in the air for a slight moment.
Metaphorically, Ariana feels like a female so divine that if she gained an open wound on her delicate flesh, a bright, white light, would shine from it, and it will heal in an automatic fashion. While shivering, she drops to her knees with absolutely no control over her body. Then, she places both of her hands out in front of her eyes with trickling tears that are falling from her eyes. The bathroom turns to approximately 110 degrees, and a little perspiration falls from her forehead as she glares at her palms. Her entire body turns to a reddish color, and an itty-bitty wound from the both of her palms grow larger, which transforms into a mouth as she closes her eyes with her veins revealing through her transparent flesh. Afterwards, she moans in excruciating pain as her hand then wanders upwards above her head, causing her to get unconscious, falling backwards to the tiled floor.

6:00 P.M.

Kevin’s disturbed voice of fear enters her ears as she gains control over her numb body from the tiled bathroom floor, “Are you okay? I just arrived here, and I found out that Abel was found dead in a flophouse. … It was on the news. Your front door left was open. What went on with your sister?”
After taking shallow breaths, she darts her head around, squinting her eyes for a slight second, and says, “You won’t believe me. Take this amulet off of me. It’s harming me…”
“What the hell is going on,” he quivers and says, “Did you murder her?”
“Kevin, do it. I don’t have the strength to. It’s hurting me. Don’t call the cops.”
“Why?”
“Please. Please, just listen to me.”
Ariana feels as though she is experiencing a torturous event from an abnormal thing that she fails to see, and in fact, she does realize that she is clearly seeing a nonexistent event. Several florescent lights are attached on the deteriorating ceiling, but she realizes that she is the only one who can see them, knowing that the lights never existed in the bathroom. When she looks at Kevin’s innocent face, he seems to be not only confused of why she is lying on the floor, but disgusted by the scene of her sister’s death, prepared to vomit in the toilet. The awful smell makes her disgusted to the point where she wants to escape the bathroom, but it seems as though the amulet is draining her active energy by every second. She crawls toward him, and she wraps her arms around his wobbly legs as if it is the final thing she may do, but out of horror, he hesitates to make a sudden movement. Struggling to breathe in the bathroom, she then lowers her head, which is before he finally removes the amulet from her neck.
Devastated from the scene, he hearkens to her, “She killed herself.”

Asylum

5:45 A.M.

In a small room with only pure, white walls and absolutely no windows to even glance out of is where she now dwells. This is the exact room where she refrained from digesting any sort of edible food for three straight days, and she fails to even have the slightest clue of which mental institution she is in. Also, although she had been drugged with several needles to help her sleep, this is the exact room where she refused to maintain her sleep, but it is not because of her suffering from insomnia. It is simply the amulet that altered her life causing her lie in a bumpy mattress with no pillow provided after she had been interrogated, and wrongfully accused of a murderous crime she failed to commit against her twin sister. Lying on the bed, nearly motionless with in lachrymose silence, she wonders if she may ever receive the opportunity to get someone to believe that she failed to murder her sister and even more, she wonders if she may ever escape from the unnerving feeling she possesses by escaping this place she dwells in.
Her beloved ex–boyfriend, Kevin Miles, is no longer with her in a relationship, and there is not a thing that she can do about it but cry and rise from the mattress in an exhausted manner, struggling to think about something else in order to make herself feel better. But, she cannot think about something else for the moment, knowing that her ex-boyfriend now possesses the ominous amulet that caused her kindness to dwindle within an instant. So, as long as she remains in the same institution, she realizes that she is no longer in control of her every action, but being controlled by people of authority. As she removes the perspiration from her lugubrious face with the usage of her hands, she proceeds to worry about her boy-friend, believing that his hands may eat someone once he puts the amulet around his neck. Trapped, she is from reality, and she yells with the hope that it can somehow reduce her profound anger.
She rises up from the bed, and with her sharp nails, she dedicates her time to scratching the concrete walls, even bleeding from her fingernails in advance, writing a bloodcurdling message that entered her demented mind, “I was born to kill God’s nightmare. Love me for what I shall do, for this is a lovely world.”
By the time concerned doctors could return to room, it is three minutes later, and she is gone. For a peculiar reason, the room is vacant without the bed in it. The bloody message on the wall is the only evidence of her staying inside of the small room, which adds multiple questions about where she could have gone. Without a doubt, there is absolutely no solution to that mysterious thought of how she could have escaped from the room without someone allowing her to. While this event is kept confidential, the doctors fail to comprehend that it was the amulet that helped her escape from the room, for it was found underneath her pillow.

Note Kill

The bloodcurdling remembrance of Jamie Brie Madison’s gruesome murder has devastated 80 percent of the population in three primary countries. The countries that brimmed with fear were the: United States of America, Japan, and Jamaica. The appalling story is an unforgettable memory for those who have gotten the opportunity to hearken about to it. According to rumors, many people hearkened to the story, notifying others that the story begins with an eight-year-old girl named Jamie with smooth, brown hair, dark, brown eyes, black eyeliner, and pink lips that are nearly in the perfect shape of a heart. She dwelled in her mother’s household, but she remained alone every night at 9:00 P.M., which is also when her mother would head to work as a struggling drug dealer until the time of 4:00 A.M. On one night, when she was alone, she was wearing a golden, heart shaped pendant, a pink and grey tank top, dark, blue jeans, and clear, white shoes. She could not sleep in her bedroom due to two things; the two things that ceased her from going to sleep was due to her suffering of insomnia and the running faucet from the bathroom, which made rise from her bed, reluctant to even exit her dark room in a sluggish fashion. Thus, the moment she leaves her room, she could hear her double closet doors open at a rapid pace, startling her to the point where she darted her head around and ran down in the living room screaming as loud as she possibly could. But, her scream lead to her death with the only evidence of her to be in a heap of her own blood, what she wore that night, and an extraordinary note from the demented serial killer.
“My name is Justice Keeper. The bearer of a sleeper. I know that Jamie have suffered heartache when her father abandoned her at the age of two. Also, I know that when she was seven, she have suffered partial kidney failure due to being hit by a speeding car. I’ve been stalking her as if though she is my prize. I can unwrap it, and turn it into a delicious desert. If you want your gorgeous little sweet-tucks back, all you must do is tell me the exact time she had screamed. If you don’t save her, it’s going to be hell rising over a sunset,” Justice’s note said but near the note was a folded paper of a written story that Jamie wrote.
“The Druid twins (Bianca and Anita) are eight-years-old, and they have been successfully playing the piano for three years with an additional talent to sing. They keep their talents a secret due to their strict, divorced parents’ rules of hearkening to no music, for it is a distraction to their career opportunities of the future. A career in the music industry is the only thing they are interested in, but their parents take control over their lives by forcing them to stay in their bedroom together without any belongings but two beds and clothing behind the double closet doors. There is not even windows in their bedroom to glance at, but at midnight, they would wake up to hearken to a playing piano, which is coming from an unknown destination, then they would hear mellifluous humming noises that would lead them various paths when they intend on escaping from their grouchy parents’ house. By the time they reach their destination, there is nobody around, and there is not even a sound of humming. But, there is always a piano where they can play. As a tradition, they must seize the hands of a deceased person beneath the piano, make it boneless, and wear it over theirs in order to play it. If they do not participate in the tradition, they are given a warning that they may depart the Earth, and regardless of the fact that they believe that they are not crazy, they do not know that they are the only ones who can hearken and view the fascinating sight of the soothing piano.”
Every time someone spots one of Jamie’s past writings, it is a sign to lead the authorities closer to either the serial killer or her missing body. They found nothing but signs of her past writings in various locations, which lead them to an arduous task in searching for them. The writings would not even be a sign of how people can find her, and it surely would not be a sign of how people could find the serial killer. Sometimes, the writings would have a slaughtered body piece with the unnerving note. Also, sometimes, because of the mysterious event, the notes would even be broadcasted on national television, exposed on every station of a television.
The following day, attached to a chandelier of a former detectives household, (Mark Crave) discovered the next evidence with Jamie’s folded paper, and he carefully read it, “’Missing wings in the air. Missing things of your care. Sew my wings when I die. Healer one, make me fly. Hands of tears are no fears. Unfound tears are within. My wings are gone by sheers. Why shall I make a sin?’ I know you’re reading this, former detective, Mark Crave. More are in danger. … Just when you thought that I had committed my worse crime. Oh, it shall go beyond that by the suffering of entities galore.”
Two days later, investigators discovered another crumbled note beside a chopped, bloody, left ear of Jamie’s on an intersection of a road, which was just on the right side of her house, “She was born without kneecaps like other babies. I have a special craving for them all. Prevent my actions and fail. I don’t care if you’re six-feet-tall or higher, but I can make you just as much below. It’s time for you to know more about her. If you can crush a spider, you can crush a heart. If you fail to amble in the afterlife, you’re in a casket. She questions herself about that every night. She is so use to sleepwalking that she can literally exercise during the process of it. Sounds like a girl who can change the world, but me as a human being, monster, or whatever you want to call me simply lacks the needed element to give a damn. You steal her lies. You feel her cries. You have her things. You have her wings. You mocked her existence, she gets stolen by one who tortures, then she’s a beloved child. … She’s like some big goddess now, and that’s simply unbelievable to me. More bodies have not been discovered, and it’s your decision to search for the unknown. And never shall you find me, for I am beyond the element of intelligence.”

Heidi’s Friend

In Miami, Florida, Heidi Hinders, a twelve-year old female with lustrous, red hair, fantasized about being a well-known fashion designer, owning her own lucrative business, and obsessing over her own personal accessories. Unfortunately, she dwelled in her mother’s household around her nineteen-year-old sister, Bonny, who receives exhilaration from doing drugs and engaging in sexual activity from a blasphemous group she trusted. Heidi gained the knowledge that her unemployed mother is struggling to pay off the mortgage to the house, so she suffered from insomnia, usually waking up, just to dress up in superb clothing, decorating her clothing in order to feel like a different person in front of a clear mirror. Because the house was burglarized on her birthday, “Christmas,” she was not a giddy person and received absolutely no gifts, but sorrow, later discovering that her mother cannot even afford to further take care of Judy, an Australian Shepherd, which is the only living organism making Heidi smile. So, she dresses in gothic clothing, sometimes taping black or red feathers on each of her fingernails, from her own view, symbolizing murderous intentions of a disturbed, peaceful female. Heidi grows a temper, yelling at her mother about not keeping Judy, remaining isolated in her room, wondering about how she is going to murder numerous people in order to replace the demoralizing feeling of her lost opportunity in being a successful fashion designer.
On Walpurgis Night, at 9.00P.M., Heidi is at a local restaurant with her biological mother, refusing to eat the delicious food she asked for, but wondering about the safety of Judy and her future options in being a happy person, retiring before she reaches the age of forty. Taking care of Judy shall never occur again, and her future of being a fashion designer seems impossible due to the clothing, and food her mother can barely afford to give her. But, she struggles, attempting to believe that by the time she turns independent, it is not too late to accomplish all that she wants to do. Catching her attention, there is a stranger announcing a karaoke singing competition, and she hearkens to five different people, gaining the courage to then ask her mother if she can participate, failing to be disappointed in her answer of yes. Once she gets on the stage, she desires to pulverize them by singing in a spellbinding voice that she never knew she owned, correctly saying the lyrics to a depressing song that she unfortunately forgot the name of. At this moment, she realizes her talent and wants to pursue a career in singing, just by the smiles etched on the cheering and clapping of the customers’ amused faces.
From peoples own shadow, there dwells a stalking beast, secretly waiting for the right moment to do either two things to them: murder or protect. The dead skin cells that fall from them daily are used as possible energy to form the beast’s appearance. 30,000 to 40,000 dead skin cells are lost from people every minute, and it is the beast’s decision to rather or not reveal his appearance after the energy he receives from being around you. Ever since the daughter of Thutmosis the 1st, Hatshepsut in 1479 BC, there existed a magical manuscript capable of altering anyone’s life, but rediscovered many years later by Heidi after breaking a plaster wall 4 inches in length and 5 inches in width, it occurred to her that it is a forgotten folklore in ancient Egypt, which is a sacred, dusty manuscript, also saying that anyone reading it with confidence will indeed have the beast protect them with guidance throughout the process of life or anyone showing any sign of doubt or abject fear shall be haunted. Although he showed fear, when he translated it to English, the manuscript says the following: “There dwells a beast not in us from the beginning of birth, but ready to enter us as he successfully predicted. The beast is observing us, lurking in our shadows until we are not aware of our surroundings or until we fully accept him as a part of our lives. If you accept the beast, you shall be guided in life with the utter knowledge of all you want to know and be protected from dangers way. If you doubt or are afraid, you shall be haunted by many dark figures from the “Realm of Hades,” capable of physically and mentally harming you and loved ones.
It takes nearly a month for her to decode the manuscript, but she makes and extra copy of it by writing it on a blank scroll. The scroll, she always kept near her, feeling as if somebody or something is watching her, ready to breathe on her flesh carelessly. When she turns on the light at night in the kitchen, sometimes, she sees her shadow walk the opposite direction she does, deciding to climb the wall with a thumping noise, groaning. Her personal property are seen from her peripheral vision moving, levitating at moments. Scars appear on her flesh from the beast, attempting to cause her bodily harm in a torturous way, and anyone she shows the mark on her body to simply cannot see it. Heidi then regrets that she even kept the copy of the manuscript, gaining the intention of murdering (Bonny Hinders,) simply because she is in danger of the magical reality.
Heidi discovers that after her long lost father died from being murdered, her sister, Bonny was shot in the head, twice, just after exiting a wild house party at her best friend’s house. The uncaught shooter is actually her best friend, Joe Taylor, believing that he committed a murder. Patiently, Heidi visited the local hospital, waiting for her sister to recover from an appalling coma by the act of a miracle. All of Heidi’s negative feelings for her fades and turns to forgiveness, but that does not stop Heidi from being afraid of her surroundings. One month later, her mother cannot afford to keep Bonny in the hospital, giving Heidi the sad idea that Bonny is indeed bound to die. Heidi’s wish comes true; Bonny starts breathing normally and wakes up, speaking with an apology. Three days later, she notices that Bonny is behaving strange, saying that her name is not Bonny, and that she is Tabitha Wells, a homeless, elderly female, nearly at the age of seventy.
To the loud ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room, the throbbing of forty-one-year-old (Corona Winters) heart occurs at a fast pace, and chirping crickets make an annoying noise from outside her opened window, sounding like the beat of a song. Unfortunately, Corona is prevented from meditating in the midnight, sighing on the living room black, comfy couch. Opening her eyes, she rises up from her knees, stretching her arms in displeasure as she sees the sign of the weather she despises the most—winter. Snowballs and snowflakes fall from the dark sky while her next-door neighbor from an unwelcoming house peeks out a clear window with a grin wrapped perfectly on his face, closing his blinds. After she closes her window and the blinds, she returns to her couch with the intentions of meditating, but her cell phone rings.
From the right pocket of her black widow designs on her grey pajama pants, she grabs the cell phone, raises it up to her left ear and says with an annoyed voice, “Hello.”
“Hey girl. I know weren’t asleep. You always stay up at midnight to meditate. How about you come around my place this Tuesday?”
“No thanks. You know I’m trying to be a better person.”
“You need to have a little fun in your life. Eventually, you’ll pay off the money to your house, you’ll get a car, and a good paying job. You could be a heroic firefighter if you want. Go to law school and still meet the man of your dreams. It’s not too late. I think you just need to relax.”
“Jamie. I have two daughters. I told you that my youngest is in a rush to be an adult and leave me while my oldest is in the mental institution. The more I focus on my goals, the better influence I can have for other people. Someday, I plan on giving back to the community by creating a shelter for the ones in need, but I can’t do that if you’re in the way a lot, and I haven’t helped myself yet.”
“I may not be the best friend in the world, but you have my full support on whatever you decide to do. You’re the reason I passed high school.”
“Thank you. I’ll come by when I can. Goodnight.”
“Night.”
Instead of meditating, she puts her cell phone back in her pocket, heads upstairs, hearing Heidi screaming from a nightmare in her bedroom. She panics, rushing upstairs to open her bedroom door out of curiosity. The area is dark, so she flicks on the light. To her surprise, Heidi is cowering under a wooden, black, circular table from the corner of the plaster wall. Before she can say a word, a loud banging sound comes from downstairs, sounding like a heavy object hit the oven, so she immediately closes the door behind her, locking it with the utter belief that her house is being burglarized again.
“What happened,” her mother says with a worried face and a tinge of anger in her voice.
“I keep seeing Bonny. She’s dead, mom,” she cries with a feeling of guilt.
She reaches in her pocket to answer her ringing cell phone, “Jamie, I need you to call the police! Please, my house is being burglarized.”
She can hear footsteps coming up the stairs, then see the twisting doorknob that catches her full attention, so she physically moves a heavy, wooden, white dresser in the direction of the door. By the time she moved the object, Heidi is standing behind her with a keen knife tightly in her right hand. She lunges the knife directly at her left tibia twice. Then, she watches her mother fall to the black, shaggy carpet, screaming in excruciating pain and rage. The mother begs for her daughter to drop the knife, but she targets her belly three times with a sudden laughter. Afterwards, the twisting from the doorknob stops, and she skips in circles three times, then hops on the bed, forgetting about what transpired as she falls asleep without a pillow to rest on her mattress.
When she wakes up, she is a confused and heartbroken person, discovering that her mother is murdered. She would call someone on her cellphone, but it automatically turns off, causing her to further panic about this predicament. She struggles to remember what transpired before she fell asleep, but she is unsuccessful at it. Instead of focusing on her dead mother, she uses her entire strength to move the heavy dresser away from the door, then she exits the door to her room, seeing a dead burglar lying on the stairs with over twenty-three stab wounds around the body and face. From this point, she knows enough information that she is going to suffer consequences for her actions.
“Place me in a crazy house with my sister then. I committed no crime, my shadowy friend.”

2 Days Later

It is 3:00 P.M., the walls are white around her as she wakes up, and she panics to the painful feeling of a sharp needle being injected into her skin. Running is definitely not an option, for she feels extremely weak and vulnerable to anyone’s ungodly intentions. The people dressed in white looks as if they are bound to murder her, but she knows that one day they will suffer in physical pain, even regretting that they trapped her from living life like a normal person. In an opposing group, she sees them like underground creatures at slight seconds when fluorescent, blue lights flicker on and off from an invisible area above her head, but one male out of the group kisses her passionately on the lips as she stands in one position, struggling to push him off. As soon as she runs toward the exit of the room, she wakes up, strapped to a hard mattress.
She realizes the multiple scars around her body and face are visible, but she immediately screams, thinking about where Bonny is located. The burglar that she was blamed for murdering was trespassing on her mother’s property, but she could care less about the burglar, for she accidently murdered her mother with an instant rage. Several doctors arrive with needles, and she breaks loose of what kept her strapped, grapples with the doctors trying to stop her abnormal behavior, striking them in the face, then scratching them with her nails. She is eventually injected with the needle as additional doctors crowd the exit of the room.
Three hours later, she is calm on a bench, but bored, watching a television screen in a large place full of strangers wandering the place. From her peripheral vision, she sees Bonny walking toward her, but passes her. She fears of even speaking to her Bonny because the medicine that she is currently taking could have changed her personality to a high extent. Or could Tabitha Wells just live inside of Bonny now, she wonders, reluctantly deciding that she is going to talk to her. Before she can say a word, Bonny walks back and sits beside her, giving her an odd feeling.
“Bonny?”
She says with a frown, “I’m Tabitha. These people keep trying to harm me.”
“Who is trying to harm you,” she questions her with curiosity.
“The ones holding the needles,” she says as she shows her the bruises and scars on her right arm, “They didn’t hurt you yet? Everyone has one.”
“Listen to me. You’re not Tabitha Wells, you’re my sister, Bonny. Your personal memory went away.”
“I spotted earthquakes at weddings, tornadoes at funerals, and I call it Monday. People couldn’t last two seconds in my world, for roofless houses would have thunder above while you’re striving to accomplish your schoolwork, riots would spread with constant gun shootings, serial killers would torture your family members, magical happenings would worsen your life, and so called lovers would break your hearts as simple as a dropped infant, down a series of stairs. I’m Tabitha. They told me you murdered your mother and father,” she says as her frown disappears.
“I never murdered my father.”
“Your father was the burglar. He shot himself in the head on the same night you murdered your mother.”
“How do you know this?”
“They told me.”

Dripping Red

When I enter my bedroom, I can usually see my dead grandma (Jane Saralley,) typing on a black laptop, beside a stack of my personal, black diaries. She died three years ago due to my grandpa, Arnold, shooting her over seven times in the head. The reason that the crime occurred is because my grandma use to abuse me at night at the age of five-years-old, threatening me with a knife to remove my clothes. She would tell me to suck on the main area between her legs, then I was forced to lie down on a mattress, feeling her wet tongue, and enduring her weight, every time she bounced on my penis. I was always told to keep quiet about the countless events; as her own rule that I was forced to follow, I ate a bar of soap, after she molested me. By the time I turned thirteen-years-old, I received enough courage to tell my grandpa of what occurred, but I told him at the same moment we were doing our traditional ritual. A bunch of my cousins were over the house; all of them knew at the ‘Circle of Truth’ because it was my turn to speak, and I decided to say it as she glared at me like a frozen statue.
Six days after that event, her body was never found, and ever since then, I have been the victim of seeing my grandma on Wednesday nights. The only advantages that I have from this rage that has not left me is that my grandma does not abuse me, she apologizes for her actions, wants me to rejoice, and I have been getting a special energy where I can magically make myself seem as if I am hurt, when I am really not. Unfortunately, I never rejoiced, and I probably never will, for I want the guilty to be wrongfully pushed into crimes they failed to commit. One time, just seven days ago, I was sitting at a local restaurant, and three bullies from my high school arrived, teasing me because I’m a Freshmen. The asinine entities then mocked me because they knew that I really liked a female named Gwen Vishels, but was too scared to say anything. They were clueless of the person that they were constantly bullying, for I honestly wanted to murder them, but just did not complete that action.
They said things like, “Hey, Joseph, why don’t you go talk to her. She’s sitting ahead of you. She’ll always be steps ahead of a nerd like you. You could never get with her. I bet you that I could get with her, and she’ll be all on my nut sprinkler.”
As I glared at them, blood leaked from my nostrils. It leaked as if I could possibly have eternal bleeding, then I squealed in agony as a wound appeared on my right cheek, which could have only came from a keen knife. Odd enough, the wound did not come from a knife, but covered my face as they watched me bleed with darting heads around the restaurant, curious of what was transpiring. They seemed guilty, for even when the cops arrived to rerun the scene around the exact time I was in rage, it showed their hands striking me in the face, leading to one person taking out a knife, swiftly swinging it in the direction of my saddened face. They were arrested, but that does not keep my damn grandma from yelling at me about what I possibly did to the future of those idiots, causing them to even worry about the afterlife as their lives are reduced to maggots in prison.
I murder the titular murderers assembling as bullies and ones that wronged others. They could be in an unconscious state, and I would kick them in the face after stepping on tar. Then, I would immediately force them to eat a dissected penis, but I am the victim, appearing as if I am hurt in order for them to undoubtedly suffer. Because of my anger, it is primarily how they receive many penalties, possibly dying at a later date. Sometimes, they are not sent directly to prison for bothering me or the innocent people, but they are just never found again like my breakfast, lunch, and dinner plates I prepare.
Two weeks ago, I climbed a tall tower that was in the city, but was uncaught by an action to be known for an incredible or pathetic action. Although I was not broadcasted on television, it was a huge thrill just being there. Luckily, I recorded my physical activity, then recorded myself an hour later, walking on a transmission line. I literally felt like a cat that would not say no to death, choosing to walk on the line with faith that I can balance myself. I was on television, refusing to come near to the ground of where I despise people. From my view, there was enough people around to remind me of how much I hate them, so they suffered. I got angry as I walked the line, and a riot full of sinners grew like a rapidly spreading virus, edible by grubby rats.
Like a brilliant magician during the foggy weather, I disappeared, but in solitude, I remain in the bedroom of my own house. I am an abnormal human being with magical powers. With these dangerous powers, I am bound to do whatever pleases me. First, I am perfectly drawing out the victim that I want to die, which is the same female that rejected me one year ago. From an old photo that I have, I am using it to remember her gorgeous face, drawing my secret desire of her throat being slit in three locations. Then, I decide to write a random poem, representing what I am thinking about.
“I’m writing in my mind. I’m cutting with my shears. I’m painting on my tears. I’m smudging colors blind.”
“Foreseeing thick sketches. Forgetting morbid lines. Following vivid signs. Forgiving arts stretches.”
“I’m stroking where I dwell. I’m swimming where I fly. I’m shading where I cry. I’m walking from what fell.”
In my opinion, the poem represents me living in my art as an adventure away from the world in a new home. In the poem, I am predicting what life may offer me, thinking positive, forgetting negative experiences, forgetting the things that bothered me, and supporting people that are needed of help, mentally and physically. Complete control of my life makes me proud, which is what was randomly written in the poem. The way I wrote the poem, it also represents the peace and exhilaration I receive from life, hoping for the best every day.
Gwen, the woman that rejected me before looks exactly like her twin sister, but I am a nefarious person to them, only when they discover the predicament that they caused. They absorbed my happiness, so what else should I say about their undeserving lives, built on ungratefulness. Hopefully, I do not murder the wrong one, but I hate them both. Her twin sister, Jessica, threw rocks at the back of my head, and I could not tell a person, for her muscular boyfriend was metaphorically always wrapped around her shoulders. I can remember his irritating name when I think of a candle burning from a fireplace. Trevor Molten is his name, and I imagine him dying by suffocation, for I can also metaphorically reason with chemicals, allowing the dangerous ones to attack.
I bet her boyfriend believes that he is God, but he simply is not, for he was arrested once at the age of fifteen. At that age, he was caught shoplifting in a local mall. He was not ordering everyone around him then when he was in prison. I bet he cries when he thinks about how he is a failure at life, convinced that he can make others like him, but only if he brainwashed them first by whatever way necessary. This is not his world, for if I had more help to torture him and his loved ones, he would definitely have an ephemeral existence. Most people of authority are a problem in my opinion also, and he is a major symbol of the type of people that they are, for I am mistreated by many people, claiming or pretending as if they do not believe that they do not have higher power over others.
If I could change the world in certain ways, first, I would create allegorical stories, using part of my money that I made in order give people in need money. Money would not exist, and we would be trading items of our own for others in order to survive. If money has to exist, have compassionate or wealthy people buy immigrants affordable houses, giving them opportunities to comprehend what the country of America is really about. They could sign contracts as a time limit in how long they will be capable of working, but if they are incapable of working for mental or physical reasons, they should be given free rent if they live in an apartment building and free items, regardless of where they live. I am in no way capable of fully answering every question to life, but I would want money poverty as no issue. Because most people would be treated fairly if I could make the rules of the world, the world would be a peaceful place, making it a necessary action to possibly handcuff or place ones with demented minds in asylums permanently.
As I write, I can see Trevor, and he is sobbing because his mother is in need of his help. When he prays to God, he realizes that he is not in power of the world, but one person that can be an example for it. He hates the fact that his mother was forced to be in a wheel chair ever since she was shot in the back of her neck and on her left pectoral muscle at the age of twenty. When I see him, I know of not his thoughts, but what he does, and what he does is bother me like a bully would. So, since he likes to push me to the ground, smack me in the head, hit me with a metal bat, kiss his attractive girlfriend in front of my face, I am going to give him something that his eyes will not miss.
“I can cause mayhem by snoozing,” Trevor says as he dials the numbers to his girlfriend’s cell phone.
Automatically, Gwen says, “Hey babe. Tell me, when are you gonna make your way over to my house with your cool skateboard?”
“You know I have a crazy schedule. My board is wagging now, but I have to help my mother for the night.”
“You could just roll by. Come one, make it fast. I’m getting really horny.”
The bedroom door slams shut, and he panics, darting his head around to see why. When he tries to twist the doorknob, it does not budge, and without him being aware of it, blood covered on food parcels are under his bed with his deceased mother that I murdered an hour ago. The sound of thunder comes from the gloomy sky, and he opens his blinds to see that the entire sky flashes by a powerful bright, white light. Ignoring his girlfriends concerned voice over the phone, he then sees a black hole, circling the sky as if it could hypnotize him. At this moment, he then informs his girlfriend of the strange predicament that he is in. Obviously, she is a skeptical person, failing to believe him, and he grows extremely upset, ending the phone call after making another attempt to convince her of what is actually occurring.
First, he is shocked to believe that his house is not torn to pieces already, then the flesh from his fingers are ripping away as the windows break, ascending in the air. Screaming in agony, he struggles to run away from the magical attack, which he could have only believe could enter a disturbing nightmare. He dies before he exits his house in an untraditional fashion, being without flesh to cover his legs, dripping with tainted blood. Always, ever since he was a kid, he thought that on the other side of a black hole was a world full of aliens, prepared to program his brain into a deceased alien, just for the rebirth of life, but he is dead, making it impossible for him to truly know.
The black hole then forms to a vivid star blending in with the sky that has many of its kind. Like from my drawing, Gwen suffers three long wounds passing her throat, but she is a victim of same death experience of her boyfriend. The end result of the star is a formation of fire surrounding it. Then, the sky creates a burgundy color representing how much blood fell from them in their last moments of life as they were tortured by unseen stones, crashing into their bodies. As an act of magic, I awake from an odd dream, knowing that what I imagined literally occurred, simply because of my anger, for I see the two bullies missing signs broadcasted on television as if they are innocent people.

Molly Runes

From Saturn, an eighteen-year-old, eye-catching, intelligent female named Molly Runes, utilized technology to be reborn from a hollow tree on the planet Earth, but receives a discouraging feeling about her life. At exactly 3:00 P.M., squeezing out of the hole, with no clothes on, she desperately climbs, gasping for necessary oxygen, and breaking a magical wire, which looks like an umbilical cord, attached to her body. As the scintillating sun remains in the blue sky, the first thing that she can remember is that her biological parents are dead from a suicidal act, and on Saturn, they do not yet have the proper technology to successfully revive them. Their deaths easily give her visceral rage with the utter feeling that she is uncared for and that she is undeserving of a successful future. The last time she heard about her quarrelsome parents was from a deranged stranger informing her of what she personally views as abandonment, then informing her that they later slit their throats with keen knives.
Molly is indeed an extra-terrestrial alien, but she is already frightened to communicate to anyone on Earth about the creature that she is. Where she originally lived, edifices, village houses, and all proof of life are capable of turning invisible once a human is observing the area by the usage of any object. Because she is an alien, she possesses telekinetic and telepathic ability, which is more advanced than what normal humans can do. As a major advantage above humans, she can easily brainwash people into thinking anything if she wants to, and she possesses advanced technology that can give her whatever she desires. There are untold abilities that she has not even mastered yet, for example: automatically disappearing and teleporting. She is fluent in every language and never forgets. Normal, she looks in reality, but the only things odd about her natural body are her black colored eyes and the long, pointy tail that blends in with her delicate flesh.
After darting her head in multiple directions to see if anyone notices her, in the dark hole that she recently came from, she physically takes a silver, metal, circular, heavy box out, which has a slightly loose lid above. When she removes the lid, she immediately takes a red device that looks only like a cellphone, knowing that it can benefit her in other ways. She can remotely control the direction of where her own flying saucer moves and faithfully watch the saucer on the screen of the device, but stops the saucer from moving any further, for it is also her home that could rapidly crash into plenty of meteorites. Making no time to call anyone, she places the cellphone back in the circular box, then takes out what looks like a handkerchief. She forces it under the green grass of the dirt, collects seven drops of her tears from her watery eyes, dumps it above the handkerchief, steps back with her heavy box, then watches it grow into a shower that functions.
Her angelic face reflects from a clear lake. There is a great probability that she is going to drink the water from her dehydrated mouth as she feels the caressing wind. To her knees, she drops, connecting her palms together, lowering them in the cold water. Then, she places the water in her mouth, eight times, gulping it. While she rises up to her feet to put on gothic clothing, she realizes that her hovering home made it possible for her to have immortality, which also made it possible for her to never die on Earth, even if she did not drink the water from the lake. Although if she did not drink water, she would live, just feeling the pain of not having what she desires, possibly lying motionlessly, she thinks.
Her cell phone transforms into a hair brush, so without touching it, the hairbrush perfects her curly, wet, black hair, making it dry while she slips on a black panty and bra made out of lace material. Dark, black jeans are levitating in the air, and she extends her right leg, first, in order to position the jeans on her. As she continues to dress up, allowing magical elements of invisibility to swiftly put a pair of black, leather boots on her, she slips on a silk, black, diaphanous blouse, looking like zebra skin with a hoodie attached, quickly wrapping a leather, black, studded belt around her jeans to keep it from instantly dropping. After applying makeup on her face, she again, stares at the lake, seeing the reflection of her frustrated expression with black eyeliner, burgundy colored lips, and a leaking look of blackness from it, like a change of blood color, heading down her chin. When she finally puts all of her clothing on, with her knees slightly bent, she slumps down against a tree trunk, blinking her eyes twice, causing them to turn brown.

She whispers to herself, “Issues dissolving from missiles of tears could rescue me.”
Her cellphone makes a loud ringing noise, then turns to a radio talk-show, allowing her to hear a deep voice of someone saying, “It’s 3:30 in the afternoon already, and if you live in the Chicago area, it’ll be pouring all tomorrow morning, outside. That leaves room for one more hour of “Walking Clouds,” created by Sam Mourn and starring Sam Mourn. If I could lyrically strike adversaries, those that are tamed would not crush nature’s sweet berries. With the power of fame, one has a strong purpose to spread positive energy. I comprehend entertainment, but we must intentionally love one another and be honest enough to say how we feel. Life is not built for immortal people, but for loving, appreciating, and comprehending. If we can’t accept one another, the population will reduce and become extinct. Now, if we’re loving, worrying about others negative intentions would not be an issue like peasants or any other class, existing on our Earth.”
Molly hides the shower by snapping her finger, thus, the shower lowers under the dirt, causing grass to cover it as she hearkens to the radio talk-show, “Hypocrites, or if you would rather say pretenders are the primary reason why I hate exiting my room and turning on the television. Some of them are not bad people, but just not what you like as a human being, walking around Earth. Although we may see them, we must forgive them.”
Through the woods, Molly walks, discovering creatures that she never seen so close before. First, she sees a lively squirrel rushing up a dead tree, three spiders crawling by, and worms wandering the wet, mucky mud. With the touch of a button from her cellphone, the unidentified object sends out a bright, white light. By the power of the heat from the light, it unquestionably burns the living organisms, but also abducts them, even taking two dead trees and pieces of grass with it. Maggots, crickets, ants, mosquitoes and ladybugs that were on the ground follow the ascending light toward the unidentified object flying in the sky.
There are so many bugs around her surroundings that she keeps thinking if she really wants to head back to her desolated home. Already, she has not been on the planet Earth for more than twenty minutes, and is unsure if it is a place where she wants to be, for she has not seen a talking human being yet. At her home, she can instantly get an automatic device that can give manicures or pedicures, but she decides to remain in the woods, curious if she will spot a wild creature. Never has she ate food that regular humans eat; she could go overboard eating six abducted, sleeping humans within an hour. She wonders of how the rest of earth looks, but gets hungry, thinking that she may indeed have to abduct a human, which would have powerful chemicals that would automatically put the victim asleep.
Three teenagers of her age are holding metal, black bats, dressed in dark attire, walking in the woods, vertically crossing her path. They pretend like they are harmless people until they get closer from behind her. They block her path by surrounding her. She feels like an uncomfortable person, for these strangers are saying absolutely nothing, knowing that she has never seen them before. What these strangers want is already bothering her once she hearkens to their sexual minds of gratuitous violence.
Timothy, one of the members of the group takes her heavy, box from her hands, and struggles to carry it, instantly dropping it in the grass, saying, “What the hell is in there? That must weigh over four hundred pounds.”
Max opens the box only to see advanced devices that he never saw before, including a gun that looks like an engagement ring, so he nervously says, “What the hell is she?”
Joe feels like his hair is bristling during the awkward moment. He automatically runs the opposite direction without trying to figure out why she has mysterious devices in her box, but Molly giggles, suddenly feeling like a powerful creature. When she darts her head around, Joe loses absolute control of his muscles in his body, screaming from a dislocated right arm, falling in a direction where the side of his neck hits a tree branch. Blood comes from the wound, which certainly disturbs the members of his group, but she keeps a malicious smile on her gorgeous face. With a sore neck, Jose watches Timothy run, but Max hesitates, standing in complete shock, being physically kicked in the testicles at a speed that could give the same impact of a fast-moving bicycle hitting a groggy person on a gurney. Timothy strives to run as far as he can, but the dirt from the grass follows him, levitating everywhere he runs, thus, it surrounds him like fog. From her box, she grabs her device that controls her house, causing it to send out a bright, white, fiery light, carrying Timothy while he sleeps, burning slowly by every daunting second.
Saying vitriolic words, “Redundant people of disgrace as the bearer of unworthiness shall feel the result of my inexorable wrath, for I am the embodiment of murderous actions, possessing incomparable power of destruction. Incorrigible liars shall fail to withstand my ways of inflicting excruciating pain.”

Two Hours Later

At 5:30 P.M, as Molly sits on a bench in front of a functioning waterfall, she watches several flamingos cross her. The flamingos are not afraid of her, and she feels adored by them, also feeling like they could never make spurious remarks about her, for she has telepathy. A stranger sits beside her wearing a white, cotton tank top, black sunglasses, a small, round, silver piercing on her right nostril, dark, blue trousers, and black, leather sandals. The female stranger sitting beside her gives her a strong vibe that she could look like her future beautiful, dutiful daughter if she was to have one. She grows curious of the stranger’s name, and looks she looks at her longer than she believes she should in order to not seem weird.
Molly imagines igniting the flame to a black lighter and setting the stranger’s hair on fire. The thought of harming what could possibly look like her future daughter is the amount of jealousy she has for how wealthy the stranger appears as a beloved celebrity. She wants to prevent her vainglorious attempt to give others money, but she knows that she is certainly wrong for her intentions. Hopefully, the stranger does not have a temper that is hereditary, for Molly is gazing in her eyes as if it is the last time she could see a loved one. If the stranger has an androgynous personality like how Molly believes, then oddly, she feels like she is seeing her daughter at the same age as she is in.
“Hi. I’m Jane.”
By hearing the angelic voice coming from Jane’s mouth, she automatically knows more about her. Everything that Jane does definitely gives her knowledge about her. As Molly sees the visible eyes of Jane’s smiling with subtle intentions, she also notices that she is calm. At this point, Molly receives the information from Jane’s mind that she believes in transmigration. It is surprising to her that Jane does not form a weird face after seeing her gaze in her dazzling eyes.
No longer does she stares at Jane like she is a trifling kid, and she says, “Hello. I’m Molly. I’m new here. Sorry about how I was looking at you. You just really look like someone that I know.”
She laughs and says with a joyful smile, “It’s okay. I get mistaken for many people. I’m new here as well. For thirteen years, I lived in Limbe, Haiti, and for five years, I lived in São Paulo, Brazil. Now, I’m here.”
“That’s incredibly interesting,” she pauses and says, “I’m Persian, but from Romainmôtier, Switzerland.”

Two More Hours Later

“For so long, there has been hypotheses about the bright lights of various colors wandering many places from above. The abstruse topics are not a favorite to speak of when one relives the events in nightmares and reality. I am not human nor an object, but a breathing messenger of what I want,” Molly says, “I’m so happy that I can tell you anything.”
“Are you gonna rap for me now?”
She pretends as if she is coughing up blood in a joking manner, lies on her bed, then says, “I can. For you.”
“Thanks Molly.”
“You’re conceited, completed, then deleted, after being seated, cuz you’re nothing needed. Just cheated and heated on how you’re treated, not greeted, being defeated. If you ain’t representin’, you ain’t fittin’, just scared of admittin’, with what’s written out of your mouth, known as shittin’. These bricks have tricks like Satan’s picks goin’ triple six, so fix the dicks to holes, like kicks to foes on a remix. If you can’t save me, you’re no brave ‘G’, but fuckin can’t see the fact of misery. Team up as a group, like one big fuckin’ troop, and let the world see the poop. Beware, I tend to scare, but it’s not fair if you dare to share my care as no nightmare. I’ll screw ya girl for two dimes, make her see plenty crimes, like magic as tragic while I’m slurpin’ on limes from a straw, recreating enzymes.”
“You’re amazing. Don’t take this the wrong way, but if you were my girlfriend, I’d be happy.”
“You’re a sweetheart.”
Illimitable edges of weapons around Jane’s path cannot frighten her when she is near the woman that she is secretly in love with. Strangers are outside trying to murder one another with the usage of guns; she can literally hear twenty-six bullets coming from the guns on the right and left side. Then, she hears a woman screaming, but Jane cares nothing about the woman, for she has Molly to love. While being around Molly, she can fully trust that she will indeed seek the bearers of the guns, then murder them at sight. Although she trusts Molly, she does not trust that she will accept that she is in love with her, which deeply frightens her.
Jane gazes into her eyes as if she is hypnotized, then asks, “My alien friend, what may happen to those peasants?”
She responds, “Those hooligans will be shot tomorrow, sent to an ambulance that crashes into a speeding truck and motorcycle, then receive futuristic visions of a repeated world without them. I hope not to harm people, but the ones causing harm never cease to exist.”
“I beg that you just abduct them. Have them see what society disgustedly avert their eyes at but deny. What’s unseen doesn’t mean it’s unreal, and they’ll just be unluckily undiscovered, undergoing the process of uncanny thoughts of death, being ushered into the state of sorrow. I would tell them to apologize, and if they refuse to listen, I’d slit their throats, place a microphone inside, using them as a messenger.”
“They can laugh and run, but when they’re caught, they’re caught. I don’t care if it takes ten years for them to suffer, but by then, they should hope that I’m a positive creature.”
“I never had a true friend before. I know that I just met you not too long ago, but you’re the person for me. I love you for that. You bring the fun into my life without me thinking about fun if that makes any sense.”
Randomly, Molly says a poem never created, “Oh, if the world could stop for me. I would steal weekdays and weekends. If I could share one memory. I might combine; so, it depends. I dream of my prayers at dawn. My heaven’s crowded; it’s just hell. Moving, glass clouds make me yawn. It’s Valentine’s Day—I’m not well.”
Surprising Jane as she sits up from the couch, Molly continues to say the random poem, “Those bullets should not fly so high. The shattered glass targets my path. A loom of arched eyes glare—I sigh. I weave pass glass—swoon from my wrath. Why won’t love swoop on me for once? My drooping hands have wounds galore. I know I’m not cursed as a dunce. Find my idol if I’m worthy for.”
She continues to speak, “My ravenous appetite could live. It could soar from door to door and roar. I lurk the darkness—exit to give. Risk for love while roaring for the core.”
“You have an enviable knack to make my heart calmly rest in slow beats, which then, out of amazement, grows to fast beats.”
“Well, thank you. I’m not ladylike, but I must confess that the best thing that’s ever happened to me was you.”
Blood is primarily on Molly’s mind. She automatically wants to abduct the people that were making the loud noise outside with their guns. A circular, metal red device is glowing and sitting on Jane’s white, wooden dresser; she grabs the device, and squeezes it, shivering as if a blizzard entered the room. Whispering with a deep voice that is uncontrolled even by her, she does, saying, “Let them die.” Blood oozes from the electronic device, and it stops glowing as she glares with a tight grip.
A vision from the future of one of the enemies enters her demented mind. She sees his name in blood. The name Roy Lepton wanders around as she sees him jumping on a mattress. The mattress is not a safe place, for when he lands, a keen knife comes from it, ripping through his bellybutton. Roy then wakes up from a nightmare with widened eyes, but he unfortunately hears angry, deep voices sadly calling his name, repeatedly, “Roy!” Pass the closed horizontal, white blinds, the bright colors of red, purple, green, white, orange, blue, and yellow are circulating in the air, at the height of a three story building. He then realizes the aliens outside will kill him instantly and absolutely nobody can do anything about the unusual situation.
She then says, “How much mo’ blood ya gonna swallow; fuck the ones upset at your funeral, so be decapitated before you’re intimidated by a massive bomb attack like next doe. How much mo’ heart before I follow; I’ll dig you up to penetrate, you ho, slurpin’ wet chemicals, like a birthday night, placed out of sight, after the sky was indigo. You can name me somethin’ like Apollo; made to harm with a billion made auto, shootin’ ya up like you’re crippled in traffic, wo. Just know ya heart’s so fuckin’ hollow; if lyrics could kill, there’s no tomorrow. Somethin’ from the scenes would take ya genes; fuck ya likings, I’ll slice diamond rings, bro. I wrestle the sky; I’ll snatch the spleens, and make ya starve in hell on a live show, asking what did ya accomplish so far without knowing you were hit in the head by a crowbar like I was ya hero. I wrestle the ground; I’ll snatch what leans, and rape what you love by a random row, hold your daughters pussy with tight grips that’ll survive the apocalypse like underground ships, to broken hips, and back and forth whips that grow. Fuck the queens with green, then snatch what means, showing the pain of what could turn real, oh.”
The second victim of Molly’s already has a ruined future. Specifically, she can see what will happen to Demoris Lepton. Two months older than Roy will be sitting on a tree branch after sneaking in a stranger’s house to steal jewelry, but encounters three masked strangers, circling the area, pouring alcohol, lighting a fire.
A honking car is outside and by the time Jane opens the blinds to look, the doorbell rings. Who could be ringing the doorbell, she wonders, getting upset that she is taking her eyes off of Molly for a short period of time, just to look at someone that she feels is nowhere as near as important. Before exiting the room, the doorbell rings once again, and she says to Molly, “It won’t take long.” Down the stairs, she goes, reluctantly opening the front door as it rings for the third time. As a result, she sees her unpleasant, fifty-five-year-old father with a grin perfectly wrapped on his old face, as if he was the creator of grins.
There are so many ways that she can imagine him dying by looking at his face as if she has innocent thoughts of kindness. Without saying one word to one another, she lets him enter, and he sits on the seventh step to the stairs, which leads to a bathroom on the right side and guestroom, and the bedroom Molly is currently in. She offers him liquor, he smiles, and accepts the offer, having her head to the kitchen, taking out a glass bottle, just to give it to him. He snatches the glass from her right hand, causing some of the liquor to spill on her grey carpet. Her face turns into a reddish color out of anger, but she says absolutely nothing of why she is angry.
“The things that you do aren’t healthy for you at all. Dad, I’m concerned. You can’t keep stopping by here.”
“I’m your only family member left.”
“And I don’t have to see you anymore. You won’t be alive very long doing this to me. Maybe I want a family too. Ever thought about that! You just enter and exit my life like a video game. You killed the members. My ten siblings: Jessica, Lana, Nina, Bora, Jonah, Brandon, Nick, Carl, Ron, and Gerald. Then, you killed my mother that night, which was five years ago, and I never forgot it, but I was forced to keep your secret. You hurt me badly, but likewise, you’ll be hurt by the pain you fail to realize you caused. I am not your diamond artifact. Please, just drink your bottle and never come back.”
After she spoke to him in utter rage, she relives the event of what occurred five years ago. Out of instinct, she positions her hands on her sweaty forehead, sighing, as her exhausted face turns to a reddish color. She cannot remember ever talking to her father in such a way, but in her uncontrollable flashback, she sees her siblings in her dark bedroom, bullying her, by pulling on her hair. Her brothers used to sexually touch her while she was trapped in a corner; her twin sister just laughed, and they always glanced outside to see if their parents were arriving home. She was crying in what could had been buckets of tears within one hour, but nobody seemed to care. Her brothers’ raped her because of her subculture; she always dressed in gothic clothing, and her religious parent’s hated all forms of evil and what appeared to be, making them believe that she was a witch, possibly being a messenger from Satan. Whenever she grew rage, her family members would suffer severe injuries, for example, her siblings had gotten in a car accident before they could make it to a waterpark, on every third day, someone in her family would be temporarily blind, and her mother had gotten her right index finger chopped off by a levitating knife, trying to cook dinner.
Surprising him, she smiles and says, “Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Make me.” he responds.
As if she believes that she can actually put a smile on her father’s face, she says a depressing poem that she randomly thought of an hour ago, “They’re jeering in my ears; they’re reducing no fears. They’re known as morbid peers; grown as rejected tears. Will I walk astray; they’re stoning me—life’s so grey. Directing at me, there’s black—what do I say? Eyes in fog, born in rain, but just born to hog. Pain to sustain on a log under a frog. I’m doomed, but what’s assumed is surely consumed. Follow my cries and utter what’s presumed.”
She continues to speak, “This garden’s in a forest; somewhere, I’m blind. My vision’s gone; I groan, wishing luck to find. Discourage me on my journey; I’m still here. Walking until I’m crawling with no gear. I breathe until stones are rocks—then rocks are dust. I live until the ground betray as no trust. Until the sky wave, and my heart dangle. Until the earth storm, and my bones tangle.”
The face of his does not change, but he temporarily lowers his head while she continues speaking, “I’m strapped by bullies; help, I fail to see. Gestures fade—I linger in destiny. Puking as a disgraceful, feeble one. Darting until I can’t say I had spun. There’s no promise for my questions, I think. Where’s love—this life’s in a swamp to sink. I have a tumor from their humor, why? I try to speak in blood with no voice, sigh.”
As she speaks, Molly exits the room, staring down the stairs, giving a look of disbelief, “You won’t be disappointed. I promise, daddy. One time, the fire alarm was pulled three times in one day, while I was in high school. That gave me the idea to get one of my friends to pull it, then I could watch everyone exit from their protected surroundings, just to get shot. Although, I possess a creative mind, I refused to do it, but what does that have to do with now, you think? Well, let’s just say that for each bully in my life, they’re all combined into one, which is you. I refuse to take my anger out on the innocent when I see you as the guilty, you qualified bitch!”
Molly pulls out a keen knife from her right pocket slowly while glaring at Jane’s father. She then runs down the stares, startling him with a loud scream. By the time he turns around, she is inches away from lunging the knife in the back of his head. So, it is too late for Jane’s father to move, and he screams, later grunting at the white ceiling, which is blocked by the two gorgeous females. While on the seventh step, Jane kicks his face six times, causing the back of his head to connect with the edge, dislocating his neck. Molly then uses the knife to literally cut deeply around his lips for them to come off, which takes approximately ninety seconds, simply so that he can have time to breathe.
They carry his body upstairs positioning him on the bed. A bright, red light comes from the sky, and the room shakes, but they fail to care about why he is panicking. With a pillow, they cover his face, causing him to nearly suffocate. The motionless male stops temporarily breathing, but Molly opens the clear window, so that they can put him out, allowing the light to carry his body. Thus, as smoke comes from the area, his flesh feels like it is burning, and he receives a migraine that could permanently stay. He panics while sobbing as he believes that he is being abducted by aliens, but as he heads toward an opening gate of the flying object, sharp twenty sharp knives, connected to chains targets his body, then pulls him up dead.
Jane closes the window with a smile and says, “I have to clean up around here now. Thank you for your help.”
“No problem. The aliens wouldn’t want to bring your father back to life after they read his past. He’ll just be a meal for the queen.”

Death for Jessie

It is Sunday, and a twenty-one-year-old male named Bret Veton sits on the roof of his house, watching a full moon at midnight. The area is foggy, and he moves from the position of lying on his back, sitting slightly up, just to dig in his left pocket, taking out a black cell phone. By staring at the cell phone during the quiet moment, he remembers that he personally has no friends, so he weeps, wishing that at least one day he can be happy, but he is fairly afraid of socializing, being remotely known as an introvert. He slowly places the cell phone on the roof and sits in the opposite direction, watching a loud, speeding train, six feet away, heading pass the area. Even his next-door neighbor dislikes him, for ever since he was a little boy, his twin brother, Marcus, used to spit in his mouth or promise to every time he spoke. His parents failed to care about the mistreatment he was receiving, and as much as he wanted to harm his twin brother, he simply refused to.
The loud train annoys him, but Toronto, Ontario, Canada was the only affordable place that he could move, escaping from his family. Only one month ago, he was living in his parents’ house, being bullied. His twin brother used to strike him in his testicles before the family had traditionally watched movies together. Whenever he would complain about his problems to anyone, they would completely ignore him, as if he is literally a wordless book. Nobody seemed to care, but he faithfully kept his thoughts to himself, hating the fact that he is a virgin.
Hecatombs of victims that ignored him circle his mind, but he is successful at attempting to think about something else.
With disturbing intentions, he grabs his cell phone, jumps off the roof, unlocks the front door, and enters inside the house. A black cat named Sarah cuddles against his leg, but he pats her three times, before eagerly walking in the bathroom, turning on the bright, yellow light. In a wooden cabinet, he grabs a sharp knife with a closed, black box. He then shuts the bathroom door, sits in the tub, turning on the water from the showerhead, using the knife to deeply cut around his chest. In agony, he screams, watching the blood from his body drip in the tub. He believes that he could die from eternal bleeding, but after taking hectic moments of breathing he continues to cut himself, until he is capable of attaching a soft object inside. He opens the black box, grabbing important objects belonging to a deceased female body, then he slowly attaches them to his chest, carefully sewing the area up, beneath his ripped flesh. After five hours, he steps out of the tub as a bloody man with bosoms, surprised that he did not faint during the painful process.
When he enters his bedroom, his grey alarm clock shows that it is 5:00A.M., but he wants to continue changing the appearance of himself. Obviously, he is exhausted, but he is so exhausted that he could possibly fall asleep while someone is bullying his future daughter in front of him. So, he immediately wipes himself with a dry, black towel, rapidly lying on the mattress to sleep. By the time he wakes up, it is 1:00P.M., and he literally feels like enormous bullets are currently inside him.
From the alarm clock, a popular radio talk show automatically turns on, disturbing him, “One time, while my parents were driving me to school, I extended my middle finger at a driver on the roadway, showing my little brother what I did. My brother thought it was cool, so he did the same thing to the next driver that came by our car, but when he extended his finger, that was when my mother made a quick stop at a local gas station. The irate driver literally crashed into my mother’s car while it was parked. That’s depressing because the story is true. My grandma was a hoarder. One time, I woke up, realizing that there had been a power outage. I was searching for my glasses out of desperation, but I was not the average kid at the age of eight. I believed that every horror movie could actually come to life, so I was afraid to touch certain objects, feeling like people were haunting me.”
Bret rubs his sensitive eyes, rises from the bed, then heads back in the bathroom, failing to put a bra or shirt on. From the black box, he takes the actual cut, red hair from a woman that he killed just two days ago, planning to attach it to his hair. Her name was Ann Bozaray, she was barely eighteen, and had unavoidable lips that attracted him, more than any other person he knows of, but he could care less about her unresolved problems. From what he remembers, her problems were her dysfunctional family, her concern about the afterlife, and her focus on being a positive individual, trying not to yell or fight disrespectful people. While sewing the hair on his head, he hyperventilates, crying in excruciating pain.
He failed to eat breakfast with his primary focus on his appearance, staring in a clear mirror for five hours. It is 6:00P.M., and he rushes in the kitchen to grab three dainty, green apples, automatically gnawing on them. After eating the apples, he bakes a turkey in the oven and rushes to the bathroom again. Although he looks like a female, he feels like he must wait until the physical pain from his bosoms heal, remove his penis, and change his name. At the moment, he is undecided on what he will name himself, so as he rubs on his hair with his red fingernails, he smiles, thinking about naming himself Ann Bozaray.
Bret takes off his blue jeans, and black underwear, then he showers, crying at the sentimental moment. He is sitting on his legs with his hands above his head, but only until he lowers his shaking hands, slamming them down, causing a loud noise to occur. Making the moment weirder, he laughs as a way to prevent his mental pain, but the laughter does not fully stop anything, knowing that he is an anxious person to receive a female body. With a yellow sponge, he gently wipes his body, behaving like he is also an innocent person, completely unwilling to murder anyone.
Suddenly, his cell phone rings from his mattress. He stops showering, walks out of the bathroom, and picks up his cell phone with soapy hands, hearing a depressing voice say, “Hey, it’s Marcus. I’m calling to tell you that our dad died. I was sitting right next to him in his bedroom, and you believed that shit!”
“Fuck you, Marcus! You’re the worst fucking brother ever.”
He ends the phone call, but it seems as if his twin brother is trying to call him again. Out of rage, he sighs, wishing that he never gave his family members his cell phone number, although they wanted him to. When he answers his phone again, he hears laughter. When he really listens to the sound, it sounds like more than one laugh, which severely agitates him. His mother and father are laughing at him, he thinks, for they always picked Marcus as their favorite child.
Another thing that Bret is thinking about now is changing his cell phone number. One of the only ways he was successful at escaping his parents’ house was by giving them his cell phone number, and pretending like he honestly love them. If he showed his hatred for them, he would be bullied repeatedly, which could distract him from working as a successful artist. Usually, he draws realistic people and objects with the details of exciting horror, but unfortunately, he sold all of them. Paintings of fantasy are hidden in his closet that he fails to hang up on his red walls, for it would remind him of how much his past seems like a realistic fantasy, targeted primarily on him.
Before he thinks about doing anything he may regret, taking his mind off of the negative event, he thinks about the wonderful smell of the seasoned turkey. Sarah then cuddles against his right leg, he picks her up, places her on the counter, then pats her repeatedly until the food is done. He kisses her on the head, then fixes her a plate, placing a sliced piece of turkey on the floor. Sarah jumps off the counter as if the food is the only thing she actually wanted, but because Bret is honestly clueless of the reason she is eating, he ignores the frustrating possibilities.

Two weeks Later

From this point in his life, Bret’s name has been changed to Ann Bozaray. Nobody was suspicious of the murder that she committed, and because the penis from her accepted body was changed into a vagina, she prefers to call herself a woman. So, she dresses up like a woman, feeling absolutely comfortable with what she is wearing. Currently, she has black, curly hair, black lips, a black, red, velvet blouse, black fingernails, black jeans, and white slippers. Because she feels like a whole new person, she actually stopped communicating with her rude family members, wanting to set blasphemous goals for her future.
Ann enters her house with a friend that she met one week ago, known as Jessie Oscella. Then, Ann locks the front door behind her laughing as if she enjoyed her day. In the kitchen, she heads, but her attractive friend, Jessie follows her asking for a drink, simply because her mouth is dehydrated. She wipe the sweat from her face, opens the refrigerator door, pulling out a keen knife. Jessie fails to see what she is holding, but receives an odd feeling that something is wrong, for Ann is just standing in one position, shivering.
Jessie is obviously afraid to say a word, but she does, “Is anything wrong?”
“We’re out of juice,” she chuckles and says, “And you’re out of time.”
She turns around showing the knife, causing Jessie to panic, saying, “Please be joking right now.”
As Ann blinks her watery eyes, the alarm clock from her bedroom automatically turns on, having a childish female voice dominate her feelings, “I watch her everywhere, but she keeps hugging him. It isn’t me, or could it really be? It’s a good vision or worse, but I’ll cry slim. I’ll certainly starve for her while trimming a tree. I’ll panic like earthquakes to see what the ground makes. I’ll move like hurricanes, so she’ll see what this gains. I’ll fall asleep crying, but I’ll see where this takes. I’m awake, but I realize that I’m in cracked lanes.”
Jessie is panting as she runs up the wooden stairs being chased by the killer, Ann. Even worse, as she is running, she can hear Ann’s loud cry blend in with the sound of her swift pumping heart. Immediately, she heads in the bathroom, slamming the door close, locking it. From this moment, she attempts to make an escape out of the opened window, but Ann nearly cracks the wooden door with one bump. She panics, climbing out the window, screaming near an area where she is visible by five people. The people stare at her with numb faces, standing in one position.
Due to the way Jessie is climbing down, she is having difficulty, being busy, struggling to reach the ground, just to notice that two teenagers staring at her may not really care about her safety. She makes a hard fall in the bushes, giving herself an open wound on her left shoulder. Out of fear, she glances up, only to see that Ann is temporarily staring out the window. She rushes to the teenagers staring at her with great hope that they can protect her and call the police. Unfortunately, they just look at her as if she is a paranoid person.
“What are you just standing there for?”
A male named Cory Jenisdale says, “Nobody lives in that house. You shouldn’t be here.”
“You can’t just come over here damaging property around,” a female named Sherri Ivy says, “I have to call the police.”
“Someone was trying to kill me in that house,” she darts her head around and says, “Call the police! I know someone that lives there.”
“Look… Nobody lives in that house,” Sherri says, “I can’t believe you.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Automatically, Jessie feels extremely dizzy, fainting on the grass. By the time she wakes up, Ann is standing in front of her, but she is strapped to a wooden chair. The chains surrounding her arms are tight; she struggles to break the chains, but she cries in despair. Ann pours gasoline on her after kissing her passionately. Making matters worse, she strips her naked, then sticks her right index and middle finger in and out of it, repeatedly. Jessie screams, but Ann laughs, honestly believing that she enjoys what she did.
“I am nothing without you Jessie. I could stop my kills for you, but you wanted to run from me. I did not run from you when you held a knife a week ago.”
“Please, just let me go.”
“You’re so selfish. You dirty, little, selfish slut. I changed myself for you. My heinous crimes. Since I’m unaccepted by you, you must die. I can’t live outside this world, so I’ll join you in the fire.”
As Jessie screams for help, again, Ann cries, wishing that she had a better thought than what she is bound to do. Unfortunately, she makes an immoral action by grabbing a black lighter, and igniting it. While Jessie is in a vulnerable position, Ann slaps her in the jaw, causing it to form a reddish bruise mark. Then she pretends as if she is going to throw the lighter down, but sits on the floor, crossing her legs, lowering her head. Finally, she tosses the lighter in the air, it hits the floor, and they burn with the house, screaming until they can no longer.

Numb Shift

This male knows every polite thing to say, and do in order to gain peace from everyone. Jeremiah Wonder is his name, and as usual, on an audiotape, he was practicing the way he will approach people, when forming a conversation. Over a thousand ways he can greet people in an understandably friendly manner. Fortunately, the entire world is a peaceful place where everyone used to share money. Now, money is not a necessary goal, for every living organism is considered family. Water, food, and more desires are free. What the world does not know about this famous peacemaker is that he sadly suffers from split personality disorder.
Before he has a single option of approaching an ungodly mind, usually, there exists countless religious people trying to date him in a committed relationship. First, they must comprehend him, he always thinks. Life is a jinx even for the one considered to be the savior. So, at midnight, to eliminate the ones he consider “religiously stupid,” he used his charm in order to attract any gender. They did not show affection unless he allowed it, but surprisingly, one at a time, he invited a deceived nun. The nuns were not his only targets, for he hates all existence, except for any object he considers to properly breathe.
By only being attracted to material objects, he remembers his mother would yell at him whenever he would kiss objects like his black cell phone, flat-screen television, and comfortable bed. Sometimes, he wished that he received a name change, but people may wonder why he would change a holy name to “Christopher”. The memories of rape are in the abyss of his mind, but murdering the deceived nuns remained on top. They cried while he recorded every scene and sometimes expressing his love for material objects in a disguised voice. The memory of how he handcuffed a nun near a fireplace occurs. Her name (Gloria) entered his sensitive ears as he tortured her with strikes to the face.
“I got what you came for,” he said after loosening his belt for mental and physical abuse.
Only twenty-one-years-old, he is an independent male, living in his own house, prepared to write a poem called “Indigo Tree.” Knowing that he is holding a rare writing implement that was told to be duplicated once ever since Jesus’s death, he intends on later adding more ink. He has a firm grip on a green, snakelike, writing implement, wondering about the words that he will place. Once he squeezes the writing implement, thin, burgundy ink spews from the tongue of the snake’s mouth, landing directly on the construction paper. Unless a distraction occurs, there is no stopping his ideas to show on the construction paper.
On the construction paper, as the gruff-voiced, barrel-chested male speaks, he writes, “If burgundy is liberty, reach the indigo tree. Walking without talking about stalking to doubt. Optional falling swiftly recalling destiny. Cheering when out, fearing to shout, hearing no pout. Blinding a morgue of smiles with mistaken body files touched. Transparent caskets against indigo, misery winds. Stairway tree so heavenly seen when supposedly clutched. Deceitful traps for burgundy falls on family friends.”
At the dinner table, he speaks to a nun behind him strapped to a wooden chair, “I hate all people, especially the racists that think I love them more. Funny how some religious people claim equality only to not openly date other races. The Christian hell is a myth to me, for I am Satan’s favorite messenger. Evil has dominated for centuries even eliminating good miracles like the species of unicorns, fairies, and saber tooth tigers. What’s wrong, Sister Jane?”
With confidence, the nun speaks, “The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand forever” (KJV, Isaiah 40:8).
Frowning, he slams his fists down on the wooden table and yells, “No talking at the table! If God could make everyone go to heaven, would he or she? Answer it, you fool! Why should I read all in the bible when the lord has not read all that was on my mind and cared? If you say one word, I will slit your religious joy where it stands, and bury your destiny. God can’t save you here, and he or she damn sure can’t save you after death.”
Anger and concern builds within her, but she remains silent enough to hear the wind blow outside. Devilish laughter mocks her emotions, and she knows that she will not live past this night. Over two hundred people in the state were missing in the past two months and without a doubt, he is the serial killer known as, “The Slaughter Puppet.” At every scene of the discovered body, the victim would be a slaughtered mess before being thrown from a tall building. The only question is, “How does Jeremiah Wonder always have access to get inside of the buildings with the body?” She wonders and comes to the conclusion, the devil helps him.
“Say you love me. I dare you to talk so I can damn you to hell. You’re just as guilty as me if I was religious. I am not religious, but I am the messenger of our God, “Father Satan.” You know you’re not getting out of this house, so you better open up something. Let’s start with your mouth or better yet, how about your legs?”
From a lifeless face, she cries yelling religious scriptures while being brutally beaten to the wooden floor. While begging him to stop, her arms are stretching behind her contorted back by the unknown. Once that was her dehydrated mouth, blood spews from it, after he kicks her on her left cheekbone. This is extremely ungodly, and the last scene she can see is Jeremiah laughing with a malicious smile. What she fails to realize is that there is a camera recording from the top, right corner of the kitchen.
The description of how Jeremiah harms Gloria is so excruciating that it can cause fatal heart attacks if personally witnessed. Experiencing, he physically tortured her body with many objects, then performed sexual acts. For every victim he chooses, he will add an additional day to anyone next to be tortured. Regardless of how they die, their bodies are slaughtered, then thrown from an existing building in a thick, closed, laundry bag. For Gloria, she died with nearly as much pain as Jesus did. The difference is that there exists over twenty-four stab wounds on the right side of her temporal lobe during suffocation. After thirty seconds, she suffocated by having her head forced in sink flooding with cold water. For over two hundred and thirty days, she was tortured, and she died a saint.

Running Hope

What if a family member murdered your husband or wife? Then, what if he or she murdered your children? Would it be truly love you have for him or her, for love never dies. If the answer is no, you love not the family member. And if that example sets a significant meaning for any other living organism performing any act of unforgivable negativity, he or she does not share any part of love, but other possible levels of emotions.
In reality, life-altering events like traumatic deaths occur, but Jacob cannot accept the death of the ones he loves. Due to the actions of his older brother, Holly (his wife) was murdered at a gas station. Nate made the dumbest decision in his life by igniting a red lighter to smoke a cigarette. It was three years ago, and at the time, the children were not in the blue convertible to experience the deadly explosion. As he remembers, Nate suffered from undiagnosed schizophrenia, and he was always jealous of his relationship. Three months later, in a flight to Memphis, Tennessee, his six-year-old twins survived an airplane crash being unscathed, but not the grandmother. From Jacob’s perception, it was a blessing that his children remained alive on their unsuccessful destination at a place to spend time bonding. Jacob got in a horrible argument with his father one day later; refusing to seek professional help, he intended to continue doing drugs around his healthy children. The enraged father grew slightly jealous that Jacob could have blessed children, and not express his love, so at midnight, the father burned the house down.
During the burning of the house, Jacob awoke panicking to rush in the twin’s bedroom. The crib was on fire, and his yelling cry met the neighbors’ ears. At the moment, the illegal drugs he had stashed in the house were more important to him, and he felt extremely guilty by remaining inside to grab them in several plastic, white bags. Thus, in order to hide the evidence of the drugs, he threw the bags directly on the burning, wooden crib. The twins immediately reentered his mind when he exited the house, then he saw the guilty face on his father standing outside. Although Jacob was not capable of thinking properly at the moment, he was aware of his father’s guiltiness, then he discovered utter rage. He chased his own father down one block of a street, which was where the father ran into a police officer and fell to the hard, concrete ground.
Twenty-five-year-old Jacob controlled his emotions from fighting, but yelled, “He murdered my children!”

Two Years Later

Jacob lives alone in a new house while his father, Demetrius was sentenced to 500 years in prison. Because of his predicaments, he has no last name he wants to be remembered by, for the ones he love are gone, including his mother. The mother that gave birth to him died today, and her death does not affect him as much as his wife and children. Seeking help to give up drugs enters his mind, and he cries, writing a letter to his father expressing how he learned to forgive him, and how his mother died of a heart attack.
In the sunlight, near the window, under the title “Running Hope,” he remains in a chair, writing, “The thickest jokes are tears. The oldest way to lie. The aging eyes are fears. The running hope is shy. The breathing lies are us. The mocking tries are gone. The oldest tears may fuss. The running tears alone.”
Words attack him, “Now there were in the church that was at An’-ti-och certain prophets and teachers; as Bar’-na-bas, and Sim’-e-on that was called Ni’-ger; and Lu’ci-us of Cy-re’-ne, and Man’-a-en, which had been brought up with Her’-od the tetrarch, and Saul,” (KJV, Acts 13:1).
Jacob wonders about how many wrongful translations were even in the bible. Why was the Niger River even named of a different name, he wonders. People were and still are extremely racist, but the only difference is that racist ways are usually hidden. Jacob has not a religion, but a strong love for God, for religions are really a form to discriminate against other positive religions, genders, races, opinions, and beliefs. If every positive, religious person accepted one another for their beliefs, and believed that any strong relationship with God is enough, they are saved from suffering. The translation enters his mind, “The God of our fathers raised up Je’-sus, whom ye slew and hanged on a tree,” (KJV, Acts 5:30).
Thinking about all the names that does not deserve to exist, he comes to an unfinished conclusion, “Landlord,” “overlord,” “judge,” “godfather,” “majesty,” “and “ownership.”
Then, he says, “Guided dilemmas’ running abreast. Tolerated deaths spreading the rest. Expressional actions chasing less. Guided dilemmas’, I must confess.”

Birth Role

A young girl with the heart of a perfectionist is living a constant nightmare. Only twelve-years-old, Avery Riverson knows how poverty feels; it feels like anonymous people are constantly defecating on her genitals. Already being in a predicament of begging strangers for an iota of change with her ailed sixty-four-year-old grandmother, she suffers from anorexia nervosa. One day she hopes to become an actress, but she is deeply paranoid about how people will judge her ability, sex, race, and origin as a way of superiority or inferiority. Avery has taken no acting classes, but studied the characteristics of different people by sneaking into a nearby gloomy alley at midnight, staring through milk-white, horizontal blinds from a stranger’s window. From the window, she gained an escape way to poetic vision without sound, watching constant scenes on an active black, flat-screen television. From time of mimicking all she recognizes on television, she learned how respected actors and actresses use facial expressions, gestures, and body language to make the character acceptably realistic. To learn the accents, emotions, and decision-makings of different people, she stalks strangers, seeing them react to life.
It is Monday morning, and Avery is deeply concerned about surviving life on her own as an independent female. Memories of only stories of how her parent’s were enter her mind before the thought that Helen, her grandmother, is not going to live forever. By the time she was two-years-old, her parents were once wealthy burglars until they became a victim of a diabolical murder scene, and was robbed of all of their money. As she was told, her self-centered parents never gave her grandmother any money to live from. Although her parents usually avoided her brown eyes, the greatest gift Helen ever received was the baby with the brown eyes. Feeling like a blessed female, the time bonding that she spends with her grandmother causes her to cry with tears of joy, only until she wonders about her parents. Their deaths are still not known by her, for her grandmother never told her.

8:00 A.M.

A diamond-encrusted watch is sitting beside her, and before she attempts to grab the expensive object, she hears a boy’s voice, “Touch my watch, and you’re a private storm cycle.”
“My sight touched. Keep your watch, rich kid. Unless if I perform a headstand on top of a bridge. I’m willing to risk my chances.”
“That’s okay. I don’t want it. Keep it.”
She grabs the watch and says, “Thank you. My name is Avery. I didn’t get your name.”
“Call me Gloom. I’m a future producer, screen writer, and film director of action and romance. You’re a beautiful girl.”
As soon as she blushes, her attention is grabbed by a boy throwing a redbrick in the air. The brick is heading at a girl speeding on a bicycle. “Watch out,” Avery says, but the yelling message brings no positive outcome. Before Avery can decide to blink, she watches an innocent girl bleed from the back of her head by a troublemaker named Quentin. While the girl cries and the boy laughs running, Avery and Gloom decide to help.
The bicycle rushes down the basketball court while the girl is severely hurt. Many kids are around, but at the moment, the only ones that care are Gloom and Avery. How could someone want to harm another human, she thinks. Avery notices that the incident disgusts the victim; the victim refrains from vomiting after seeing her own blood only until she limps toward the gates. As Avery sits the girl down against the gate, her grandmother calls her.
When she moves from her position, there is blood on her white tank top. Sadly, she only has as many pieces of clothing as an octopus has legs. Metaphorically, if she could swim to her grandmother, it would be the slowest time limit in blood. All of her grandmother’s negative energy will be directed at her, and she knows it. Nervously, Avery tells Gloom, “I hope she’ll be okay. I have to go. See you later, cutie.” By the time she makes it across the street and into the alley, Helen is exhaustedly crawling on the dirty ground.
“Grandma! What’s wrong,” she cries worrying as she rushes toward Helen and says, “I love you.”
The foggiest fog kisses the snowiest snow with naked dilemmas running abreast. The last words that her grandmother can say are, “I love you.” Avery knows that her grandmother is struggling to breathe, and it terrifies her to the point of nearly recoiling from the scene. As her grandmother lies on the ground dead, hail falls from the sky. She rushes away from the upsetting scene wondering how she will live the rest of her life. The hail is harming her flesh, thus she rushes through the revolving doors of a hotel.
Wiping her eyes, she sees that Gloom is trying to help the injured girl. Instantly she rushes outside to help them cross the street of speeding cars and running pedestrians. In the hotel, they go, leaving the innocent girl resting on a bench after informing the authorities about what occurred. As a surprise to Avery, the girl, Jenna turns out to be the daughter a well-known movie producer. Then, Avery and Gloom head on the elevator. The elevator heads up on the third floor, and once they get off, Gloom says, “Thank you for your help. You’re welcomed to come by anytime you want. Just hide from my mother until I reason with her about your stay.”
With a depressing voice, she says, “Thank you so, very much. I’m going to try out for an acting role next week. My stay here will be fascinating. This is greatly appreciated.”
Curiously, he says, “You mean to tell me you have no parents to stay with?”
“All of my family members are dead. After my grandmother called me, the worst thing I could’ve imagined happened. That hailstorm that was outside—it caused my grandmother to die. I had to escape the weather.”
The voice of the grandmother enters her ears, “Breaking from a string is the rapture. The second thing a heart can capture. Peace and love following purity. Isolating animosity. Vulnerability so untouched. Satanic plagues visually clutched. Plenty determined to become tough. Abhorring so-called evil; life’s rough.”
Avery then says, “Looking back is the hardest thing to do. … I won’t. … I’m happily accomplished with everything I could ever ask for.”

Name them Witches

Down an elevator shaft, an injured, little girl cries for her injured, little sister. Out of hope, with a fractured, left elbow and dislocated, left leg, Samantha struggles to crawl up the murky area, knowing she only has eleven-year-old muscles of no beneficial help. Seven-year-old Karen is feeling the agony from a dislocated spinal cord and kneecap on the right. Rats and spiders rush pass cobwebs from their peripheral vision. Due to being trapped down the elevator shaft for three days, their meals are where they fearfully live by. The disgusting fact that they could receive diseases from any living organism bitten adds stress. Hopelessly, they cry, wishing they can escape, but the elevator above malfunctioned two days ago. Unfortunately, the only ounce of fluid they receive is contaminated water coming from a broken pipe near a rat hole.
How they got trapped is the most traumatizing part. From memory, it was their own mother pushing them down the elevator shaft, and threw a “Holy Bible” down there, repeating awful, similar words, “I didn’t raise witches.” The rats ate the entire bible on the second day, and the Runner sisters learned to suffer from claustrophobia. Only if their wealthy mother would allow them to be kids, and play in the mansion, but instead, they are suffering.
The rats and spiders bite Samantha and her injured sister. They suffer from perspiration wrapped around bite marks. Are they really evil witches, they question themselves, firmly holding one anothers hand, during the excruciating pain. Many times, they jump, hoping to land on the dangerous creatures that can attack. Being in this predicament, a time to rest seems like never.
Who is her mother to criticize her at youth, for Ruth does not have moral actions. Samantha knows that Karen is not yet aware that her mother has popular lips; her mother kissed half of the population in whoredom. Whenever Ruth did not quote anything verbatim from the bible, she would tell her daughters, “How do you think Jesus’ brother, James felt? How do you challenge the wicked, for hell is no place for a human. Sometimes, I wonder if Jesus was his real name. You’re going to get enough of serving secrecy.” As intelligent, little girls, they were only caught once being exposed of their craft. As a prank, one year ago, a surveillance tape was recording them on their birthday, Christmas. Only if they were not breaking the mother’s rules, but unfortunately, they were accused of being witches for exiting the mansion without permission.
Even if the accused witches were to escape, how could they get anybody to believe them? If they tell authorities, Ruth will kill them, for she is additionally angered by her divorce one year ago. If they kill their mother, they may forever feel powerful guilt. There is no positive outcome except for the one that comes from hiding from their cruel mother, hating any out-group. When the Runner sisters logically think, they know that their mother pretends to be a good Christian by even helping them get into the best schools in the country. Not only do they not make friends from transferring to different schools every year, but they obviously lose the most important friendship with her. Since their friendship is gone, temporarily, bad memories come. Memories of discipline occurs like being forced to never touch or see any electronics and being told to never touch or stare at the opposite sex.
Being trapped so long in the dark strengthens the bond between the sisters, but Ruth fails to know. It is “Spring Break,” and twenty-five-year-old Ruth is asleep in her bedroom, overhearing her daughters. All she hears are words that she cannot gather to her brain correctly, so she rushes out of the bed, heading to the noise. By the time she sees where the elevator shaft is, the footsteps are coming down the wooden, spiral stairs. She darts her head behind only to see the living room lights flicker, then hear a disembodied voice, “Liar.” Somebody knocks on the front doors, but she is terrified to answer it, looking in many directions.
She calls for the children stuck in the elevator shaft, “Witches! Witches!”
Sadly, the door opens, and the mother makes a face like she was impregnated by artificial insemination. Nobody is at the door, but when she attempts to close it, a dark figure stares at her from across the street. Running outside hits her mind, but the door forces shut by itself. The door locks shut, and she unlocks it twice before it locks again. When she closes the door, she peeks out the clear, window, being temporarily blinded by a flashlight. She panics, rushing back into her bedroom to pick up her cell phone, being startled by the noise of someone tackling her front door repeatedly. The phone fails to work, and she knows not of where her innocent children are.
Immediately, the bedroom door slams shut causing her to receive an ageless expression of fear. Before holding her breath, she screams, regretting it. Then, outside of the door, she hears the words, “I think mommy is home.” A folded note slides from under the door, but she is reluctant to grab it. When she unfolds the note, it is blank, and the note is moving upward, causing her to receive a paper cut on her right index finger. “Bye mommy,” together, the daughters say, but when she quickly opens the door to look around, nobody is there. She is staring at the nearest door around, which is the front door. Why does she hear the sound of a door slamming around her surroundings when the bathroom or front door never does?
Only to shed tears, she closes the door back locking it. Rats and spiders run from under the door. At the same moment the note finally descends to the wooden floor. Because the rats and spiders escaped, she knows that her daughters did too. Nervously, she rushes away from the door, feeling like she is bound to suffer a heart attack that will not stop. The only thing seemingly wrong is that she did not die yet, but she remains alive.
Words appear on the note that is on the floor, “We are all walking in our own blood when you really think about it. Bones reacting to the unconscious mind to move when blue blood is all over. Only when we are harmed, we notice the change of color. It’s heavenly blood of not heavenly reality. The blood battling the liquid of water, which we need to conquer this damn life. Escaping the darkness is the hardest battle.”
Alarming her, glass breaks from outside of the door, then she smells smoke. The fire alarm is screaming in her ears, thus, she wraps them with her skinny arms, blocking out the horrible sound. Once the door opens, she then screams from the sight of fire. Reality harms her mind, but she tries to desensitize herself from her feelings. The house burns and she has no escape. Even worse, she never remembered to repent for her sins, and she dies believing that she will be saved by the higher power.

Glass Night

“Heavenly God, welcome to my heart. Holy controversy will sparkle. No longer blinded; needless restart. Spiritually vulnerable,” she whispers to herself before walking to the new safest ride in the amusement park.
A memorable thought enters her mind, “On the verge of a dirge. Kneeling for healing’s skill. Uniting for this urge. Shrilling willing to kill. Hollywood pollution. Self-same emotions sing. Famous execution. Highly entertaining.”
She continues thinking about the poetic words and says, “Vocally amazing. Lyrical mastermind. Spoken instruments’ string. Oh, musical rewind. Hollywood pollution. Rhythms’ cleaving this song. Awkward word solution. Final symbolic gong.”
Laughing with a spiteful girl, Gina says, “You have to be kidding right now! Are you that scared?”
Terra gets uncertain if Gina is mocking her and says, “Being vertically vulnerable to death, one would be scared of something, until they faithfully pray.”
“Well, me and Ramona are getting on the ‘Wreck Cycle.’ Have fun on your ride. Seriously though… Terra, you need to live for the moment. This God talk is troubling you. Catch you later.”
Politely, she says in return, “Later.”
The area she is staring in is crowded, so she sighs, wondering why she is still ten-years-old. Why is the amusement park full of frightful rides, she thinks. Obviously, she lacks the courage of other people anticipating for a thrill. Then, it occurs to her, maybe she will grow up into being addicted to the rides. Before she even came to the amusement park, she felt like an angel beneath solid clouds, and now she feels naturally unsafe. Out of over 200 rides, she chooses the safest one of them all. Only if she was an adult, so she could nurture her own children, and tell them there is nothing wrong with not joining peer pressure. Sadly, the sun is harming her forehead the longer she waits in the line. Nobody even cares to wonder where her parents are, but the heartbreaking fact is that she knows they even left her alone, rushing to get on other rides.
Little does many people know, Terra is an innovator. She has invented a golden ring, and it is wrapped around her right index finger. The ring detects gold below her surroundings anywhere she walks. If the ring detects hidden gold hidden, it will vibrate. The only problem is that Terra is highly uncertain if her invention can even work. Thinking about her invention causes the line seemingly to move faster.
The ride has approximately six, wooden, black benches with a pole and two safety belts to keep people from falling off. At a long distance, the benches will rise away from the stand to the right. Then, the benches will rise at approximately 80 feet, vertically spinning in their own position. The spinning of the benches will last a minute and a half leading to the second moment of panic. The benches will then continue spinning while dropping 80 feet down; frightening people, the ride goes 40 feet underground. Afterwards, only when the benches rise 40 feet up, is when she can finally stop worrying about the risk of dying.
Whispering in her mind, she says, “I’m too talented to die young. I can’t believe this is the safest ride at this amusement park. Time has really changed. Why would I want to be famous anyway? With fame, society would bully me if I don’t act like the norm of wealthy people. Then, they sometimes traditionally express their morals. How can one fully be their self if they are expected to appear joyfully alive as influential people? They are not even pure righteousness.”
By the time she gets on the ride, a rollercoaster runs off the metal tracks. Strangers are screaming for their lives, and Gina is frightened by the sight of the flying, left palm, ready to hit the crowded ground. Her heart races, and she wants to leave the ride, but it is too late. The ride starts forcing the thrill-seekers in the air. For a slight second, she sees her parent’s terrified expressions before they die the unwanted death with strangers.
Rare tears drop down her cheeks. Finding a lack of oxygen, she suffers from a shrill cry, and she cannot even wipe her tears off of her saddened face. If the safety material connected to the ride she is on would just break, she would attempt a suicidal jump off. Terra feels guilty for not attempting to stop them from getting on the separate ride. Her cry even feels like a meaningless voice for others to laugh at her. With mutual feelings, her father and mother are only the same age of twenty-eight-years old. The ride is bound to end, but after hearing the sound of the tragic accident, it feels like it is taking forever.
It occurs to her, someone unrelated to her may take custody of her until she is eighteen-years-old. Would she be cared for if she is not protected by her relatives, she thinks. Will her friends feel terribly sorry for the loss of her parents? Feeling numb would at least slightly help her through the death of her parents, but she feels multiple, undying emotions. Depression, rage, and fear attacks her mind.
Flashbacks of how she saw her parents bond occurs to her. Together, they participated in the dangerous sport of bull riding, and rock climbing. When she was seven-years-old, they would tease her because she was too afraid to follow the same path as a career. Never did they hearken to her voice with the desire to become an exorcist. Out of all the jobs in the world, she believes that she belongs to one that prevents evil. Although she secretly studied angelology, and demonology, her parents attempted to send her to a mental institution. Then, with a secondary thought, they attempted to send her to a military school for discipline. Only when she begged them that she would never speak of God again, they changed their decision.
The ride stops, and while panicking, she rushes off, wishing that what she saw was a cruel prank. As she runs down the wooden stairs, jolting through the crowd, the concerned noise of strangers bring her into accepting reality. She feels like she is about to faint after vomiting to the concrete ground. People surround the tragic accident grieving over the deaths. Nobody comforts her, and she suffers from the nervous reaction of swiftly shaking uncontrollably.

4 Months Later

It is 9:00 P.M., on a Tuesday, and Terra stares at her grey alarm clock, saying, “This is a glass night. I will overcome this.”
After taking a deep breath, a loud knock comes at her bedroom door. The sound startles her, and she slowly turns around to step out of her comfortable bed. Once she unlocks the door and opens it, her grandfather grins and says, “Bedtime. You don’t live with your parents anymore. I paid for this house.” The grandfather’s words no longer makes her furiously concerned, so she follows his orders.
Why is it that when Terra falls asleep, a male proposing to her is not the greatest memory? Unlike her traumatic past of her parents dying, she worries about the possibility of her future. In the dream, a masculine guy named Sean is in an expensive suit. Slowly, he kneels down extending his right arm out. In his hand, he opens the small, black box with an authentic golden ring in it. Then, he says the words that causes her to blush, “Terra, Will you marry me?” The only problem is that an anonymous bully of a male runs by to smack him in the back of the head.
Every time she wakes up, she is frowning, glaring at the ceiling. Sometimes, at this moment, she hears the sound of her grandparents having sexual intercourse, thus she does. The disgusting thought gives her mental images of them naked. Moaning joins the sound of the bed rocking against the plaster wall, and she struggles to block the sound from her sensitive ears. Because the noise never puts her asleep, she tends to cry.
Terra whispers to herself, “I need to get out of here.”
A sexual, manly voice increases in volume, “That’s what I’ve been waiting for!”
Terra covers her ears, then draws a poem titled “Purity Alarm” on the wall, holding a thick paint brush from a container of black paint, “Buried in the breaths of God. Candidly speaking with charm. Kissable, mesmerized odd. Of purity alarm. She’s passionate strategy. Ageless styles of statue miles. The sudden love posing free. Pure praise positioning piles.”
Without caring about what her grandparents may think, she continues writing on the wall, “Soothing sexuality. Alluring accents advanced. Affectionate family. Tempting loveliness enhanced. Remarkable, hearty one. Overly considerate. The lovable perfection. She’s powerfully legit.”
The sound of her grandmother enters Terra’s ears, “I got more loving for you! I’m not done with you!”
She refrains from screaming and finishes writing, “Advice in the feng shui. Of natural, fluent speech. Reasoning behind a day. No common voice of this reach. Accepting life’s quietude. Romantically joyful. Peacefully posing nude. Delivering a fable.”
If she does not paint the right side of the wall back to the boring, original color, her grandparents will find out. Why does she fail to care about fixing the paint that is on the wall temporarily haunts her. It occurs to her, she does not care about what makes impolite people happy. There is another metal, grey container hiding in the opened closet, and she carries it toward the scene of the wall. When she opens the container, she stares at the milk-white paint until her paint brush dries.
During her time of thinking, she thinks of what it would be like if all children had to obey her. She would force them to watch recreated uncensored films about bullies getting severely harmed. The amount of violence that would be shown would be pure discipline that could feel like a cerebral concussion. If children at a young age saw the unnecessary form of violence, they can finally accept one another. Children would help her pay her bills, clean up, and cook meals. Her imagination makes her feel absolutely terrible when she regains awareness of her surroundings. From hearing the moans, it is like someone is yanking her tongue, preventing her from screaming.
From between her queen-size mattress, she takes out a long, thin needle. The mattress comforts her spinal cord as she lunges the needle in her left wrist. Why does she suddenly remember that she fears the sight of blood when the syringe fills? Breathing is her greatest tragedy, and the hypodermic injection is the loveliest option. While she loses control of her eyes, all of her muscles turn weak. Before falling asleep, she makes a slow effort to remove the needle from her wrist.
Her dream feels like a divorce in the public eye. Sean returns again overreacting to her depression by flushing her ring down the toilet. Words come out of his mouth, “When all is done and yanked, what’s thanked?” Sitting on her legs, crying on the bed, she is speechlessly harmed from broken heart syndrome. Only on a white flimsy, she reads the words he wrote, “I want a divorce.” Thus, she watches the letter melt after he leaves the house she paid for to stay with another woman.
From her perception, Sean’s girlfriend should be viewed as a female beast. Grey, Sean’s girlfriend does not have sympathy for anyone, but she has a passion for money. If he regrets his decision of being with Grey, it will be too late. Since Terra plans to slit her wrist, Sean may be miserable, but addicted to the teats of the beast. Although she plans to end her life, the question is why does she have fruitless attempts? Never will she be another celibate female at twenty-one-years-old, for on her fifth attempt of the fifth day, she killed herself.
Terra awakes with a blurry vision, hoping that her future holds no heartless man in it. If she suffered from a natural overdose, would a man matter, she thinks. Would she feel merriment during the process of dying? It occurs to her, she would not escape her severe pain with suicidal actions. Even after praying, why does death call her like an obvious solution?
The sound of birds chirping comes from the alarm clock. When Terra looks at the object, she notices that it is 5:30 A.M., causing her to realize that it is a Wednesday morning. Her unemployed grandparent’s hardly ever leaves the house, and she has to get ready to go to school. How nosy her grandparents are, they may search in her room to know all about her secret life. Thinking about her nosy parents causes her to remember that she may not have time to paint the wall back to the original color of milk-white.
As usual, in the morning, her grandparents are joking in the kitchen before their routine of talking over the cell phone. That gives Terra at least a half of an hour to paint the wall before they enter her room. They are bound to give her more stress by mocking at the things she finds an interest in. The only interesting things about her grandparents are that they give her a place to stay and that they cook for her when she is hungry. It sounds too innocent to her in order to risk murdering them and going to prison, but she intends on finding some way of not getting caught.

English Class
7:45 P.M.

The fluorescent lights in the school shines on her flesh like a dying sun. In her mind, she stares out the clear window, seeing the morning sky turning blind. Ignorant students are throwing crumbled papers at her while the teacher is not looking, but she ignores them, wondering about the darkening sky. Students laugh at her low self-esteem, and can no longer ignore their ignorance. Instead of telling authorities about how she is being bullied like she did for years, she walks out of the classroom while Mrs. Mrs. Aronson is trying to get the students to work on group projects. Children call her childish, inappropriate names, but she is not around to hear them.
Mrs. Aronson walks after Terra with a meanest yet concern in her girly voice, “And where are you going? Leaving the class is a free ticket to the principal’s office.”
“My life. My rules. I owe you no explanations.”
“That’s it! Down to the principal’s office!”
Terra stops walking, turns around and says, “Do it! They fake like they give a damn anyway. Hurt these bullies or one day, someone will kill them. You think I’m scared of the damn principal? He’s only human. He’s not God!”
“I think you know the way to the principal by now.”
“Whatever,” she says while walking to the principal’s office.

Lunch

It is 9:30 A.M., and she is just trying to eat her lunch for once, but her saddening memories will not allow her to. People taunt her as if by a demonic influence. The bullies that other students are, they each take food items of her lunch every day. The people she thought were her friends really are judgmental people caring absolutely nothing about her safety. From her perception, she is not mentally or physically healthy. Solitude calls her, but she hardly gets time for privacy, being bothered by bullies.
Sitting by herself at the lunch table, she thinks about how much she hates the 5th grade. In “Wish-Bay,” she received a phone call home already, being labeled as the troublemaker. Students mock her every step, for she is so paranoid now, she does not walk like the norm. In fact, she walks like a person with heartbroken syndrome, frightened that someone is stalking her. Her insecurities makes her walk away from the cafeteria, and she is uncertain if anyone other than authorities noticed her leaving anyway.
Lunch is not on her mind, so she thinks of something else. Why do her grandparents force her to see her evil sister, Claire? She always thought she was the only grandchild. Her sister is in a mental institution for bringing a deadly weapon to school, and shooting her teacher in the head, twice. Mrs. Cloresberg was dead by the first gunshot wound. Terrible rumors spreaded about her sister last year, thus she knows her life just got worse.
In the girl’s bathroom, she walks into the first stall. From the small area she is in, tears drop down her eyes. Hitting the shut door with full force is not relieving her pain. With her head lowered, she turns around, staring at her reflection in the toilet. As her tears drop, she hears Gina entering the bathroom, talking to her best friend, Ramona.
She opens the door to leave, but Gina approaches her, “I’m sorry about your parents. God may help them.”
With full force, Terra makes no time to think before striking Gina in the mouth with her right fist. “Stop,” Ramona screams, yanking pieces of her hair. Terra positions her left knee at Ramona’s stomach, yanking her hair in return. Once Gina rises back up with a confused, enraged face, Terra tackles her into the stall. The back of Gina’s head lands on the toilet seat, breaking her neck in three locations. Terra rises in fear, cringing from the scene, for Gina is not moving. Blood leaks from Gina’s wound on the black and white tiled-floor.
Did she kill Gina in the girl’s bathroom? The screaming from Ramona makes her believe that she committed a murder. She panics and runs out of the bathroom as Ramona cries on her knees. Down the hallway, she runs, wishing that there were no surveillance tapes in the entire school. Authorities will eventually find the body, and it bothers her that she may not ever see her grandparents again.
She rushes back into the cafeteria to take a journal out of her black book bag. Trying to act like nothing happened may allow the problem to fade. She opens the journal, and notices that people are giving her odd looks. She is unsure if she actually looks guilty or if they are still humiliating her. For the moment, she tries not to give them too much attention. Thus, she opens the journal for her English assignment, then writes, using a black pen.
“If people were so polite in the world, they would not always sue for money, but forgive. Why do they sue for money if they are verbally fighting for justice? I do not see a reason to sue unless one or more person was robbed, bullied, discriminated against, harmed, or placed in the position of being harmed. If I get rich one day, I want not to be around dishonest people with the utter desire for money. Although I currently have no friends, I accept not many people in my life unless I see a logical reason to.”
By the time Terra hears a scream coming down the hallway, she makes a surprised expression. Ramona’s hands are covered in blood, and she is glaring at Terra through the transparent glass. The question comes to her mind, why is Ramona not seeking the authorities. It occurs to her, Ramona wants to attack her at the same moment everyone stares at the blood. The blood holds questions for the unknowing minds, but Terra knows exactly what happened.
“I curse you! You killed my best friend!”
“She killed my parents.”
Ramona gets confused as Terra finds enough time to tackle her to the tiled-floor with a loud scream. Students are in awe at the brutal fight; Terra slams the back of Ramona’s head against the floor three times. As cheering occurs, she strikes Ramona on the left side of the bottom lip. Ramona uses her physical body to make Terra’s back rest on the floor. Ramona makes an unfinished strike to the face, for Terra has a strong grip on her wrists. When Ramona comes to realization that she is bleeding on her bottom lip and that teachers are entering the cafeteria, Terra strikes her. The strike that Terra makes causes Ramona to fall off of her body.
Behind her, Mrs. Aronson grabs the right wrist of Terra and speaks, “I’m calling your grandparents.”
Ramona screams, “She killed Gina in the bathroom! I saw it.”
Mrs. Aronson is shocked at the utterance by Ramona removing her hands from Terra. Other teachers separate them from each other as they yell with hatred. Terra struggles to get the hands away from her wrists. The innocent cry from Ramona causes Mrs. Aronson to believe the utterance more, so she fearfully and swiftly walks down the hallways, entering the girl’s bathroom. From the bathroom, when she looks into the first stall, she screams at the scene of the murder.
Terra laughs then says, “This is a glass night.”
What is a glass night, Ramona thinks. Maybe it has no meaning, for Terra’s mind may not be working properly. Does a glass night only occur at night or day? Or is a glass night both as a metaphor for the visible night and changing of it? Ramona comes to the conclusion, that the glass night will never end, but people do.

The Left Born

Ever since 1666, the females in her family produced the improvement of genetic beauty. At great distance from the United States, for centuries, they were blessed as kings and queens of a lost, majestic land. Around the entire blessed land is an unnamed ocean made of “holy water,” and in the water, there are an equal number of wooden vessels as there are castles. The current queen has a secret boyfriend in a house appearing like a minimized castle with jalousie windows in front of a wooden porch. Traditionally, the queen and everyone living on the land are forced to die before they reach the age of thirty-years-old. Vanessa Matters is twenty-three with a child that has been alive for only two months, and she fears leaving her son behind.
At her boyfriend’s house, she wonders about why everyone has to die so young. On her sheet of milk-white flimsy, she positions her pen downward, wondering why she only can see a black ink blot. “I’m a social bullet,” she whispers to herself, crying over the flimsy. Why is it that when she cries, there is an abnormal feeling that she is experiencing the act of cunnilingus? Maybe, a part of her would secretly love to die, for her ancestors invented to the unchangeable rule in 1666. The only escape from not dying a young death is to escape the island. As she cries on the flimsy, she realizes that everyone born on the land never escaped, for there is no other known land, except the alien palace of the United States.
She questions reality on the sheet of paper, “May our enemies during death be the herald of mercy? I hold a deathlike face in a lifeless life greeting lie thickeners, daily. The irksome problem is that I will die soon leaving my son behind with trust that he’ll be independent alone. My boyfriend must not tell anyone that our only child is not from the quarrelsome king. I feel so evil that I swoon from the sight of love, but any day could be the last. Why was I forced to marry a king at eighteen-years-old if I did not desire it? I know the answer, for it is my ancestors fault. Now, explain to me why quiet quitters cry.”
From Vanessa’s perception, the king, Magnus is a lifeless, incomparable dimwit. Of the same age as her, Magnus is allowed to have as many wives as he desires. Currently, he has 9 wives, and strives to brainwash them into never marrying another human. Usually, he would physically assault them in public just to utterly embarrass them. Then, he would discourage them from doing anything without his permission and say, “This is discipline. Fear God or love God.” Always, as the people of the land traditionally laugh at 9 wives (queens), they fail to notice how the immorality in front of their daily lives.
Molten glass pours from the firmament like a meteorite destroying the backyard of a garden. Vanessa’s boyfriend wakes up to the unusual nightmare wondering why he experienced it. “James,” Vanessa says, sleeping beside him, calling his name in her sleep. He kisses her lips before lying back down on the mattress. Helping him to forget about the nightmare, she awakes with a smile on her perfect face, then she comforts him by wrapping her warm arms around him.
He unwraps her arms from his body, places denim pants on, then tightens it with a black, leather belt. Vanessa shows concern about where he is going, and he rises up, saying, “This day just begun and it is getting to me. I’m getting some water.” “Baby, what’s wrong,” she says, but he ignores the words, heading to the kitchen. From the kitchen, he holds childhood memories about when his father owned the house and cooked for him. He found it greatly pathetic that his father would always tell him to pull his pants up, for his father would always wear underwear around the house, even when he cooked. Why is he suffering from old memories around the house if he is trying to start a new family with his girlfriend, he thinks.
The kitchen does not serve him the best memory, so he heads to the bathroom. A black shower curtain blocks the sight of his grey bulldog. When he looks in the clear mirror, he turns on the faucet to the sink, positioning his face downward to the touch cold water. Why does the water appear like mildewed deception? For a few seconds, the cold water soothes his flesh. Unfortunately, from a burst of fire, he burnt the retina in his left eye. Immediately, crying, he covers the spot with his hands as he jumps back, feeling blood pour from the area.
Cringing away from the sink, he hits the plaster wall, stopping his fall. Just when he thought his bulldog was in the backyard, startling him, the bulldog barks, jumping out of the shower. Not only does he hear the dog’s footsteps, but he hears Vanessa’s, and gets more upset. In a velvet dress similar to a wedding one, why does Vanessa have to see him physically harmed, he thinks. Fear strikes her with a sudden impact, and she toilet paper around his eye.
“What happened? You’re going to the hospital, but you must call. If I call, my husband will find out and murder me.”
Although he is undergoing agony, he reduces the sound of his voice, and says, “Please!”
“I’m sorry, love.”
“Fire came shooting out of the faucet!”
She digs in his right pocket for him, dials the number to the hospital, and positions it to his right ear. Only until she kissed him did he feel mentally better, like a new form of positive communication. The kiss is of writing with a lucky signature like a Greek painting in cursive; her kissing signature has a modified initial as an example of a mystery. They mystery signifies the female he could one day marry only if he survives the battle with his left eye.
Vanessa panics and exits the house wondering if her boyfriend will survive the accident. It is raining outside, and she can only hope that her boyfriend would yell with a laugh out the oriel window with a jejune behavior, but the yelling never occurs. Without an umbrella, she where a black hood attached to her leather jacket, trying to forget about the awful sound of his boyfriends cry. The sound does not fade from her mind as she walks the long path in the woods toward the creepy castle. Frightening Vanessa, there is a ribald person chatting with the second queen in front of her eyes, but she ignores the scene. Luckily, Lilly Joyce failed to notice her, but Vanessa cannot delete the thought of her boyfriend from his mind.
Her personality titillates males and females to an ineffable extent, but not now, for she is in the state of worrying. With a cry she tried to refrain from doing, she runs home hoping that she does not get caught from exiting the castle without the permission of “King Magnus.” Further bothering her, if the king discovered that she left the castle, she would be facing death from a guillotine in public. As soon as she gets to the castle, she has to sneak in her castle without any knights seeing her. As the safest action to take, the first thing she will do once she gets to the castle is comfort Magnus.
The stony castle is off the sandy land, and the only way to get to her destination is to swim or use a vessel. Across from her is the king exiting the castle with a black ponytail that touches his silk, grey jacket. The fog blocks the bottom of what he is wearing, so she lowers her head to enter the cold water. By the time he turns her direction to look in a microscope, she is nowhere to be found. Under the ocean blue water, she holds her breath, swimming to her destination.
It feels like someone is satanically laughing at her under the water, and she is crying. The water hides her tears, and she lacks enough energy to form a single expression. Jawless fish are in the water cuddling against her body, and swimming 12 miles does not seem physically possible. A vessel is moving toward the castle, and she heads upward to breathe and hold onto a metal piece of the vessel. Because few spoiled people on the vessel are fishing, Vanessa has to often hide in the water and cautiously move to a separate side.
With soaked clothing, she steps out of the ocean. A black jennet crosses her path, and after looking at the window to her quiet room, (40 feet high), she pats Rain on the back. As she attempts to climb, frustratingly she thinks to herself, hopefully, none of the king’s wives will find her trying to sneak inside. Her hands fit into the cracks of the old walls, but she feels like she is about to fall and injure herself. As she looks up, the castle is 50 feet, but she continues to climb, hoping that she can at least reach the window to the second floor. Rain cries, and she rushes up, before the first wife of Magnus (Jamie Givens) comes. As soon as Jamie looks at the firmament, Vanessa is innocently looking out of the window.
As the ninth wife of Magnus Villic, she is unhappy being in a polygamous relationship, but Magnus is too incredibly selfish to notice. It is a painful feeling to look in the mirror, and see her lovely face. The mirror only reminds her of how she is bound to die before the age of thirty-years-old. Sharing a king gives her an immoral feeling of insignificance, sometimes making her feel naturally unappealing and senseless. Worrying that she can die at any moment, she is controlled just like her ancestors, forced to take orders from a cruel king.
At the mirror, she makes a cynical smile and says, “Everything is fine, Magnus.”
Jamie calls for Vanessa, “Vanessa!”
“What do you want?”
“Magnus has alone time with you tonight! It’s your turn! I’m tired!”
“Only if he could be dethroned. … I hope this fool chokes on his final breath. One day, someone is bound to use a broad-axe against him. Satan is not about abusing women. From my comprehension, Satan teaches peace. But, people follow their minds so much to do whatever.”
“Oh, don’t we all girl! Magnus doesn’t see it that way. Satan is good though. I say one day we all step up and show him how we feel.”
“I’d love that day, but I don’t want to risk that.”
Jamie climbs up to her window and speaks, “Think about it. What do we have to lose? We can die at any moment, and we surely won’t live past thirty if we do nothing. Do you want your children to be like this?”
She suffers from self-denial that her unborn daughters may one day suffer an abused life. Then, it occurs to her, James is seriously hurt, and she wants absolutely no children if they are not his. The words of Jamie makes Vanessa question why she would want children if they are bound to follow orders from the king in any manner they are told. If they do not properly follow the orders, they could be killed with no remorse, and Vanessa hates that fact. No longer does she intend to bewitch people, but sadly, she never had to bewitch Magnus.
“There are no limitations past our lives. If we’re lucky, we can have limitations, but let’s do this for our future children,” Jamie says, “We have to do something. Without help, our future is in the midst of trouble.”
“Where’s Amy? Why can’t she see Magnus?”
“She’s getting open heart surgery. Lilly said she told you.”
“Well, she didn’t. I hope she’s gets through that. Hail Satan!”
Without saying another word, a vision of a ghastly scene comes to Vanessa, showing the third wife, Amy. Vanessa experiences exactly what Amy is feeling receiving surgery in a hospital. Knowing that Magnus will sexually mistreat her, she exits her room angrily, questioning why she feels the excruciating pain of Amy’s surgery. The pain causes her to fall to the shaggy, black carpet, puking unpleasantly smelly blood from her mouth. The doctors feel like the hidden rats behind the walls, for they may only bite her. It occurs to her, the only successful way she can be saved is by her God, Satan.
“Satan, help me! I beg of you!”
Outside of her room, the hallway is vacant when she becomes aware of her surroundings. Only the vibration of her cell phone startles her after her face of confusion. When she looks in her room, she slowly rises, hesitating to enter. A dark figure rushes past her to pick up the phone sitting on the brown, wooden dresser. Calmly, she accepts the phone from the dark figure.
Vanessa speaks, “Hello.”
A person with a disguised, deep voice says, “I’m going to stab your family until I can no longer breathe. That could take years, Vanessa.”
“Who is this?”
“Someone that’s not weak even if their silent. I’m a comedian, a law enforcer, or you could just call me a nobody. I’m anybody bullied.”
“You have some major problems calling this number. I don’t know who you are, but you will lose this number. Bye!”
When she presses the “End” button on the cell phone, the timer never ends. Out of shock, she presses the “End” button continuously, but the phone does not turn off. “Why won’t you end the call,” the person yells as she stares at the phone. First, she thinks about breaking the phone by dropping it to the floor, but she places it on the dresser. Again, the phone vibrates, then finally turning off.
Although her cell phone is off, she can hear a voice speaking, “Will my seeds flow and grow still as an embryo? May they be seasoned though with the taste from the get-go? Plot the crow within a gender foe for a hoe? Or show for before there is a rainbow?”
Quickly, she picks up the phone and says, “What do you want?”
“I’m doing what I did. I’m killing like a kid.”

Seconds Later
Text Messages

On the cell phone, she receives disturbingly poetic text messages from the same person, “Murderous depression scarred by aggression. Victimize surprise for obituaries. Suicidal obsession dissecting fun. May eliminate future apologies. Influential attraction born a fraction. Entertainment they have—tolerating their laugh. Stalked words illegal, criticized subtraction. The voiceless wrath posing a symbolic half.”
The anonymous person sends more poetic words, “Lacking comprehension, I hardly mention. Complete the invention of disguised drama. Removing ambition if wonder days won. Expressing emotional arts endless comma. Greet the alcoholic, drug-addict desire. Inhale paranoia for a psychopath. Grappling unspoken crimes—who’s the liar. Petrified me until the lovely bloodbath.”
“May my crimes make everybody comprehend? Am I concerned for genetic destruction? Funeral or cremation goals may extend. Where’s mindful transformation without a gun? Moodswings, am I a huggable one for love? Affections shadowy wounds balancing tricks. The limbless one when insomnia’s above. The loneliest warning never to refix.”
“Disembodied voices touching elements. Hearkening to no unities appearance. Hallucinogenic drugs—what’s real with hints. Delusional eating disorders ever since. Partially self-motivated before rage. Life-altering events going so intense. Lucid lies following enemies of age. Aiming at visibility for suspense.”
“Recognize what’s excruciatingly worse. Annihilation to folly bullies here. When labyrinths feel exactly like a curse. Close-minded victims, experience what’s near. Unconcerned and overprotective ones lose. Parental problems with visions of them dead. Accusations teaching me victims to choose. Guilty possibilities already bled.”
“Tragic losses tortured after love and more. Should I continue to keep score for answers? Before isolated tears, living’s hardcore. Made naturally dead for breath enhancers. Born insane or having friendly injuries. Can’t control and seeking self-satisfaction. I struggle to make problems beg and say, “Please!” I’m righteously me at times taking great action.”
“Consume oxygen, for it brings diets. Misery from the reflection—what’s still wrong? Confusion if I’m me, and who sees admits. Panicking from repetition—living strong.”

3:00 P.M.

While putting on her black, organza jacket, purple jeans, and black, beach sandals, Vanessa ignores her cell phone with the belief that the king hired somebody to prank her. Miles away, James is deeply thinking about her, and she knows it, but she cannot risk avoiding the date. This is romantic anachronism, for she is afraid of being verbally and physically touched by Magnus. As she puts on her white, leather belt, she heads down the concrete stairs with a priceless facial expression, showing how much she despises him. Wallowing in the ignorance of egotism, Magnus refuses to hold the front door for Vanessa, heading out first.
While talking, bluebirds fly past the azure ocean, then behind her, “You think you’re a true overlord, don’t you?”
“I’m God. Notice my creation, and you will be a believer. No more is falsehood dropping at the heathens.”
“Can God give me another husband?”
Before shocking her, in a quiet, sedate way, Magnus drinks from the ocean with the palm of his hands. The scintillating sun finds the saltwater in his hands, showing her enraged face. From Vanessa, strangely, he sees himself, but he still finds the urge to thunderously strike her on the right cheekbone. The strike causes her to receive a terrible bruise. After she falls to the concrete, three more times, he strikes her in the face, causing her to suffer from a temporary, immovable action. Defenselessly, she cries lest he may mercilessly continue the harsh assault.
Seconds later, Jamie runs near the scene, trying to help Vanessa up, saying, “Leave her alone!”
With a truculent attitude, Magnus yells, “You are mythical thought like Jesus, for I am Satan!”
“You’re nobody. Just stay away. Harm anyone else, but not her.”
He makes a devilish laugh and says, “Foolish woman. Disobeying the word of God? I do as I wish. I suggest you obey me, or reality will strike. I am the reason we live in paradise! Mock me, and you’ll return to the slums!”
Confusing Vanessa, only words that she hears attacks her ears, “Close the qualms to Psalms. Deliver Jesus. Raise the holy palms. Miracles famous.”
While bleeding, Vanessa receives a vibe that James will die in the hospital after the fourth wife, Molka, smothers his guiltless face with a soft pillow. Molka is a scrawny, twenty-nine-year-old, jealous woman with frizzy, white hair, walking in the same room James is in. Mimicking Vanessa’s continuous nightmare, Molka uses the pillow against his face. He struggles to position the pillow away, but he is too exhausted to move, for two minutes ago, she injected a deadly needle in his wrist. After smothering him, she passionately kisses him on his dry lips. Vanessa is unsure if her nightmare came to reality, for Molka knows she will not live past the age of 30. Molka cries for the love she fails to have, and contemplates on killing herself before someone else does.
James was the last sanctimonious Christian existing on the island, and now, Molka is no longer a Christian. She suffers from an impromptu cry wanting to commit suicide. Why is she too afraid to commit suicide if she will eventually die, she thinks. Blinding her natural eyesight temporarily, her tears does. The rage for the enemy she recently murdered increases, for she failed to add torture.
It was a funny death to her, but she wishes that she can receive exhilaration. To her, the death was like James was sitting on a diving board smoking a cigarette while she shot him in the temporal lobe. With a needle, she stabs his right clavicle countlessly, until it becomes fractured. Next, with tears dropping on his attractive face, she stares at him, before stabbing him. Over 500 times, she stabs him in the face, simply because she is extremely jealous. The disturbing thought of never stopping the movement of the needle enters her mind, thus, she stabs his jugular 52 times.
“I’m a harlot without you. Give me a fair opportunity without a feeling of guilt. I believe in egalitarianism. I puked when I saw how prejudice you were. You’re a member of scorned protestors blocking evangelists. More … more people will die in an unpleasant way if people like you don’t appreciate life. How can you receive love if your girlfriend is not similar, but too accepting? May you be fooled and reach the otherworld?”

The Next Morning

4:00 A.M., in the dark basement of the castle are the 9 wives: Jamie, Lilly, Amy, Molka, Karen, Lana, Grey, Sue, and Vanessa. Nobody else is around to hear their discussion. As they speak, from upstairs, there is the sound of footsteps on the creaky, wooden floor. Every wife are worrying about being caught in the basement without the permission of the king. Seemingly, since the king is asleep, it helps their qualms decrease.
With an enraged face, Lana whispers, “Karen, Grey, Sue, and I will murder anyone entering the castle.”
Molka holds a guilty face saying, “What do we do after we murder the king,” Amy says, “We’re all dead if that happens. There’s no point to this.”
“Shut it. Do you want to feel the pain that I feel? He nearly killed me. Either we risk our lives or we die for nothing.”
Jamie wipes the perspiration from her face and says, “Let’s not fight here. If we fight, the sky will die.”
“You think the sky will die,” Grey says, “And what is Lilly and Vanessa going to do to help? They are lazy.”
Vanessa slaps Grey across the left cheek, then disrespectfully spits on her forehead. She runs upstairs as Grey holds a shocked face. Thus, Grey chases her up the wooden steps in utter rage, not caring if she gets caught being the basement. Pretending like the door is locked, Vanessa refuses to open it, then kicks grey in the stomach. From her eyesight, Grey loses her balance, instantly falling down the stairs, dislocating her right shoulder.
Frightening Vanessa, she is not sure if Grey is dead, but she opens the door to rush to her bedroom. Molka chases after her, but Vanessa locks her door, taking out a gun from the drawer of the bottom dresser. While Molka tries to open the door, Vanessa thinks that it is Grey and panics, shooting her in the heart twice. The rest of the wives will never forgive her if she is captured, so she exits out of the window, firmly holding the gun. Below her is Magnus staring at her out of concern, so she shoot him directly in the cranium, losing her grip.
Her hard fall with the gun causes it to fire; she feels no pain, but she cannot fathom why she cannot move. Several minutes later, from her blurry eyesight, she sees Lilly standing in front of her, with her hands around her chest. Lilly falls to the ground from a heart attack while Jamie lowers to the grass, crying over her body. Innocently, Amy, Karen, Lana, and Sue rush to the scene. As Vanessa loses blood from her lower intestines, she notices that Amy received a charley horse in her right leg, smiling over the death of Magnus.

Charming Poetry

Lust of Gravity

It is the bestial
Lust of
Temptation.
Crimson shards
Of friction and
Affection.
Halo upon genders
Constellation.
Aesthetic
Pictures like
Protection.

Sarcophagus upon
A mangled
Face.
Dangling limbs
Upon windy
Rain.
Rejected soul
From a murder
Case.
Perfected dignity
Loss by
Brain.

Fortitude to
Love anyone
Near.
Risk to hug
Shadowy wounds
Pain.
Gravity’s words from
Atmosphere.
Weather convincing one’s
Sane.

Marriage is Not

Marriage is not
For your
Deposits.
A cheap pocket where
Borrowed cash
Fits.
A whore license of
A watched eyes
Prize.
But, force of love
When they
Criticize.

Marriage is not
Perfect to stop
Dept.
A moment to cry
And see who
Slept.
A kiss of smiles from
Cash-making
Skills.
But, a lazy
Promise someone
Steals.

Marriage is not
A color of
Thought.
A lost present
That they never
Fought.
A hug in a
Wrapper kept
Untouched.
But, identity
Known and
Clutched.

Marriage is not
Hopes for what you
Owe.
A time to rush,
So make this
Slow.
A bad memory of
Addiction.
But, thoughts to
Know every
Conviction.

Are You Still Hugging?

Are you still hugging
When you see a
Quasar?
What if the Earth gave
Birth to a shooting
Star?
If it’s an earthquake or
If these weapons aim
Wrong?
Are you still
Hugging at a funeral
Song?

Are you still
Hugging while
Mistreated?
When you’re
Unloved, and you’re
Defeated?
When you cut
Until your demon
Cries.
The rebirth of lies
And plus some
Spies.

Are you still hugging
When you’re
Alone?
When you’re
Depressed and feel
Overgrown?
When you lose your
Home and they
Giggle?
If you’re numb,
And you just can’t
Wiggle?

Are you still hugging
When they ruin
Bliss?
From schools to jobs
That you Just never
Miss?
From family to
Discrimination?
Are you still hugging for
Meditation?

Are you still
Hugging as a busy
Soul?
When forced to eat
And dress with no
Parole?
When you lack time
To approach what’s
Adored?
Are you still hugging
When extremely
Bored?

Nature Toys

Yawning like the ocean.
The waves of commotion.
Pulsing through conduits.
Yesterday’s threat forgets.

When nature proposes.
Deflower no roses.
Beside tragic trees.
Engraved romance freeze.

Earthquakes and hurricanes.
With ice, the time remains.
Hushing noise girls and boys.
Peers shipping nature toys.

Shifting life of decoys.
Sobbing grounds made destroys.
Panting, no force undone.
Flooding above makes fun.

Born swimming nature toys.
Widened till they hear noise.
Rescue ships surviving.
Drowning is resizing.

Cornea Flood

Plight of ashes beyond sight.
Ill-treated humans astray.
Culprits racing lunar light.
Iota of love—no way.

Inquisitor visitors.
Justice certainly ordained.
Gone lies perchance by numbers.
Reliving the pain sustained.

Recoil from welcomed flight.
Moodswings increasing the blood.
Moistened laundry sharing height.
Cesspool of a liquid flood.

Insipid tears on clothing.
Draining despair by actions.
Bodily harm—still loathing.
Corneas leaking fractions.

Narrow wounds torn—not unborn.
Embroidered cloths of vision.
Unduly loved of nothing worn.
Breaking trust and decision.

Likably Dead

Likably dead, perfectly said, races may spread.
Picture a soul, similar goal—no funeral.
Assemble ahead, all sexes read, healing what bled.
Ditch to a hole helping control others white coal.

Love from a Survey

We yearn change,
But not what we
Have.
We block these
Thoughts, but our words
Stay.
Kill yelling
Echoes when we
Laugh.
Hear words
From our
Survey.

Why the
Survey
Predicts?
The paper knows
A lot.
Love this life—no death
Tricks.
Show love, not what I
Got.

Airy Spirits from South

“Sodomy,” I scream, but then I glare.
Menus of victims gone from one Tongue.
“Lust,” I scream, but Guiltiness, I share.
Candles replaced for meals—my dead lung!

Follow airy spirits down my mouth.
Cannibalism when I target you.
Sanguine entities, head down south.
Face the feast; this occultist is true.

Chiseled Parts

Chiseled parts bring wealth.
If no parts, no health.
And all loves your looks.
Watching like born books.

Smile Mañana

Shall I smile mañana in your arms?
Shall I love your love, and spot your charm?
Find your promised breaths with no alarms?
Break ribs, or what’s so deeper to harm?

Love Files

Love mind, I address love.
Love files, I research yours.
Love views, I stalk where of?
Love trials, I love wars.

Love control with one role.
Love goal, I cannot kiss.
Love gain, I cannot stroll.
Love you with search for bliss.

Love note, I can catch you.
Love ink, words make me think.
Love drop and make me blue.
Love haunt, I cannot blink.

Beast of Epicene

I puke tears as the beast of epicene.
I bellow for years—I’m no king, I’m no queen.
I breathe fumes; the chemicals make me try.
I’m the influence of my future, sigh.

I try, but I’m being watched—they control.
They feed me, but shall I feed their soul?
I’m smarter; be in peace or hurt by death.
I’m on a private stairway; help my breath.

If brain damaged or brainwashed, I’ll make it.
I’ll conceal my love, and enhance my wit.
I’ll chuck my blood—I’ll crawl a broken road.
I’ll dance on coffins and watch the ones sold.

A Cricket’s Place

There’s argent grass
Growing from the
Dirt.
Some crickets chirping
For a safe
Path.
The green means nothing;
Green gets them
Hurt.
They hardly sleep
Just to take a
Bath.

To arêtes and ditches,
There’s no
Seats.
Care’s trash left from
Giants, but they
Dodge.
Circling dancing
Eyes, fearing
Cleats.
Rediscovering their
Place—a
Lodge.

A Maggot’s Meal

They tend to talk above
Dirt.
They’re loud trees raising power.
Why’d they stop the
Introvert?
They’re trees reaching the tower.

Maggots wander within
Me.
I possess subtle
Feelings.
Someday, trees will fall at
Sea.
Leaves gone as no views healings.

Splash, splash to the end of pride.
Can they see how maggots
Feel?
Where’s their leaves when dirt’s inside?
Stay loud as a maggot’s meal.

Worse than Bliss?

I see your face ere I smile in bliss.
O’re night, may your voice send a promise.
Please, cure these debilitating thoughts.
But, I endure what’s worse than assaults.

What’s worse than cringing away from death.
What’s worse than what Earth’s times bringeth.
What’s worse than widened eyes unto tears.
What’s worse than a ditch of tears from ears.

If heaven’s suicidal, I breathe.
If I refuse, your mouths food, seethe.
I am not fooled to exchange flavor.
I’d suffer for unfixed behavior.

Unheard Yoke

The things I’d do for
You although untold to
Speak.
From any spoken
Malison, I’d protect
You.
A thousand deaths, I’d
Die to take one little
Peak.
Your melodious voice
Seems kissable and
True.

In my mind,
You never have a
Pimple.
You approach
The angels as a
Killer.
Nothing’s simple—you
Mention the
Temple.
Oh, you beg and beg,
But there’s no
Healer.

What happened to your
Face is worse than
Hell.
Worse than the birth
Of someone’s death near
Sleep.
Looks like cracked eggs
From a scrotumless
Male.
The yoke to the
Unheard of what’s kept
Cheap.

Connect to form What?

Numbers and letters
Connect to form
What?
Body, weight, sound,
And motion of a
Nut?
These numbers and
Letters form countless
Acts.
Beyond space, Earth,
And everywhere the ground
Cracks.

Just strip me of my natural
Clothing.
Know you’re clueless of what you’ve been
Loathing.
Fantasize sleeping thoughts from this
Casket.
And separate your clothes in a
Basket.

You possess Devil-given breaths of
Smiles.
An itchy tongue of tasty, spoken
Vows.
Sharp, long teeth deeply placed above your
Throat.
A stove in a stomach where there’s a
Goat.

Numbers and letters connect to form
What?
Years of styles of a bloody, daily
Cut?
Black, skinless bandages that can’t be
Used.
The goat from numbers and letters
Abused.

Confront the Bell

Confront me for what I want and yell.
Your voice dominates a yelling bell.
Stutter with echoes from a project.
You test my pain with any object.

You claim you listen, but that’s a lie.
You involve other bells, so I sigh.
To sigh is my harmless weapon, now.
Make me listen when the bells go, “Pow!”

You seem to control me everywhere.
Bump against me, and reveal a glare.
A glare in the sounds, for I can’t see.
And if I can’t yell, am I lazy?

Music in a Ring

Music in the wedding
Ring blocks away a
Cry.
You then cringe from
My kisses and wave your
Goodbye.
From my heart to
Hand, I can hear the music
Shaking.
I was down on my
Knees, but I was not
Faking.

Thunderstorms cannot
Measure the tears I can
Use.
A naked sky defines
Me, so you did
Accuse.
There was no rain to keep
A cloud wet—not one
Drop.
The evidence even
Showed not on a born
Crop.

Music in a wedding
Ring is dump in
Liquid.
You should never assume
What the small toilet
Hid.
But the ring remains
As long as I am
Living.
I tend to think it does,
But I am not
Giving.

Palace of Hope

Murderous beauty
Revealed.
Never of age;
Never die.
Fatalistic wonders
Healed.
Virgin rivulets
Nearby.

Dreams engulfed in running Miles.
Ethereal styles
Advancing.
Rocky measures adding
Miles.
Palace of hope
Enhancing.

Relief Belief

Miracles throughout
Depression.
Pondering about
Aggression.
Wars door outside this murky room.
Relief belief before the
Gloom.

Forgiving addled minds—can’t keep.
Hours a day, even at
Sleep.
Harming, humiliating
Me.
Unusual
Normality.

Losing memories—no
Sleeping.
Changing rooms, but who keeps peeping?
Reality is no
Escape.
Could trauma ever
Reshape?

Dating invented
Mistakes.
Hobbies worthless till it breaks.
Real tears cover foolish
Views.
Helpless goals punished near Clues.

Prevent time spent for
Elements.
Sauntering ones adding
Suspense.
Running away seems to
Answer.
As the miracle
Enhancer.

Gaping Sin

I’m raping the gaping
Hell.
Taking angelic
Bodies.
Ever since Lucifer
Fell…
Silencing volume to
Please.

Decapitate to
Relate.
Recognize enemy
Lies.
Faceless childhood—
Hesitate.
If speaking, they’re leaking Cries.

Cathedrals ticking
Timeline.
With naysayers as
Prayers.
Creating a sinful
Sign.
The mindful, terror
Slayers.

Disgusted with lifeless
Words.
Translated
Documents.
Troubling the living
Turds.
Terrified by no
Accents.

Decaying wings never
Swings.
Dismaying height never
Stays.
The praying winds never
Sings.
Betraying fright never
Plays.

Clone’s Minions

Away is flavored
Suffocation.
Local hauntings of full
Relation.
Oxygen for this body of
Wrong.
Chemicals solemn, dinner
Gong.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner
Uneaten.
The missing dessert, which will
Sweeten.

Starving rage drinking watery
Tears.
Sobbing steadily with unwrapped
Fears.

Begging blinking to forever
Shut.
Hollow decisions that makes one
Cut.
Disposable products simple
Pick.
Unresting hunger feeling
Lovesick.

Released simply consumption of
Breath.
Gnawing meals before a membranes
Death.
Leftover made, rhythmic
Shakes.
Crumbs untouched until bitten
Remakes.

Baking, boiling, frying
Livestock.
Boneless, skinless seasoned wonder
Clock.
Inner maggots within
Opinions.
Preparing food for clone’s
Minions.

Dissecting, selecting the
Morning.
Starving throughout the night of
Being.
Wishing bellowing meals to
Stop.
Questioning breaths, relearning to
Shop.

Thieves’ Talents

Opened talents greets thieves of power.
Did this God allow the damnedest thing?
Influenced destructions final hour.
Evil astray—no talent or ring.

Glorified, built, opposite feelings.
Possessions gone—painfully simple.
Replaceable hearts near no ceilings.
Living is criminally awful.

Love Fortune

Psychic prodigy, never doubt.
You could reform one inside out.
At instance, ever since distance.
Controlling every resistance.

Scarcity of this reality.
Just very lovely like the only.
Complicated like one related.
With eyes standing idly outdated.

Major problems situated.
When anything’s innovated.
Kisses before all’s saddening.
Wishing that she’ll accept a ring.

Cosmic sacrifice with yelling.
Reducing no fortune telling.
Mythology extinct-none thinks.
Until it separates a jinx.

I kneel—will love have blood spill?
Feeling ill, her words are unreal.
I could kill, instead feeling gone.
Tears following shadows alone.

Lovable Tragedies

Lovable, loyal tragedies.
Ongoing growing unknowing.
Kissable, lying families.
Forgiving, perfectly laughing.

Victimized before fleshly cries.
Nervously displaying silence.
Questionable, threatened Surprise.
Wrinkled history, so intense.

Reworded flashbacks of escape.
Hormones fading, selecting Bones.
Humiliating before rape.
Inner shrills creating tones.

Charismatic voices fleeing.
Hypnotic choices controlling.
Realism before foreseeing.
Scattered wounds before everything.

Burial Wounds

Can’t bear agony
Once more.
Burial wonders
Are hardcore.
The unlimited
Deep end.
Sleeping until
It’ll bend.

Ouch, now I intend
To die.
Begging trust to
Question why.
Visit my
Final sighting.
Underground, wounds
Still fighting.

More wounds arrive
With fables.
Wounds attack wounds
With labels.
Fleeing before the
Tough tears.
Fleeing away from
All fears.

Suicidal
Diablo.
Psychological
Get-go.
Oh, splI it
Personality.
The inner wounds
Setting free.

Stories

© June 27, 2014. All Rights Reserved.

My stories: “Lucky Ashes” and “Hells Clouds” are on Lulu.com. Lucky Ashes: the eBook is $8.99 and in hardcover, it is $24.11. Hells Clouds: the eBook is $8.99 and in hardcover, it is $23.88.