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    x Trevor x
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Inside The Mind Of Me - 5. Serial Killer

Written October 1st 2013

One thing you should always keep in mind is that I like to paint pictures, I like for people to see things that are in actuality something completely different yet exactly the same. An Illusion maybe? But then isn't that what all murderers should be good at? Making you see what they want you to see? That's what I do, I paint pictures with words to make you see what I feel.

My first victim would be called sadness, the one who lives in tears, drying up as it wastes the bodies water on things that just shouldn't happen because sadness doesn't deserve it, rather sadness deserves to not exist more than anything. And for those tears? Sadness deserves to drown.

 

Anger? Hmm so many ways. This would be a long and dirty job coming. First a good beating, anger is strong, anger will fight back. Anger will have you quaking and shaking and if you aren't careful, anger will bring you to your knees. That doesn't happen. Anger falls to the floor beaten and bruised, a gun grabbed and for a nice touch you take out angers limbs, a single shot to each one, further disarming anger. Then? You reach the root of it all by grabbing that knife and slashing anger wide open to destroy and kill the core of it's very being. In doing this? You take out two for one, sometimes more because anger sometimes has it's little babies, like jealousy or pride or greed, so many little emotions that fuel such a big and sometimes explosive response.

 

And then there is stress, my most hated of all of my emotional enemies. Stress is the hell of my existence, stress is friends with anger, stress is angers next door neighbor and I run out of patience when it comes to stress. So why not go ahead and kill it out? Of course stress is an emotion of the plague as it comes to visit every day, multiple times a day and sometimes it just won't go away. It feeds to anger and if it goes too far it can even feed to complete and utter insanity.

Stress is chaos. Stress is the chase. The chase and the chaos, like the chase through the windy woods at night, the flash of the moons light shining through the shifting trees, the leaves causing the light to move this way and that, all the sounds, the darkness that escapes the light. You're running and you're breath is heavy and your heart beat pounds. You don't know which way to go and so you just stop and spin around as you watch the utter chaos of the windy forest night that is stress as it tries to over bear you. Then? You fall to your knees and you scream, you think that the victim that is stress just might take you out.

But then you kill stress with pills, you force them into stresses mouth and down stresses throat, stress over doses and dies and your body finally relaxes as the wind dies and the trees slow and your breathing becomes a pleasant sound of relief. Stress is dead.

Happiness? Now who would ever want to kill happiness? Everyone and that may or may not be surprising to you. Now of course no one wants to kill their own happiness but we all love to be serial killers when it comes to taking each other down, just go into any school, ask the kid getting slammed into the locker or the girl who hangs herself at home because she sent a dirty text to her boyfriend and it went viral. Point is happiness was a friend of mine once but happiness would come and go and happiness for me was an unreliable friend and so sometimes I just beat happiness up.

Why?

Because it's easier to be numb, because to be numb, you're not caught, you're still the masked and mysterious serial killer, armed with a shield of protection that can protect you from whatever the world and everyone in it throws at you. And it feels good, it feels good to take all the hits and to be able to say ... fuck you, I don't care, each and every time.

©Copyright (2008) (X Trevor X); All Rights Reserved."
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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