Rinn_Mathuin
02-10-2015, 04:07 AM
Imagine in your mind, a dark lit place. Soft yet stiff. Cool, yet warm. Imagine wearing a jacket, but not because you're cold. Imagine being bundled up in said jacket all day. Warm, right? Yet constrictive. 3 meals a day, if you can call them meals. One visit a day, by a man named Mr. Hanson. He's your friend? No. He's not. Your only friend is your mind. It's your sanctuary. The only safe place. Your haven. Free to let all thoughts wander unimpeded. Now imagine you've lived this way for years. Many years. Almost an eternity to you.
No outside world. No window. One door. A secret door. A shifting door. One you cannot find. Or even open if you found it. This isn't a special portal or anything. Just a door. A door Mr. Hanson comes in. Imagine talking to him. Seeing him age, yet never really seeing him at all. Even though you've been here for years, your eyes cannot adjust. Blinded almost.
You have no books, no paper, no anything.
If you can imagine this, then you are reading my story that Mr. Hanson has heard.
Imagine killing your family. Your friends. Loved ones. Everyone you ever knew. This is how my life was. Anyone who was anything to me spilt their crimson on my sharp edge. Bloody days and nights spent holding a body in your arms. Asking it why they decided to diverge from their path and impede yours. You won't understand. You simply cannot. It is simply impossible for you.
I spend my days now with my arms bound, taking meds as needed with therapy and counselors. I sit in my padded room thinking of what I have done. Yet I cannot find any reason. It was all normal. It needed to be done. People needed to be purged. And as sad as it may be, I feel no regret, no remorse, no feeling for it. I think of them every night. And I smile. The way they felt in my arms, heavy, and still warm. For the first few hours anyways.
They call me a monster, but I'm not. I'm just a normal person. With normal person thoughts. I'm not crazy, not insane, not a freak of nature. I'm just me.
Just. Me.
No outside world. No window. One door. A secret door. A shifting door. One you cannot find. Or even open if you found it. This isn't a special portal or anything. Just a door. A door Mr. Hanson comes in. Imagine talking to him. Seeing him age, yet never really seeing him at all. Even though you've been here for years, your eyes cannot adjust. Blinded almost.
You have no books, no paper, no anything.
If you can imagine this, then you are reading my story that Mr. Hanson has heard.
Imagine killing your family. Your friends. Loved ones. Everyone you ever knew. This is how my life was. Anyone who was anything to me spilt their crimson on my sharp edge. Bloody days and nights spent holding a body in your arms. Asking it why they decided to diverge from their path and impede yours. You won't understand. You simply cannot. It is simply impossible for you.
I spend my days now with my arms bound, taking meds as needed with therapy and counselors. I sit in my padded room thinking of what I have done. Yet I cannot find any reason. It was all normal. It needed to be done. People needed to be purged. And as sad as it may be, I feel no regret, no remorse, no feeling for it. I think of them every night. And I smile. The way they felt in my arms, heavy, and still warm. For the first few hours anyways.
They call me a monster, but I'm not. I'm just a normal person. With normal person thoughts. I'm not crazy, not insane, not a freak of nature. I'm just me.
Just. Me.