Page 2 of Descent into Darkness

I jump up and down, bouncing on his chest like a kid on a trampoline. I’m still screaming. “The murder of my parents, the beatings, the mental deterioration, the years and years of forcing me to kill until I acquired a taste for it,” I roar out as I continue my assault on his corpse. “YOUmade me this way! And now there’s nothing that can quench my thirst quite like this. You fucking piece of shit!”

I blink. My feet are now hitting the floor, only separated by my steel-toed boots, the fabric of his shirt, and a few chunks that refuse to break down or get pushed away. I can’t stop, though; the sound reminds me of jumping in a muddy puddle, splashing his filth all around us. I burst out into a full-blown belly laugh. For half a second, I feel like a kid again. Or rather, I wonder if this is the kind of joy a kid would feel playing in the rain, traipsing through the mud. It’s not something I was ever allowed to do. But that's fine, because, at this moment, I am finally free. I am finally happy. Fuck you, Father.

Chapter2

Spiral

Iswipe the keys from the wall hook where they hang, while I try to digest everything that went on in this house, everything I just did. They feel heavy in my hands now that I just inherited them and their companions—every dark memory, every sinister lesson I learned within these walls. I suppose everything here is mine now. Because now, I am truly alone.

As I open the front door, the fresh night air hits my lungs, and I projectile vomit all over the front steps. The splat it makes on the concrete sounds similar to dumping a pot of pasta and sauce out on the ground. Decades worth of pent-up hate, sadness, anger, depression—basically every emotion aside from happiness that’s been festering inside me—is now rushing out of my body like a tsunami.

Looking down at my hands, I notice they’re stained with blood and shaking.YOU MONSTER. My feet move on their own, taking me to the car. I need to kill someone. Stopping another person's heart is the only thing that can give me peace right now.FUCKIN’ CUNT. I turn the engine on and begin driving. Anytime Father was especially brutal toward me, I would find a way to take someone's life, and it always grounded me.HAHAHA.

I find myself driving down roads I’ve never taken, until I’m mindlessly putting along the streets of some quiet little town. The way a person looks when they have no idea who I am or why their flesh is being stripped from their bodies is like when someone applies medium pressure when scratching your entire back—such a soothing thing to calm my nerves.I SHOULD HAVE ATE HIM just so he would be turned into the PILE OF SHIT HE IS.

I feel like I’m unraveling.HAHA fuck, I’m horny.

I’m at a stop sign. I must have been lost in the fucking whack-a-mole of thoughts in my brain because a truck horn, aggressively beeping behind me, snaps me back to reality. Wrong place, wrong time, buddy boy.

Flooring it through the intersection, I put a fair amount of distance between me and the prick that was behind me. Enough distance that I can take a right onto another street and make a U-turn. Revving the engine of whatever this car is that I'm in, I sit and wait. My light was green but turned to yellow, then red as his pickup truck approached.

I floor it again, this time hurling myself toward the intersection. Just as he is flying through, my front end collides with his passenger-side front door with a smash that echoes down all the empty, small-town roads. The sound of glass shattering and sprinkling across the asphalt has an almost shimmering sound to it.

The impact leaves me slightly dazed, but my sickening adrenaline forces my body out of the twisted metal of what was once my car… Father’s car… fuck him and his car. I walk around to the driver’s side of this asshole’s truck and look inside. His nose is visibly broken from headbutting the steering wheel. It’s an old truck, which is why I’m assuming no airbags were deployed. I lean into the car and inhale. The smell of his fresh blood sends a jolt to my cock, reminding me that it still works. Perfect. But not right now. I grab the back of his head and whisper into his ear.

“Beep beep, bitch.” My flat tone mixed with my crazed smile twists a little bit of fear in with the pain I see in his eyes.

With all my might, I slam his face forward into his steering wheel. The collision causes the horn to blow. A growly laugh slips between my gritted teeth as I do it again, leaving blood spatters each time I peel his face back from it.

“Oh, I have an idea. You stay right here.” I pat him on the top of his head as I make my way back to my car. Popping open the trunk, I pull out a ratty, tattered old flannel shirt that Father kept in there.

When I return, the man is struggling with his seatbelt, groaning for help. His hands got fucked up in the crash, so when I peek in through the window again, I can see he is struggling a bit.

“I feel that, my man. I am pretty sure I broke a few knuckles punching Father’s face into the floor until it wasn’t recognizable anymore. That's the only reason I’m not knocking your teeth into your throat one by one to see how many it takes to suffocate you,” I say to him with an odd calmness as I kneel down, gathering shards of broken glass into the shirt. Once there is a good, softball-size amount, I twist the shirt, forcing the shards to press out and peek through the fabric.

That calm quickly flickers out, though, as I take a quick couple of steps back to the door—just to swing my head in, bashing it against his. I scream, then proceed to smash my forehead into his ear. He tries to put an arm up to block me, but he’s even more disoriented from the compiling head trauma. I press my lips to his ear and scream again, as loud and long as possible—introducing a new kind of pain and disorientation. The blood on his face makes it hard to see his features, so my mind is filling in the blanks with Father’s. I see red again. Taking the shirt full of glass, I press it against his face, using my other hand behind his head for counter pressure and begin scrubbing. Leaning my body weight into it, I rip the makeshift Brillo pad up and down like I was cleaning stuck food out of an old frying pan. His flesh tears and flakes off from the aggressive scrubbing until I expose the bone underneath.

He’s still alive. Good boy. Keep holding on for me.

I move down to his throat—the glass pressing more and more out of the taut fabric. Swipe, swipe, swipe. I continue my chaotic motion until his throat begins to open up. My deep breaths are laced in a mist of saliva as I shake, watching this man bleed out in front of me. I drop the bundle of glass and cross my arms, then pull a hand up to stroke my beard.

“You, sir, are not distinguished enough. No, no, no. This just won’t do. You are a respectable member of this community, and you need to dress as such. Tsk tsk. Where is your bow tie?” The words spew from my mouth, and my brain feels slightly confused as to who put them there.

Before any more thought goes into it, I reach into his open neck, hooking my fingers around veins and arteries, pulling slowly until they detach from somewhere in his body and provide me some slack. I don’t know how to tie an actual bow tie. I know how to tie my shoes though. Taking his arteries, I pinch them into bunny ears, then loop-swoop-and-pull into a knot in the center of the open wound. Blood continues to pour out down his chest.

“Perfect,” I whisper out loud. I trudged through the noise and chaos, and with this blissful murder, I have found enough inner peace to stop me from being so goddamn reckless. I am in public right now and could have easily been caught. Maybe Father was right, I am kind of a fucking idiot. I’m also realizing that, at some point during this man's untimely demise, I pissed myself. Lovely.

I blink. My feet have been moving during this internal struggle between peace and self-loathing. My knuckles hurt so fucking bad, and I really should clean some of this blood off me, but I need a source of water that isn’t inside an establishment. Can’t very well walk into places with my face, arms, and hands drenched in blood. I look around, and, as luck would have it, there's a small pond off to the side of the road. Ask and you shall receive.

I meander over and drop to my knees. My distorted reflection looks back at me from the dark, rippling water. How poetic. This is exactly what I see in my mind when I look at myself. What I feel—dark, distorted, unstable, and fucking ugly. I spear my hands into the water and begin cleaning the evidence off. The once clear liquid now various shades of crimson with bits of flesh floating to the surface. Once I feel that it's good enough, I continue down the road.

Before long, I’m standing in front of a motel because I just can’t go back home. Not now, not ever… That place was more a prison where I was viciously abused incessantly by the warden. Forged into this thing I am now. No, I can’t ever go back to that fucking hell.

Who knew this little podunk town was so fancy? There’s even a bar inside. Fuck, I could use a drink. I’m able to get in and pay cash for a room for the night. The dirt, scrapes, and specks of dried blood doesn't even cause the kid working the desk to bat an eyelash. He barely pulls his face out of his phone to check me in, which is just fucking fine with me. I will need some new clothes at some point.

After going up to my room and doing a little bit more maintenance on my appearance—taking a shower, getting the blood and dirt out from under my fingernails, washing some of the carnage off my shirt in the sink, then using the complimentary hair dryer to dry it—I make my way down to the bar.

I pull up a stool, take my wallet out, and pull out a 20 dollar bill. The bartender walks over with a smile, but it quickly fades when we make eye contact. Smart lady. “What’re ya havin’, hun?” she says, keeping her distance.

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