Bloodied Screams [Micah]
Posted: 19 Jan 2016, 22:46
I am spoiled rotten.
The only thing that I have learned from the past is that history repeats itself. I was a fool to think that I could change the course of someone else’s life and be happy with the first man that showed me attention and pleasure.
I should have known better. My mother always told me that no one in this world could love me. I was a waste of time. I was a waste of breath.
Days would go by and I’d finally tell her I was hungry. I can remember the look on her face, the years of nicotine running deep in the creases by her mouth when she’d snare at me and wave her half empty bottle of whiskey in my direction.
Thoughtless.
Careless.
Stupid.
*****.
Go get a ******* job.
I was eight. Then, I was ten. Then, I was twelve. I shoveled the sparse snow in the winter. I cut grass. I can remember the feeling of the hot, sticky sun on my back and the way the cool girls would sashay down the street, laughing and pointing their fingers at me.
There is nothing wrong with working for a living. Hard, decent work is what my father had often said to me endless nights in the family garage. I can remember the look in the eyes of my father, so kind and loving. He never gave anything up for me, but I remembered talk of the football scholarship and the offering of coaching jobs and the polite phone calls that would end in a ‘Thank you, but I’ve a daughter to raise here.’
BEEEEEEEEEEEEP BEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP
Grey inhaled. It was the smell of the nook of the alley that brought her back to her current state. Panting, the sudden exhale rushed through her system. The blackouts were coming more frequently. She was waking up next to dead bodies and covered in blood. The knife was still gripped tight in one hand, knuckles white underneath the smears of red.
The blood was so thick on her skin, that Grey hadn’t even realized where her clothes ended and her skin began. The cuff of the hoodie she had pilfered from the hall closet was shoved up - forearms exposed. She leaned back, pushing the body away from her. She shoved the denim clad cadaver as far away as she could push dead weight.
Her pale face was covered in blood, splatters on her flesh that made her look like a mad scientist instead of the murderer she was slowly becoming. The man’s face was contorted into a now silent scream. She had cut him, filleted him open. Grey took in her handy work, muscle and bones broke and that sternum ripped out. The organs within the man’s chest were no longer recognizable. Two… Four…. Six…. Holes in his neck. Four on the right side and two on the left side and all Grey’s body could do was absorb the nourishment he had provided her with prior to that death.
Tattoos climbed his neck, not even Grey could distinguish them in the loss of blood. His head and been bent at an unnatural angle now, the mechanic could see.
She had been so hungry.
She just remembered falling asleep inside the front room of the farmhouse. She had laid down, cold after just getting home from work. What time was it?
Bloodied hands dropped the knife. It clattered next to her on the cement when she wiped as much blood as she could upon the denim of her own jeans and struggled for that new iPhone.
It was white. Always white. Pure. Clean.
The red smeared over the screen as she choked back a strangled gasp.
Five … Five in the morning.
The sun would be up soon. She had no idea where she even was.
What the hell was wrong with her?
[Text] Micah.
The only thing that I have learned from the past is that history repeats itself. I was a fool to think that I could change the course of someone else’s life and be happy with the first man that showed me attention and pleasure.
I should have known better. My mother always told me that no one in this world could love me. I was a waste of time. I was a waste of breath.
Days would go by and I’d finally tell her I was hungry. I can remember the look on her face, the years of nicotine running deep in the creases by her mouth when she’d snare at me and wave her half empty bottle of whiskey in my direction.
Thoughtless.
Careless.
Stupid.
*****.
Go get a ******* job.
I was eight. Then, I was ten. Then, I was twelve. I shoveled the sparse snow in the winter. I cut grass. I can remember the feeling of the hot, sticky sun on my back and the way the cool girls would sashay down the street, laughing and pointing their fingers at me.
There is nothing wrong with working for a living. Hard, decent work is what my father had often said to me endless nights in the family garage. I can remember the look in the eyes of my father, so kind and loving. He never gave anything up for me, but I remembered talk of the football scholarship and the offering of coaching jobs and the polite phone calls that would end in a ‘Thank you, but I’ve a daughter to raise here.’
BEEEEEEEEEEEEP BEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP
Grey inhaled. It was the smell of the nook of the alley that brought her back to her current state. Panting, the sudden exhale rushed through her system. The blackouts were coming more frequently. She was waking up next to dead bodies and covered in blood. The knife was still gripped tight in one hand, knuckles white underneath the smears of red.
The blood was so thick on her skin, that Grey hadn’t even realized where her clothes ended and her skin began. The cuff of the hoodie she had pilfered from the hall closet was shoved up - forearms exposed. She leaned back, pushing the body away from her. She shoved the denim clad cadaver as far away as she could push dead weight.
Her pale face was covered in blood, splatters on her flesh that made her look like a mad scientist instead of the murderer she was slowly becoming. The man’s face was contorted into a now silent scream. She had cut him, filleted him open. Grey took in her handy work, muscle and bones broke and that sternum ripped out. The organs within the man’s chest were no longer recognizable. Two… Four…. Six…. Holes in his neck. Four on the right side and two on the left side and all Grey’s body could do was absorb the nourishment he had provided her with prior to that death.
Tattoos climbed his neck, not even Grey could distinguish them in the loss of blood. His head and been bent at an unnatural angle now, the mechanic could see.
She had been so hungry.
She just remembered falling asleep inside the front room of the farmhouse. She had laid down, cold after just getting home from work. What time was it?
Bloodied hands dropped the knife. It clattered next to her on the cement when she wiped as much blood as she could upon the denim of her own jeans and struggled for that new iPhone.
It was white. Always white. Pure. Clean.
The red smeared over the screen as she choked back a strangled gasp.
Five … Five in the morning.
The sun would be up soon. She had no idea where she even was.
What the hell was wrong with her?
[Text] Micah.