Nothing Exciting Happens-Part 1: Delusion

*Delusion*
It was another dreary night, the kind of night that makes you want to wake up and not be in the twisted hell that is this world, the kind of time where one who was down on their luck would just feel even lower, ready to fall into despair, writhe in eternal self torment, and potentially liberate themselves from their entirely unrewarding existence. It was the type of night that comes all too often and makes a sinner want to sin more. It was the end of the line for imagination and reality, a moment where each can vary randomly from infinity to tangential to oblivion, when rationality and irrationality no longer mattered. Clouds littered the sky—dark clouds ready to drown the world in sorrow and suck the life right out of it, clouds so thick that it was interesting that light made it through to the ground at all. Perhaps the oncoming depravity was setting the stage to be witnessed, to allow continuity for insanity.
In this twisted world where past present and future do not matter, and common practice has been cast aside, a girl stands at the center of a bridge. Perhaps she already stood there, or perhaps she has not even actually proceeded there yet, none of this matters for it is a quaint rural bridge, removed from a massively urbanized world and thrown back to a better time, a small town feel that many now grow accustomed to and actually have long since missed. This girl teeters near the edge of the bridge, the mist, tossing and turning in her own self doubt. Is she going to jump? Did she already jump? No, she did not jump. She already jumped. She took a great leap from sanity to insanity and is lingering from heading down a path that will take her back again. To where she will return is yet to be answered, it is an answer that is completely unimportant in the grand scheme of things.
The wind violently whipping around her was clouding her judgment. It is telling her to make the leap. It is definitely an omen that nothing is right with creation, and that the only logical choice is to take the plunge and experience thereafter.
The wind violently pushing upon her was repairing her delusion. It was telling her to stay back and consider all the options. It is a fearsome force that invokes fragility in everything, which, upon much pondering, actually seems quite illogical. It was the structure of nurture that allowed continuity to blossom.
The wind was actually a gentle nudge in an indiscernible direction. The correct agenda seemed to be to wait things out and analyze the chaos over the long term, in order to make the chaos less chaotic. It is with a long-term view that order comes about, yet, to achieve that order, accomplishing anything needs to be forgone. From that vantage point, it seemed that accomplishment was ultimately impossible.
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I sat in my room staring at the ceiling. Should I count the tiles? If not for the fact that I already knew there were 32 because I counted them already, I gladly would have considered giving them yet another count. Perhaps there were 33. No. That wouldn’t work. 33 is an odd number so perhaps it was 34. No. 34 is too many.
As I sit, I realize I should look out the window. Looking out my window is like taking a gaze to infinity, until the street light kicks on again and then it is all reflective, allowing a gaze into one’s self. Which makes me wonder, what kind of self do I possess? Am I a self that is worthwhile, given all the social opportunities in my short life that I have forgone? I pull out my knife; my house’s kitchen’s largest knife and train it at my left wrist. I should slice now and forget everything that this existence ever brought me, in order to be able to move forward in the hereafter. Perhaps it would be too easy to save me and I should actually train it on my throat. A quick cut through the jugular and I would just let out a shallow, hoarse murmur of a scream and it would all be over. Short of magic then I could not be saved.
I decided to put down the knife and take another 4 equate allergy medication tablets. The psychological effects from taking 6 didn’t seem to happen anymore. I guess I must have built up a tolerance to diphenhydramine from taking so many of these things over the past weeks. All that I get now is my heavy breathing and erratic heartbeat. I miss the spiral of vision, the things that pop in and out of existence, and the depressing dream that seems oh so real yet was fully acted out only in my head, where entire screams were the shallowest of whimpers, and, when the ride ends, the twisty high is to die for. I can’t say the ride always works out. It is better just to get there most of the way but not to the journey. Hopefully 4 more won’t push past the limit.
The time comes when I again pull out the knife and stare at my left wrist. I make the cut—nothing. A moment later the crimson ejects from my wrist and my entire head is screaming. Then I notice there is no cut. I decide to ram it through my heart. I take the shot—my entire heart sinks, then it feels like it is going to explode. Shining off the knife I see a reflection of myself crying. Completely wailing. A moment later it appears just a meager stare, no depression, complete tear suppression. Perhaps I have gone insane. Perhaps I am on a ride and it just going to get intense. I look down to realize there is no knife in my possession. I give a blank stare ahead, to see me, staring back at myself through my open window. Open window? That person staring back is not myself…
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This world needs heroes. Civilization grows with them. Society depends on them. In a creation where not every individual has that unending, unstoppable push, it is a requirement for that hero character to exist, that person that is willing to go the extra mile, to endeavor not for oneself, but for allself. A hero is the one that can make a villain come about. Perhaps the villain would be around even without the hero. Then, this is a case for the hero. Come forth hero and vanquish all villains.
It can be wondered what are the limits of power? It is known that energy is neither created nor destroyed, so there must be a vertical limit to a hero’s ability. Running on this assumption, there is so much in this universe that everyone must be powerless. Perhaps this powerlessness is what makes it possible to perceive the almighty. That lack of the ability to even perceive properly on this world could be mankind’s downfall. It wants to conserve, even though it doesn’t realize that it doesn’t really have any negative output in the grand scheme of things. There is no new energy that is being created, so all new creation must just have less and less energy to perceive that which is around them.
This is unless that any supposed indivisible spiritual entity is actually entirely divisible, and completely dissipates in the thereafter. In this scenario, new energy would be freed up for the newcomers, and it can be supposed that heroes are then possible.
A man stands in this mighty glory of herohood, staring over his fair city. He is an inextinguishable light in this world of nearly entire darkness. What fate will befall him in this twisted world? And will it matter? This man will not go down without a fight. He is a man after all. A ferocious power, light taken from Apollo himself, ready to overcome all obstacles and attain more and more experience.
This man notices trouble on the horizon; complete calamity in that horrid city center that is always overrun with chaos. He witnesses potential thieves, potential murderers, potential embezzlers, and potential schemers.
Schemers—how worthless these are. Our hero must unsheathe his saber of justice and strike down all those villains who muddy this world. He must return them to the void of nonexistence. For justice’s sake. For humanities’ sake.
Travel onward hero, do not yield to any horrendous force, steady thy conviction and zero in on the target of targets. The villain of all villains awaits your justice. Your entirely unending sense of duty and inextinguishable altruism.
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I am the sole judicator of this world of deepening darkness. I will vindicate the blood of all those individuals who have fallen unjustly and/or in vain. I will defend the weak. I will empower the fierce. My soul shimmers with the light to envelop all the darkness of this world. If it cannot be overcome, I will embrace it. I will become the darkened gavel of justice that will swing at all daemons that prolong this damnation.
I draw my saber and my ears ignore all the cheering of the townspeople as I approach the villain of the day. This man has a coat hanger and appears to be attempting to break in to an automobile. “What are you doing there!?”
“I am darkness incarnate, the bringer of all this world’s troubles, and neither you nor anyone else could possibly stop me from what I am about to do,” the man with a death wish cackles. The man points his hanger at me, and it converts to a scythe.
“So you are another of the apostles of destruction! This world has seen far to many of your kind. On behalf of Apollo, I am heaven’s messenger here to deal the light of his hammer with this indestructible blade. I will completely ignite your flesh, and separate the devil from your soul. My deepest apologies, for this will hurt worse than the raging fires of hell itself.”
“Of this soul I have consumed every morsel; messenger of eternity do your worst, for I have nothing left in this world to fear.”
These are the typical exchanges from these monsters. Admitting the infiltration of this entire creation does not make job the easy one. But it is what a hero like me needs to exist for. Dark worms infest the infrastructure of all reality. They burrow so many wholes and can navigate through multiple planes. Complete evisceration of the host body of a daemon is the only way to end their existence. It is a brutal sight to gaze upon, but being the lord’s work, it is complete necessity.
I stand upon yet another thoroughly mangled corpse, where looks of disgust from those who saw always come first. Then they cheer. They always cheer. They cheer so loudly that I must always move forward to escape the noise and find more evil that needs to be vanquished.
I decide to venture to the suburbs and see what crime snuck its way over to these parts. I note a teenage girl in her room. The window is open, and her room is the only light being emitted from the house. It could be darkness has consumed the rest of the house, or that I now only see in darkness, and I watch her take a pill to affirm my current judgment. Gluttony would classify this horrid overindulgence as another 3 pills enter her system. So a daemon has infiltrated this poor child. Perhaps I wasn’t thorough enough on the last evisceration. I’ll have to pull out all the stops on this girl…
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A proper world would have a proper set up but unfortunately it never fucking moves fast enough. All the shit that happens, seems to happen for no reason. Always getting fucking called a fucking homo in school never really helps sanity. Girl on girl action shouldn’t be a big deal. It just fucking works nicely and shit. The speed is just there and it just goes and goes and ah fuck, it is just so fucking good.
An underdeveloped 22 year old girl longs for relationships. Her lovers always left her empty—it was too fucking slow. Then, she moved on to girls. The semi developed 14 year old one’s were the shit. It just fucking had the fast fucking pace that is fucking necessary for all the right shit. They are always willing to experiment so it just becomes so fucking fulfilling.
All this fucking madness about the fucking right way for a society to function shouldn’t really fucking matter. Nobody is fucking created that equal because the little cunts just put out so much better than worthless bastards with their worthless sausages that take so long to climax and only climax fucking once. It just doesn’t fucking work. Agile little girls and toys brings about pleasure faster and in a nonstop sort of fashion and shit.
One 22 year old is about to go fucking insane if she doesn’t find another quick relationship. The most recent one just got tired of the experiment or was it—was she not fast enough this time? Has her creation of this kind of fucking thing to be the new social norm or some shit affected her speed? Fuck. Goddammit. Nothing fucking works properly in this world after all. She will have to fucking locate another fucking cunt that really is ready and willing to fuck and lacks the experience and can make it all so fucking fast.
The vomit from drinking too much a fucking gain will have to be cleared away with just the right fucking amount of perfume. Too much is fucking obnoxious. Not enough is just fucking too fucking rancid. Fucking things would work better if the fucking liver was better at its fucking job. It just needs to be fucking miserable enough to fucking process enough of the fucking ethanol, but should fucking just find a way to go in to overdrive when it is fucking going to make a person fucking sick. It is a fucking liver, not a fucking die er… Shit.
This 22 year old is going to fucking have a good day like everyday. So far no arrests, and another adventure in this bright and wonderful fucking world is ready to fucking go ahead and be had.
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I awaken on the floor in my room on a pile of beer bottles. Reality always feels like a cruel joke to me and any escape from it is a wonderful thing. Or you could just assume I enjoy a quick life with overindulgent thrills, and do not worry about something petty like consequences. My subconscious always screams at me in such a manner that it is a wonder that I can enjoy any rational thought at all.
I go ahead and brush my teeth with a warm, savory Black and Mild. I get up to go enjoy a wonderful day when I notice that shit…it is still night outside. I’m feeling adventurous today (that is right, my day begins every time I wake up, not by the actual time of day) so I grab my flashlight and head outside. An abnormal sight greets me. There is something on my lawn. I shine the flashlight on it. I notice a coat hanger. Something is amiss with this coat hanger. Eyes are staring at me from afar. The only problem is they have no body. As the haze of first waking up wears off I realize this is real. My lawn really is stained in crimson and there are definitely the remains of someone scattered about.
Now the normal action would be to go ahead and call the police, but, unfortunately, I do not live at ‘my’ house, so I just decide to follow the trail and solve the mystery myself. Judging by the footprints on my lawn, I’ll just continue in the direction of travel of whom I hope is the assailant and not the corpse (following the corpse’s footprints won’t help me, I already found him).
These suburbs are always so peaceful at night. It is apparently early enough in the morning because I cannot spy a single light in these neighborhoods that is on. I will just enjoy the cool nighttime air as I continue my journey. Whether or not I actually uncover anything is completely insignificant to me. Just going on the adventure is enough to keep me content.
I notice in the distance a light that is still on. So somebody in this neighborhood actually enjoys the nightlife. I hope it is a youthful delinquent. Sometimes I do feel like my lust gets the best of me. As I approach the house I do not notice anybody hanging around outside. I suppose I lost the trail entirely. No matter; this house with the one light still on is what interests me now. I will proceed forth and gaze upon the opportunity before me.
Perfect, it appears to be a little girl, only slightly ripened, certainly the object of my desire. I could not have stumbled onto a more perfect opportunity. Not bashful at all, I go ahead right to the window. She stares at me, no, through me. She is acting like I’m not here.
There we go, now she sees me.
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The dreary night drags on. It only gets darker; all glimmers of hope recede to failure. Hopelessness just yields more and more depravity. This world should be doomed. This world was doomed. This world will be damned.
A girl is running through a field. What exactly she is running from remains to be answered. Is she running from life? Death? Responsibility? One can only ponder what is to come in this world of unending misery and deepening tragedy. Perhaps this girl is the only one who can see clearly, but her delusion prevents her from taking the right action, actions that could prevent destruction.
A field is moving beneath a girl’s feet. Why she is running is insignificant. She is running because running is all someone that is misguided can do. Proper visualization of the events about to transpire will most likely be improbable.
Tears stream down a girl’s face. Are they tears of happiness, tears of defeat, tears of terror? The mysteries in life can easily cloud one’s judgment. At the same time, the certainties in life can do the same. Is the loss the end? Is it the beginning? Or does it not really matter one way or the other? Questions race through the mind. Questions. Always questions.
A wind is to be noted. It is the wind of change. A girl currently embraces the wind, riding onward to the unknown. To the adventurer, logic is for cowards. It is venom straight from the snake of excitement. It makes the delusional seem rational, and is a gateway to unending ecstasy.
Certainly delusion could allow a pathway for malevolent forces to follow, but uncertainty eventual yields to certainty and can make the delusional be the only ones who are not insane. Rather than continuing down the same path in life expecting a different result, they go ahead and take some risks just to do something different; they might just want to stand out or perhaps they are rolling the dice that are built to reset the world.
A girl is trapped in delusion. She has fallen in so deep, she does not even know the way out. Perhaps a good choice will fall from the sky and be given to her. Or she already knows the answer but is unable to take action in her current state. She will do anything to shorten delirium, but at the same time she was the one that brought about delirium. She will be impressionable beyond the normal, or perhaps she was always that way. Maybe the only conscious decision is being made, even if it is being made unconsciously.
What is the difference between an unconscious desire and a subconscious desire? Well, an unconscious desire is a brainstem desire, and a subconscious desire is a deep-rooted desire that may agree with or is contrary to a conscious desire, such as a sinner that wants to be a savior.
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I slam the window on a life of solitude when a life of accompaniment is offered. Moreover, I just cannot find a way to say no when a person wants to get in. I allow this stranger desiring access within my room. This will certainly beat counting ceiling tiles.
This stranger slams me against the wall. “What is your name?” she inquires. Her lips meet mine and I find myself unable to push her away. Her power seems overwhelming for somebody that appears only about 13 years old. At 19, I wonder why I am having such a struggle. Is it a side effect from my abuse, or am I weak, or is she older than she looks?
She is driving me through the motions like I have never done this before. She thinks I am younger than I look?
“What are you doing there?!” a voice beckons. “So you are another of the apostles of destruction! This world has seen far to many of your kind. On behalf of Apollo, I am heaven’s messenger here to deal the light of his hammer with this indestructible blade. I will completely ignite your flesh, and separate the devil from your soul. My deepest apologies, for this will hurt worse than the raging fires of hell itself,” is uttered before either of us can respond.
It seems this lunatic means business. I want to run, but cannot muster the drive to actually do it. My vision gets all hazy. Spiders creep from the corners of my vision. Not now. This is really not what I need. Whenever this ends, I will consider never doing it again.
My other just ignores him and continues making out. Is this her way of giving a long kiss goodbye? Is she not going to try to escape with me, to live another day? I am hoping for the best, but am expecting the worst.
Unbelievable pain envelops me as a machete pierces my newfound lover and me. It continues like I would never believe. When I would just like to drop dead, he goes ahead and holds us up and plunges it through us again and again. The worst part is he is doing it with a smile on his face. I finally feel like I’m fading away. Took long enough.
If this is death, then death is not very bad; more people should try it.
I awaken in a field. Am I not dead? I see my ‘lover’, but cannot see the insane guy anywhere. “Where is the killer?” I ask.
“And to think I considered you finally coherent,” she responded.
“I am fairly certain I’m fully conscious now, can you help me separate illusion from reality?”
“I asked if you wanted to come to this special place of mine, this park. You agreed. What do you mean killer?”
“Didn’t we get attacked?”
“All delusion.”
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A boy with a torn soul watches the world go by. He is the most solely distraught child in all existence. He grew to enjoy every bit of sadism. He fed his dog poison just to watch it writhe in pain and ultimately come to its end. He took a kitchen knife and put multiple slits in his cat just to watch it slowly bleed out. He even snuck arsenic into his family’s food and just pretended to not be hungry to just watch them suffer, and sneak a meal late at night to keep the thing going. It went until they all passed away. Then he made sure to sneak away, as not to become a foster child. His sister, whom also decided, perhaps via divine intervention, not to be hungry, was not as fortunate as to be able to escape into a life of freedom and became part of the foster system.
This boy decided to take on the cloak of a true demon and make everybody suffer. All humanity should bow before him and slowly wither. Inescapable oblivion should be humanity’s bliss.
Unending crimson emit from this child’s memories. That which was living was to die. That which died, died too soon. That which was in a state between life and death, fucking awesome. Nothing but twisted reality, mere insanity, for the likes of a twisted world such as this.
The world was born of insanity. Nothing of it ever made much in the way of sense. One would think that a continuation of the same thing would yield the same result, but just as the world did not hold this true, the darkened child did not believe this either. Repeat the same action long enough and a different action will begin the new actuality. When the same action or event is repeated several, or numerous times, things just begin or start to change or reform.
Redundancy for eternity, a multitude of changes that are not quite right, even for a person who much enjoys such reform, will be, and was such a curse for this darkened child.
Streams of tears are what this child should have shed, not one bit of compassion existed within his soul. This world is meant to die; this world is meant to not exist; this world is meant to be extinguished. From all creation we shall exeunt.
Benevolence is too kind, extreme malevolence is not far enough, only the darkest, most horrid atrocities, those acts for which even an angel would for an eternity repent, seemed even remotely suitable for this darkened child.
He was justice.
He is justice.
He will be justice.
All that is potentially right and actually wrong, now was the time to be judged.
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I do not belong in this world. I cannot believe I fucking let that girl live. A nice slow rape, I had her strapped to a tree, I had intended to slit her wrists and return her to nature. Earlier today I made sure to catch a squirrel and take it to the Laundromat. For such an insignificant sum, that which could be found upon the ground, which was yet indiscernible by nature, could be brought forth into the machine, along with said squirrel, to yield such pleasure, usher in a whole new era of euphoria, only to be taken away when a cop stops in and gives me a dirty look.
Attempt to take me in dirty pig. I will ensure that you end up as a fucking pig in a blanket.
I made sure to surrender immediately. The upside to this whole event was this was a female cop. Special means must be taken when these wonderful things are experienced. As she proceeded to ever so gently place me in the squad car I made sure to take extra care in being really quick and ferocious in throwing her in there with me and gagging her. When this important step was completed I made sure to take a short drive to the local park to have part of the best day of my life. Along the way to the park in this rural, quaint little town, I crossed a bridge. On the middle of this bridge there was a girl, crying. The wind whipped through her hair in a direction toward the edge of the bridge as I watched her migrate in that direction. If only that fucking cunt would hurry up I would have 2 shows in one night, such a wonderful event. Unfortunately this didn’t seem to come to fruition as I noticed another person walking up to the girl as the squad car was finishing its journey across said bridge.
In the park I took the usual measures. I gently slit one of her wrists. I undid her gag slightly to hear her moan. I immediately began humping every orifice on her person working my way down to her vagina. By this point she was barely conscious. I made sure to slap her extra hard, which wasn’t enough, followed by a brutal punch (bitch stay awake).
As she grew weak I made sure to inject much cum into her mouth (being that she was far too weak to bite down with any more force than that which was required to pleasure me), and it seems, in her weakened state, taking on all my amazing manliness, she decided to expire. ‘Bitch, why the fuck would you leave me like that. I fucking loved you; well, I was fucking loving you.
Following my current activity as the named serial killer that I was, I made sure to hang the same pendant that I would hang on all of my female victims. This pendant bore the o so important title of the first bitch that rubbed me the wrong way—Justice.
She was justice, I am justice.
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A proper world once existed. It was a proper world that didn’t require an individual to get wasted about every fucking day, or even half-day on those o so common occasions. It was a nice world, a world of the past, a reminiscence that anybody would wish was one that just wouldn’t end.
It was the moment of reality that should just always fucking be. For the most part, everyone in this reality, actuality?, just wants to get fucked. For those that weren’t fucking tough enough, or fucking sexy enough, or fuck, just weren’t this individual, nothing fucking mattered.
These were days of the fucking clouded mind. But then again, what weren’t days of the fucking clouded fucking mind? A fucking thought is a fucking thought and what does it really matter if anybody has a fucking thought or fucking not?
This girl of dreams was having a wonderful fucking time under this fucking tree in this fucking dream that shouldn’t just be a fucking memory but should have lasted for eternity. Then the fucking disaster just had to go and fucking happen.
It was a darkened child, a darkened boy, which dragged this whole world down for this fucking girl of fucking destiny, this—Justice. She was going to have quite the adventure today, even if it wasn’t quite the adventure she would expect.
It was the kind of adventure that would totally fucking change every aspect of this fucking girl’s fucking life. It was one of those moment that was just fucking required, granted, it was fucking great, but, on the flipside it was also really fucking poor.
On another fucking note, this was the defining moment that would definitely fucking begin fucking Justice’s fucking adult fucking life. It was one of those moments that fucking absolutely would just have to fucking be fucking remembered.
People all grow up at different fucking paces. It could fucking just so happen that a certain fucking assailant would never fucking need to fucking grow up. It is through this one fateful fucking day that every fucking thing is going to fucking change in such a fucking way that nothing would ever feel quite so fucking right ever a fucking gain.
It was one of those days that would just cause all these rants and get Justice so riled up about someone else who would want to be justice under false truths that have absolutely nothing to fucking do with justice.
He has nothing to do with justice.
She is justice.
She is fucking Justice.
Seriously, Justice.
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I slapped some sense into my assailant. Or perhaps it was nonsense. It doesn’t matter as long as I live on.
“I am Justice therefore you cannot be justice,” these were the grounds that I defended my life on.
I noted bandages being tied around the spot near my wrist that he didn’t even fully slit. I still felt my vision growing heavy and the current world at this time was far too much a burden and I had no choice but to pass out…
I came to in a world which wanted me as much as I wanted it—not very quickly or excitedly. Unfortunately for both the world and me it was time to move about. I was wide-awake, and I really wanted to find this ex-lover, definitely the last male lover I would ever consider having. Really, to even consider him a lover?
In this small town I wandered searching for him and came upon a bridge. At the center of this bridge stood a girl. A wind seemed to be coercing her toward an edge of this bridge. Perhaps I survived as to have my own destiny presented to me to prevent her from proceeding any further toward the edge.
As I approached the girl a police car passed by in what seemed like quite a hurry in a small town like this. It was definitely my destiny to help the girl, since the squad car went ahead and cleared the bridge at such a pace that I doubt that the occupants would be able to identify me or the soon to be potential corpse.
Before she took that great leap to eternity, I made sure to hold her in the most perfect position. 77, spoons, cuddling, yes this was the way to prevent her from taking the plunge, and it felt so perfect. She seemed a young teen and it was my role to make sure she would live to be an old teen.
“Before you permanently end your as of now really short existence, you should note that there is nothing in this world worth killing yourself over. At the same time, there is nothing in this world worth dieing over,” I noted.
She did nothing but sob and this made me want to hold her closely, ever so closely, but in no way did I actually want to take advantage of her. As she settled down, I figured the only proper thing to do was to bid her ado, and, at the same time, make sure to be discrete and follow her carefully, as not to be seen and see what her life is like outside of wanting to kill herself.
It seems this chick was able to stop sobbing and found her way to a house of many loving family members. Before entering she turned and ran up to ME, and spouted, “This house is a foster house, before knocking on death’s door, Justice, be mindful of mankind’s pain and wary of all human beings.”
So she saw my necklace.
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It was a dreary night. It was the kind of night that coerced anybody to just go about in it and find their way out, or at the very least attempt to do so in this cold, dark world that just doesn’t have a way of making things go the way they should. It was the kind of night that makes us ponder why we even exist in the first place. Perhaps we are only living to die. We couldn’t be living to continue to live on; if this were the case, every night would not be a dreary night since that event of further past that started the endless sequence of dreary nights.
A little girl sits alone in a valley, surrounded by a wasteland of unending depravity. Without her existence, the world would keep spinning; with her existence, the world would keep spinning. It seemed that nobody wanted anything to do with her. It seemed that nobody would believe her; under no circumstance, should any benevolent individual, allow to let manifest within their psyche, any malevolent impulses; under no circumstance, should this said individual, even given hellish torment, ever take action from these malevolent impulses, even under the circumstance under which it would be the only way to guarantee self preservation. These were the circumstances that befell this poor soul.
Causality must operate in a universal fashion such that effect truly precedes cause, such that the individuals within this universe must just follow along a causal pathway that leads to predetermined effect.
Being in this mental valley, even heading to the nearest bridge, and desiring to experience thereafter, this world does not desire this girl’s absence, and something will most certainly occur to keep this girl alive, for this valley does not have any apparent establishments to allow for self-annihilation.
A wind of change approaches this young one. Causality just might operate in such a desire that cause precedes effect. The girl will desire to jump, but someone will make a decision to prevent that from happening.
Either scenario, this wind is far too strong, yet not strong enough to be the wind that will allow for travel to thereafter. The most it could accomplish is to level out these mountains, effectively ending this desolate and uncanny valley of mental misdevelopment, and allow this girl to hopefully find a way to end all the dreary nights.
A wind will guide this spirit for many ages to come.
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I sat in my room staring at the ceiling. Should I count the tiles? If not for the fact that I already knew there were 32 because I counted them already, I gladly would have considered giving them yet another count. Perhaps there were 33. No. That wouldn’t work. 33 is an odd number so perhaps it was 34. No. 34 is too many.
I did everything I could to drown out the previous atrocities that were commit on me, and the following atrocities that I was forced to commit, but nothing was working and the chilling memories would always find a way to leak through.
I decided I would take a walk down to the old town bridge and make a decision on where to travel with my life and what would become of it. Overwhelming sadness flooded my mind, and tears had no choice but to start streaming down my face.
Life felt like a tear in reality where the elements of some dark, sadistic fantasy would just flow through endlessly, which made me end up at the old bridge sooner than I ever would have anticipated. I decide I will spend some time at the middle of this bridge. Or has it already been decided? A dark wind was blowing toward one end of the bridge, so I decided I will give in to this coercion, however meager that it was.
As I made my way toward the edge, the police seemed disinterested, and just went ahead by. It seemed to me when I took a glance at the squad car, even through my thick tears, that something was amiss. Unfortunately, I have my own problems in this world to overcome so I will make haste toward my conclusion.
I make my way to the edge and prepare to make the leap but cannot go through at the moment. Emotion again overwhelms me, and I decide that, if nobody stops me in the next minute, I’ll go ahead and take the plunge. As I prepare for travel to thereafter, I reminisce on the happier days that were once had, days before the awkwardly early conclusion of my real family, days before my rape by that most evil of men.
Through my tears I decided to overcome all psychological obstacles and take the plunge. The wind that overcame me as I leapt felt surreal. It was like I was there but not there, like I somehow lapsed from actuality to a temporary land of fiction. The ground approached at a rate that seemed to take an eternity…
I came to in front of a beautiful girl in front of my house. I would have to make sure to inquire as to whether I actually made the leap. I made sure to consider but a feeling to reject outsiders compelled me. Not obeying my own mind I asked anyway. “Did I make the leap? Am I actually dead? Or did you somehow save me?”
She simply responded, “Delusion. You had fallen into tears in your own psychological reality. Nothing fucking more.”
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Our hero remembers his birth. Spawned from an act of darkness, such wretchedness that was brought forth by a being of pure evil. Perhaps he was important however, for he gave our hero a reason to exist.
This world needs heroes. Bur our hero already remembers being a hero now. Things are quite perplexing in these old moments. He almost feels like he is standing on one of those waterslides in a theme park that splits off at the top; one of those rides where you can choose from 2 or more possible slides that you can ride down. This seems to be a junction in our hero’s life. His creation.
One man’s trash is definitely another man’s treasure. A nearly discarded body with a soul that needs repair. This was the opportunity that was presented. Our hero, being clearly altruistic, had to debate before deciding to take such a plunge.
One good flat line was definitely a good opportunity to realize this was definitely his calling. This other soul clearly needed repair, and his notice of this soul was most certainly not coincidence.
A mind spirals out of control and feels to be on the verge of insanity. What is wrong with this world? What is the reason to be? For what reason should anybody die? At the same time, what is death? Is it the end? Is it the only way out? Could it be the beginning? A vivid world was displayed, multiple colors of light being shot forth, dissipating any old memories, creating new agendas that never seemed to make sense at first. Or they did? They did not? Questions raced through this mind. Questions. So many questions. So many questions that would go without answers were seemingly increasing with every passing second. It was making it really hard to keep a grip. For what reason was there to hold on? Again with the question. Why so many questions?
Our hero saw much work that needed to be done. This definitely would not be an easy thing to do. This hero felt much pain. This hero seemed to want justice.
Was our hero justice? Was our hero justice? Was our hero going to become justice? Was our hero already justice? Would all these raging questions bring forth justice?
A mind is about to crash. For all reasons, seeing that this world is coming to an end, it was wonderful. It is wonderful. It is just from this point on that such wonder can no longer be seen. There is no more benevolence that will come forth from mankind. This is an age that needs repair. This is an age that needs justice. I am justice.
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I awaken in such a confused state.
“Where am I?”, I beckoned to whomever I would see when my vision cleared.
“You are in a hospital, said a law enforcement officer. The justice killer really seemed to do a number on you. Or at least we are assuming it was the justice killer. The necklace placed on your body and epithelial data from your lips taken 2 weeks ago matches this guy.”
My mind felt like it was slipping away from me. It felt like I had too many minds in 1 body.
“Are you okay, Lisa,” said the officer.
Lisa? You are justice. Fuck this guy up and let’s get out of here right now.
My body felt out of my control. I was amazed that, just out of my coma and with so many little things hooked to me, I sprung to my feet so quickly and was detached from everything, and immediately found my hand around this officer’s throat. He was giving me a really scared, pale look, and I had no way of stopping. It seemed as time progressed my grip got tighter and tighter.
I decided to relax my grip, but was surprised by what the officer had to say. “Of this soul I have consumed every morsel; messenger of eternity do your worst, for I have nothing left in this world to fear.” Without any thought I seemed to immediately grab his handgun and fire it into his chest. Even though he appeared dead from this, I fired it into his face. These actions that were commit on impulse still felt insane to me. It feels like hell on earth to have your body snatched away from you and to act in such ways without your permission.
As I made my escape from the hospital, I felt my mind and body feel as they were both slipping away from me. I already had no control. Now though, I felt like I had no say. My body would not respond to any of my signals.
I found myself coming upon a pawnshop. “How much for this saber?”, I asked.
“That is not a saber,” is what he said, as I jumped across the counter, grabbed the saber, and embedded it into his skull. “It takes more than that to end us, bringer of light”, said the daemon, as it struggled to maintain its grip over this tortured soul. Apparently to free this soul from the misery of the daemon, I must eviscerate. I took pride in this, for I am now justice.
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A boy reminisces. A boy thinks back to the days where he would end his dreams of being normal and become the ultimate sadist. First blood that would complete his transformation must not be the blood of death, but the blood of life.
He could not take his eyes off this beauty so close to him. She would always avert her gaze, a guise, perhaps a clever ruse, to attempt to manipulate him in such a way to get him to do the same. For her, these seemed to be fun loving days, where reality seemed to be an escape from reality.
Humans do not deserve the pleasure in finding ecstasy in ordinary reality. It was this boy’s opportunity to play the requiem of torment, an inaudible melody of human discontent and envy that leads to much disappointment and societal scorn.
Humans are merely God’s marionettes. They are those that go ahead and bend to His will. They are those that are not supposed to sin, yet if He desires, will sin uncontrollably. Perhaps this is just a way to establish equilibrium, multiple individuals misgivings and personal demons will give forth a wind to counter act other individuals care freeness and social bliss, to create a vehement torrent of complete neutrality.
This boy prepares to engage in taboo, only to create a better world, a step toward utopia, a step that is intended to create a golden age. This boy wants to do something so dark and heinous in order to recreate himself as a messenger of god’s image. To deflower always sounds like such a vile act, but it is a beautiful act, it is a violent beginning, while, at the same time a pleasant beginning to take place with moans of sinful, unforgivable ecstasy, a victim of taboo that does not want to be in this situation, but just cannot find anyway to not enjoy this situation, even though it will ultimately drive her to a darkened world of horrendous delusion, a bleak world where nothing exciting happens.
Rain fills this landscape of potential hopelessness. It is as if god himself were crying, weeping, but in a manner as to not ascertain if he wants these events to occur, or as a sorrowful deity who wants only the best for all of his inhabitants that surely does not want these unforgivable sins to unfold. Clearly an omnipotent, omniscient, and omnibenevolent being would not desire these events to occur and would simply not allow them transpire. It is with this knowledge that it is certain that god does not exist. Only justice is right for this world. This darkening child is clearly justice. He is the bringer of balance.
In his mind, at this current time, he believes he could become better than god.
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I looked for opportunity to fuck. Sister is trying her best to play keep away; there is nothing that can keep her from me in this house that currently operates without parents. They feel at a loss at how to deal with these pseudochildren, these demons, nothing as forgivable as a daemon, but a low down, filthy, godless creature, demon. They decided on a day of travel to get away from their own hell spawn. He knew it was a day because he was the second man of the house, although they did not trust him at all, they entrusted him to look over the house in their absence. It was just as this girl would grow to know, that nobody actually cares about how she thinks, she just gets where she gets by her looks. At such a young age, it is a special, undeveloped kind of gorgeous. It is a sexy look, as she runs from him in mere shorts and an undershirt. A 12-year-old beauty.
This was something that he would just have to wreck himself. He finally came upon her and thrust her to the ground. He immediately leapt on top. He thrust in and out vigorously, making sure to make her bleed, deflower this virgin sibling, make her writhe, orgasm and moan for the first time, a moan of pleasure, although also a moan of defeat, as surely her mind does not want her to be in this place at this time, receiving it like this from her brother. It is a seed of evil that is being planted, and at the same time, an evil seed has fully grown in my mind. I am now a proper sadist. I find pleasure in the misery of others. It is only a matter of time until I kill.
I reach climax and she just looks fucking perfect. This little cunt sister of mine should really just fucking die right here and right now. She has no reason to live any longer; she has received god’s seed after all.
To my dismay, I feel much pain after this climax. The little bitch! She grabbed a paring knife and was having at it on my testicles. I had no choice but to cry out and I wanted to fucking punch her so much at this point. Perhaps this punishment was just what I needed, and I should just ignore it. I had no choice but to shrug off the pain. If I could bear it, I would be the greater character in my parents’ weak view set, a crying sister with no sign of injury they wouldn’t even bother to believe. My only action was to knock away the knife and grab a towel to wipe away blood and semen from her. She was too overcome with emotion at this point to even consider stopping me.
Our parents arrived home and it was just as I had expected. She cried and wanted them to call the police, but they would not believe her, and for some reason she was too forgiving a soul to do it herself, and she had no choice at this point but to be thrown into endless despair.
Everyday she would give me a strange glare, as if she were watching humanity be released from my soul. She would just be the silent observer, knowing of my malicious intent, and avoiding confrontation with me or any of my solutions to everything that is wrong with this world.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////
It was a pleasant day. It was the kind of day that you would just want to drag on forever and ever and ever. It was one of those days that just shouldn’t end. For some reason, storm clouds were brewing in the distance.
A girl plays about, oblivious. She is clearly at this point psychologically delirious, ready to avoid any mental confrontation, and unwilling to acknowledge that anything troublesome could ever occur.
It was a perfect world, one that functioned in just the right manner. Nothing could go wrong. Nothing could harm this world. No harm, even when occurring, could ever penetrate this shell of bliss and unending ecstasy.
A young girl is standing in a meadow. Everything is bright and vibrant; the local environs make plenty of audio to distract this child from the thunderheads of incoming depravity. The sole peace just cannot be broken by that which by no means should be breaking the peace to begin with.
This eternal bliss will never end. Nothing but days of sunshine and complete universal benevolence will follow. These are the young years after all. Anything is possible and possibility is just a psychological barrier to future omniscience. Nothing should get in the way of a pleasant time such as this when family trusts their youth so much that they go ahead and leave for trips, leaving these children to care for themselves, tasks easily handled by the most pleasant of children.
A pleasant breeze brushes against this girl. It tells her to do as she pleases and that anything is possible, short of miracles. Perhaps even miracles are possible since nothing wrong can possibly happen in this world.
A violent breeze presses against this girl. Even when doing whatever is right, it should not be forgotten that proper exercise should not go by the wayside. It is a good day to run about and be carefree and bask in this world’s unending supply of bliss.
Terror is beginning to destabilize reality. This is unimportant, however, in a world of never ending play and nonstop excitement. The only true concerns are to wonder what next exciting event is about to come about in this world, and how this little girl can be a part of it. To those of the world with no concerns, it is indeed perfect.
This world cannot fail.
It is indeed perfect.
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I run about the house in a game of keep away. I am keeping myself away from my older brother. He is so kind a soul, my sole protector, he keeps me sane. He is a protector of my reality. We get along so well, and are such simple people, that our parents can go on really long trips and leave us behind with no sitter.
Brother says they are just escaping from us. I argue that they are just letting us be adult, and are merely granting us our freedom in this bright, huge, new world. I believe it is my light that keeps brother from falling into the darkness.
Brother just wants to lounge around most of the time, but today he is most active. Typically, he just gets bored after a minute and just lounges on the couch. This time he is all in on this game. I dart all about the house, and he is all about keeping on the trail. This is most exciting.
It seems today that his vigor is so great that he easily catches up with me. I giggle as he has caught me. I wonder what will happen next, as he never typically even has the energy to catch me.
His hands seem to be reaching around as on occasion they cup around my tiny breasts. This must be coincidence, as I know him to be the caring soul that would never harm a fly. I grow a bit concerned as this continues. I decide to take initiative and push the hands away.
They do leave my chest, but I note them flying south and soon enough they are playing with my panties. Something seems amiss. He should really not be reaching down here in such a manner as this. This is simply not him. I give up on this battle and assume this is a new game of his. He grabs hold of my panties firmly, and pulls them all the way down…
My heart skips a beat as he pulls his own pants down. I’ve never seen my bro’s full-grown manliness before. This just feels wrong. Brother world certainly not do something as grotesque as to consider pleasuring himself on me.
My discontent builds when it is apparent he is entering and receding from me. My discontent somehow gives way to euphoria and I am confused. My mind wants nothing to do with this endeavor. For some reason, my body is perfectly okay with this transgression. It seems that psychological forbidden fruit, societal taboo, could indeed be physiological indulgence, perfection that just doesn’t belong, but in the end could just be right.
No, this is not right. This is giving way to a dreary night, the kind of thing of which I do not desire to be a part.
After many regrettable actions, he separates from me. At this point, I realize I am the minor character in my elders’ play, and the only escape I have from this wretched world is within my own mind, my own newly built depravity, a world so dark that no person would ever want to enter. This is the only way to keep the world out and allow me to move forward.
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The fucking world at this fucking point in fucking time is nothing more than a fucking blur. A young lady at 15 stares down fucking infinity with not much fucking more of a fucking intellect than fucking would fucking be expected for a fucking 15 fucking year fucking old drifter, that fucking has no better fucking plan in life than to fucking get fucked up every fucking day and only fucking lives to see how much more fucking fucked up this worthless fucking, miserable fucking, godless fucking world can fucking get.
This fucking girl just fucking wants to find a fucking place to go ahead and fucking fit in but the fucking stupid fucking world has better plans to go ahead and fuck with her. She is fucking alone in this fucking world, the only fucking beacon of fucking hope that fucking arrives, are some random fucking foster fucking parents that seem to fucking care so fucking much, but seem to be finding a fucking way of fucking abandoning a fucking family that they need to fucking find a way to fucking save. They have fucking found their fucking way to this abandoned fucking property to fucking see a fucking 15-year-old delinquent alcoholic, fucking sex crazed, fucking maniac, to fucking go ahead and fucking momentarily fucking leave fucking behind their fucking loved ones that they are fucking practically fucking crying their fucking eyes out a fucking bout.
This teen would have fucking no better idea than to fucking die, but these fucking people are going to give fucking attention and fucking care and probably fucking save her, when she has no right to even any fucking longer even fucking consider this fucking existence. Especially, after she fucking gets so fucking wasted, such that nothing fucking even makes any fucking sense and she just wants to fucking die and she fucking can’t find fucking anyone to fucking make it with in this fucking mess of a fucking world.
These fucking people seem to fucking love her even though they will not fucking adopt her; perhaps she is too much of a fucking delinquent. She is too fucking much of a fucking mess to handle and can’t possibly understand how to fucking do a single fucking task in this fucking world fucking properly. This fucking girl looks fucking forward to better fucking days and hopes that these fucking parents can guide their own fucking spawn fucking forward such that she and such spawn could fucking find a fucking future together, in order to fucking continue on in this fucking world where nothing fucking exciting ever fucking happens.
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I awoke to 2 very caring individuals. I am glad they found their way to the forsaken property, for my mind is considering tearing itself apart. These foster parents can’t afford to take me in, but, at the very least, they can afford to travel down on occasion, and make sure that I am doing all right, and am still alive.
We had a very long conversation this day. The parents seemed to worry that their kids were traveling down a path to darkness. I consoled them with the simple fact that, with no direction at all, I had been traveling down a path toward self-preservation, although half-heartedly in this room on the abandoned property full of beer bottles. At this moment, they kindly decided to part with another 30000 dollars.
All this money has been keeping me going, and I am grateful. I hope that everything that is going on in their home life works itself out, not just for the money, but for the accompaniment from these wonderful people, whom wanted nothing but the best from me in my miserable life.
I would have to debate how miserable my life could be with these people around to support me, well at least throw capital at my cause. They seemed to deliver just the right amount of kindness at me to keep me going. If not for this kindness, I would have abandoned humanity, and become some sort of monster unfit for any human attention.
These people would join me on these nights, look at me in a miserable sort of way at first, and then would decide to go ahead and get wasted with me thereafter.
In the world of the insane drunk and the constant worrier, tomorrow is thereafter, and thereafter typically does not signify death, but a new beginning in a world that doesn’t necessarily fit the individual that did or did not choose this new life.
These 2 got drunker than usual tonight, hell, they got drunker than me, which signified they were clearly losing more touch with their kids at home. When it is realized that nothing special defines a foster parent beyond that of a normal parent, and the special genetic bond is missing, it can surely stunt development for all those except children like me who look forward to a visit from people like these foster parents. These people are my beacon of hope even if I do not live under their roof or their rules. It just makes me feel badly that I have clearly succumbed at such an early point in this life to alcohol abuse.
It clouds my judgment everyday, although I kind of wish it actually clears my judgment as to one day be able to join the ranks of functional society and not continue to exist as a mere sponge that has nothing better to do than to get fucked up and watch the current world go by and wish that I were in another world that was not this world.
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A boy stands staring into the gates of hell. This world was not meant for him; only in the eternal torment of others could he ever possibly find bliss. He was entrusted to the family car, an opportunity that he took to find as many hitchhikers as possible. So many ignorant souls all bearing worthless fucking tales that just did not matter at all. Hell, if one of these miserable sacks of shit would have a story that made any sense and wasn’t just a ploy to obtain capital, perhaps he would not have to dispense justice. This was just the way things were.
He was justice. He is justice. He had ascended beyond justice. So many of these lost souls had such great desire for resources, that they would not even check their surroundings. Our boy of justice kept a nasty large chef knife in the center console. Every single one of these miserable beggars would at some point desire a hand out. This clever boy would always just invite them to stick out their hand. After reaching forth, they would always give such a fucking humorous, miserable expression. He would always cut so far and quickly as to half way cut off their hands.
What use were these hands anyway? These useless individuals wouldn’t even know how to use their hands even when faced with death. This boy should know; he dispensed justice on a weekly basis.
None of the male victims were ever as exciting as the female victims. Although he would never discriminate in his dispense of justice, he would never thoroughly enjoy killing the men. There was just no sexual pleasure in them. He only enjoyed watching them die just to have them be gone from the world, and give him less distractions for the women of the world he wished to watch be destroyed slowly.
The boy’s hellward stares were only meant to bring more hell to him. Beyond being justice, he was also darkness. Such a deep darkness enveloped him. Rather than seeing a person and wanting to note the wonderful day it was, he would instead wonder why they were still breathing and why he hadn’t yet done anything about it. When this world is slowly dieing anyway, why not assist in bringing about its denizens’ demise. This world was not meant to be inhabited by anybody but the wicked. This world needed justice.
He was justice.
He is justice.
He will forever be justice.
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It was another twisted day. So many happy souls went about their happy business and thought of happy things and happy futures. I just wished that tamper evident seals were not invented so I could add adding arsenic or potassium cyanide to the local grocers’ food supply to my list of necessary errands.
My family was slowly withering. I had been entrusted with the duty of preparing this family all of its delicious meals. This was a duty that I had earned after having previously been accused of having raped her. Such silliness comes from this child. Who could take that argument seriously with a clever, charismatic fellow like me being around to take care of her? I offered to cook these delicious dishes to prove that I was not the type of lazy, irresponsible, and socially awkward cretin that would fall to such disgrace as to commit the societal grand treason of deflowering one’s own sister. I was already a master at words; I showed no need to socially convalesce.
My parents were gradually getting sicker and sicker thanks to a healthy dose of arsenic with every meal. Unfortunately, my sister was not growing any weaker from these meals; it almost seemed like she was skipping out on them. This horrible reaction to my culinary prowess made it difficult for me to sustain a proper erection. Watching her slowly die would have given me such grand pleasure. I would have taken so much pleasure as to watch her slowly bring her hand to her bosom, give out weakened gasps for this world’s air, and draw her last breath. I would certainly have climaxed at this moment, and been able to ejaculate over her freshly expired being, such a perfect expiration, and such a perfect corpse. I would have to ogle her tight little short shorts, her sexy little A-cup, and that yearning, orgasmic expression that wonders why this world took away so much so soon, and why the world can no longer be enjoyed.
One night the old folks finally expired. It wasn’t quite the death that I would have wanted, they just kind of keeled over on the couch. As I had suspected, my sister was perfectly fine. She immediately called the police, and this was unfortunately the one time I had to be calm and not do anything rash. If only she hadn’t made the call, I seriously would have taken her to the ground, beat her just a few times and then cum all up in her mouth. I would wish this would choke her, then when that fails I would actually go ahead and choke her, and bask in the ecstasy of watching her slowly expire.
Unfortunately, I just got to talk to the officer that identified herself simply as Lisa. She was apparently a detective. She was actually very attractive, definitely game to be one of my victims someday; I just needed to make sure that my story made me sound innocent. I even went to lengths slowly poisoning random drifters, such that I would find the perfect dosing to be able to use up my batch. I even hid the tablets themselves in an unused drawer in my parent’s bedroom, to make at seem that, even if the deaths were premature and the tablets were found, that the parents had dosed themselves up in order to commit suicide (I am no fool, the coroner will find out about arsenic anyway). It was perfect though, no tablets remained and the investigators were puzzled. The only downside was that the authorities questioned my sister in my absence, and as such, for reasons I will never uncover, she did not want to be a part of a family unit with me. Seriously, I was old enough to be her legal guardian, and I am a perfect protector. Come on, I am justice.
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It was a dreary night. It was the kind of night that should have never begun in the first place. It was the kind a night dark enough to envelop all the inhabitants of this creation.
This world would surely end. Whether this end would manifest unto reality or the realm of fiction was yet unknown. Chaos was all that remained; a deep tremor split the world in two. The former world was peaceful and perfect; this new world was alien and dark. The darkness seemed able to spread infinitely; there just seemed to be no end to it.
A young, fresh little rape victim stood at a bridge. It was the bridge of choice. This girl could choose a violent stand, peaceful conclusion, or a delusional mix of the two, which yielded a less than optimistic result. This world was clearly not ordained with the concept of sanctity in mind.
Delusion was leaking its way into every realm of this girl’s mind state. For what purpose existed the mind, if the mind could so easily be overrun?
This world will surely end. This end would manifest itself unto the realm of fiction. The world was always two halves to begin with; it just took a traumatic event to open the rift to take this young psychological traveler from one world to another.
This world surely ended. This end manifested itself unto the realm of reality. The world was always actually just one piece of the pie, and that piece had unfortunately not been marked to not be devoured, and, unfortunately, said piece immediately found its way to thereafter, mystically creating a parallel reality where a young girl can stare into a mirror and see a different self.
This world may or may not end. Existence teeters on the brink of insanity, and the actual insanity in existence seems to be an innumerate quantity, the kind of perplexing situation that prevents happening from occurring, the kind of conundrum that this existence connotes.
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My parents were being killed, and I was a mere bystander. I knew it was occurring, yet I was so untrusted, that I had no choice but to allow it to occur. If I were also cursed with a genetic predisposition for sadism, I probably would have taken pleasant witness to the atrocities that were to unfold. As a carefree, proper spirit that I was, these happenings were to be tragedies from which, like my horrific deflowering, I would never recover.
Unwinding my perception of proper reality, my parents blamed me for their worsening condition. They wished I were the proper daughter, the kind they said they had experienced. It seemed complete disappointment that my birth givers were unable to note the full malevolence of their first spawn, and instead made wild accusation of malicious intent of their innocent spawn.
My only escape seemed to be my ability to avoid meals by going out and about with a new acquaintance of mine. This lady was beautiful; her appearance was mesmerizing. She would invite me out for meals, and in my panicked state, I had no reason to take any other action than to happily oblige.
She informed me that if trouble were ever to come about at this address, that she was to take care of the female at this address (me). I inquired as to why she would care to care for a child similar to herself, and she just stated she was well reimbursed. If this were the case, this person must have had a pure soul, and will surely be of good character.
Every visit with this person seemed to unfortunately been met with much sorrow. It was as if a lover of hers was dieing and she was powerless to prevent it. Actually, it was like this person was being murdered. I would always inquire as to what the problem was, and she would always respond, ‘this world is unbecoming of the rich, this world is unbecoming of the poor, and this world is unbecoming of killers, KILLERS.’ She seemed to imply that she knew of my older brother’s misdeeds, but it seemed she was unwilling to prevent tragedy.
She was merely a drifter. As soon as I felt like I knew her very well, she had disappeared without me even knowing her name. She was quite the enigma, a young maternal figure that could turn my life around, yet she decides to disappear prematurely, leaving me to much darkness, leaving me to suppress unrelenting sorrow, to make me unbecome a woman, and to become nothing more than a girl, a simple girl with no goal in this world and unending delusion and no desire to succeed or become anything, a mere shadow of a proper existence, a plain homunculus, soulless entity, friendless sad-sack, belial’s marionette, a creation that was haunted beyond dreams and into reality. I remembered now she identified herself as Justice. Thinking back I remember those lip movements. It was just like my brother as he deflowered me, his silent repeated lip motions; ‘I am justice’. Did they know each other?
I awakened in a hospital. I had some kind of glucose/nutrient IV. I asked the doctor why I needed such a thing when I ate out so often with Justice. He remarked, “You were entirely malnourished. You fell into coma. The state found out your brother is the justice killer. Your creation of this Justice is mere delusion.”
Throughout time, nothing more than delusion.
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No shit ever fucking finds its fucking self going in the right fucking direction in this useless fucking world. In a house, a young woman remembers past fucking charity and wants to return the fucking favor. She overlooks a delusional fucking child. This fucking kid reminds her of somebody she perhaps knew in the distant fucking past, at least around 6 or so fucking years ago. This fucking kid seems to be lost on a fucking trip and needs all the fucking guidance she can ever fucking receive.
Just earlier that shit hit the fucking fan and nothing from this point on seems to fucking be going in the right fucking direction, but this child fucking yearns to go in an intolerable fucking direction. The events that fucking transpired were fucking tough enough for this fucking 22 year old. This fucking kid would never be fucking able to fucking understand and would never fucking be able to fucking go back to the fucking world that she once so easily fucking had.
A dangerous fucking chase is about to fucking be had in this world where at one time, nothing fucking exciting ever fucking happened. Now, there is simply too much shit going on at one time and this lady is not ready for a damn change. Life always felt fucking hard enough for just her fucking self. To have to be fucking dragging around this little fucking child just seems like a nightmare come to earth. At least this little chick is pretty fucking good looking. As she stares at this person, fucking insane memories from the insane fucking past flow through her god damned worthless fucking mind. This child looks astonishingly like the little fucking girl of those parents that made this fucking 22 year old’s fucking life fucking worthwhile with all those fucking loans that made her fucking life fucking possible. Was this the little fucking girl that she dropped off in the fucking hospital on the way to a long awaited meal that this little fucking girl could not stay fucking conscious for. This fucking child was indeed a wonderful soul, but she just found her fucking way just a little too fucking late on that fateful day and now she just seems to have probably fucking done all the wrong fucking things with her worthless fucking little life, and this 22 year old fucking lady wants to make sure that this fucking child understands that she is fucking going to need to fucking sober up in this climate of so much fucking danger approaching.
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This little girl invites me through the window. She slams the window shut behind me as if she is closing away a lonely, forgotten piece of her soul. This girl gives me looks as if she had just found a long lost friend. Thinking back, was this a long lost friend? She seems to be a bit young to be anyone that I fucking remember.
That girl finds her way into my mind. Is this girl that girl? I would just ask her. “What became of your parents?”, I asked.
“I already took the trash out to the curb,” this little girl seemed quite distraught.
If talking won’t fucking work, perhaps a little violence. I slapped her across the face. All this achieved was a confused stare. I was not prepared to give or receive another awkward exchange. Tap, tap, tap. I looked at the window to note a lady staring back at me. She was wearing a necklace; the name on the necklace was Justice.
I am Justice, how could this be? No tap but instead an explosion as a machete pierces the window. This insane bitch is staring us down. “I am justice, fear my justice,” seemed to be her call to action. I had to dive into the little girl to prevent her from a stab. At this rate, I will not be able to stop this woman from killing this girl. At that moment, the lady grabs her forehead and seems to reel in pain. Whatever is her problem, this is definitely the opportunity.
I grab my new companion’s hand and climb out the window, pulling her along. The shards slice at us, but what fucking matters, so long as our lives are preserved. To my dismay, the insane chick in the house seems to be regaining her composure. I decide to look at her no more and grab my new companions hand and we dive into the woods behind her house.
I know if we travel through these woods we will end up in a park. I have been to this park before. This is a park of bad memories. Perhaps if I go to this park now, and it preserves us, without that psychotic bitch following us, this will become the park of good memories. We ran past the tree I was once strapped to.
I jump at a shadow that greets me from behind the tree. “Hello there Justice, do you seek justice, I am justice,” a voice greets me. This voice sounded hoarse; it was hard to discern whether this voice was male or female. The figure emerges from behind that tree of fate. It was my original assailant. This drunken, deranged man had on a few necklaces; all of them had the same name, Justice…
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Heroes never back down from a challenge. When even a society stands against these heroes, perhaps that society should be discarded. Perhaps this society just needed justice. Perhaps it was salvageable. Perhaps the scars in a young woman’s heart were ready to heal.
Bullshit. This was not justice. She was justice. Nobody else could be justice. Justice would need to be delivered to anyone who would think ever so foolishly that they were representative of justice. Hell, he was justice, nobody else could be justice.
This world had enough of heroes. When the person with supernatural ability and insane fortitude becomes ubiquitous, but no longer invisible, the world will begin to take notice and want to correct this. This was a world of the falling heroes.
A chasm of self-doubt prevented our hero from reaching his full potential. It was like he was leasing the body that he had borrowed, perhaps he was leasing his acts of heroism past, present and future. These acts all created debts that our hero could not pay. Perhaps, for every daemon that he vanquished, he was taking on said daemon. Then, it could be reasoned, that this might not be able to end until he had taken on and defeated the actual demon behind the scenes. Our hero would have to undo justice. He would have to overcome justice. He would have to defeat justice. The only misfortune was the fact that he was justice.
It was under that insane logic that perhaps he would have to turn the saber upon himself. What was justice? Did his world need it? Was he justice? Was that other person justice? He felt much struggle in maintaining his head and her head. It felt as if he had more than 1 soul in 1 body. This feeling felt like it was our hero’s fatal flaw.
The feeling of human emotions felt like the feel of logical emotion. But was all this human emotion that was taken on logical. Of all the daemons that were vanquished, why did this daemon feel like such a problem? The fact that the daemon most likely landed in this little girl is also a problem. What is stopping her from vanquishing it? Er, what is stopping him from vanquishing it?
It must be the definition of self that is the preventative measure. How can one measure up oneself if oneself is actually at the minimum twoself. This was just yet another hint that this world was time to end. There cannot be more than one body at one place and one time. This world needed justice.
He was justice.
She was justice.
Shit.
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I feel like the soul judicator of this realm. But unfortunately, I also feel like a lady. I feel like an existence that does not fit this world. My desire to eviscerate is falling moment by moment.
I stare through the window at a group that have lost their minds and have given ways to daemons. Perhaps if they could guide me to a demon, their pathway is still worthwhile. I decide to give the window a knock.
A knife to the window is definitely not a knock. After a couple of taps it gives; why did I use this tool to tap the window? That was not my intention.
Causality seems a blur to me. It felt like I was overcome. Then I tapped on the window. Then I came through. Then I scared the shit out of those two hotties. Then I felt like I did not belong. Was I justice? Was I this world’s hero? Was I just some cop of past that had lost my way to delusion due to some form of nearly irrecoverable brain damage?
The fuck was that vision for? The two that I sought after to eviscerate seemed less important to me now after all my internal struggles. I was definitely not one person. The only problem I saw now was just how many persons was I?
I was justice. I was definitely justice. I had to be justice. I was the answer to this world’s call for help. I was a hero. I was justice. I was justice. I was justice.
Was justice all that I was? Could logic be the answer to all my problems? I would have to live on my life as not just our hero but also as our victim. Such chaos this duality would give forth, and such misfortune that this scenario was unavoidable. Our hero followed the duo into the woods. Or perhaps it was our victim?
This concept turned the current world to mush. Or perhaps it was already mush? Was this world already in such a pathetic state that it needed neither heroes nor villains? Perhaps all it needed was justice. That was okay.
He was justice.
She was justice.
Shit.
Delusion is definitely the downfall of logic.
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