A Story Of A Teenage Killer

Part Four: A Murderers Rage

I can’t stop, my body moving all by itself. No matter how hard I tried to think rationally, all my mind could think where someone could be, anyone and anywhere. All of my thoughts are only on the fact that I want to kill someone else. Only on the fact, that I want someone else’s blood on my hands. Was this now becoming an addiction? Like my own personal drug? Is this really how I’m getting off? I don’t understand this at all. I was fine before, I could get my head off of killing. I only started from people just ticking me off, now it feels like I must. After killing Sam, and the fact I couldn’t enjoy it. Now it seems like I need it, is because I enjoy their pain now. That I have grown accustomed for them begging, with them pleading for mercy. Have I grown insane? Am I really this sadistic?

I couldn’t help but to ponder against these questions as I arrived at the park. It was night fall already, and I felt like it was eating at me to kill again. My body shaking, my eyes wouldn’t close even to blink. I felt cold all over, I could hardly swallow, Breathing was hard to do as well, and my voice was shaking if I were to speak at all. I walked onto a bridge, and my foot lost balance as I stepped down. I fell to the side, and over the railing. Lucky for me, there was no water under the bridge just another pathway that not many people go by anymore. Since gangs started taking control of darker paths, to either kill men or rape women. And by my great luck and their miserable luck two thugs stood down there.

Judging from the smell, and the fact they were as disoriented as I was acting. They were high, but judging they were still ready to protect themselves, or kill for pure sport. As I began to raise myself off the ground, the two men walked towards me. The first one, wearing only a pair of jeans and a black vest, you can plainly see where his gun is. The second man, wearing the same kind of jeans, but a button-up shirt with it, you can see the outline of his gun. The first man walked towards me. “Yo, you trying to get fuckin shot or something!?” He yelled towards me, a very angry voice indeed. I ignored his words though, I couldn’t focus at all. My mind was on a much more important matter, it fighting the craving of murder. The man took a step forward, and I pounced onto him. My knife stabbing deep into his chest, I could feel his gasps for breathe.

I pulled the knife out, and stabbed in a few times. I stopped, looked at him and began to stab some more. Though this time, instead pulling out the knife, I ripped it out letting it cut through the flesh. Now the other guy, it was time for me to move on to him. I looked at him, as he looked back at me. Our eyes meeting, I could see my own reflection covered in blood. My eyes now soulless, I could see how my body was now. How my breathing was unsteady, my whole body just trembling. I could tell this man was scared, and I couldn’t help be proud, but though I was disgusted my own rational mind was losing to this insanity.

The man standing in front of me, began to reach for is gun. As he gripped it, I grabbed the gun from the man I was on, swinging it out and pulling the trigger. I hit the man right in the left leg, and he fell to it holding the leg tightly. I stood, and I could he see he was crying.

“You god damn bastard! You fuckin shot me! What the hell are you doing!?” He yelled at me, losing regards to his now dead friend. In the most pain, that is what people do. They lose regards to others, and begin to only care about themselves. Pain for others would mean nothing, pain for them everything. I took a step forward and shot his right arm. As he got hit, he yelled with all the air in his lungs and fell backwards. I stood over him, holding my knife and a gun. Though it was hard to stop, I begin laughing uncontrollably. His pain, his natural self in pain was so funny to me. And the blood that covered around was so beautiful to me. My craving is finally disappearing. I bend down, and stab straight in the chest. Now I begin to do what I did to his friend.

It takes me six minutes to rip him apart. Though it was worth it, I thought it had taken too long. I try to stand, but my legs had no feeling and I almost stumbled over. Without any notice I was crying, beginning to realize my rational mind had caught up. I scream at the top of my lungs, the murder I had just done was not something I wanted. My addiction is something I fear. I fall to my knees, weak and defenseless. I continue to scream, I swing the gun to my head. Though I cannot pull the trigger, I wanted to so badly.

I need Erika.

To be Continued in Part 5.