Let the Bodies Hit the Floor.
From devils to angels to the man in between.
Part of me couldn’t believe it. Part of me was resisting. Part of me was telling me I needed to pinch myself because this was all a bad dream.
That part of me was quiet in comparison to the other. The other was screaming, constantly. It kept screeching, “Do it. Do it. Pull the trigger. You know you want to.”
That was the part of me that was in control, the part of me that did it. I didn’t do these things, I was a good person. I’m the nicest of person with the worst of intentions.
“Please. Don’t-don’t kill me. I-I-I didn’t do anything.” The man stuttered. Was he right? Yeah. Did I care? No. “ I don’t want to be murdered."
“I don’t like the term murder. I call it… ‘organized death’.” I mumbled. Lock and load. This was it for him.
I pointed it to his head. A devious grin found it’s way across my lips. “Lights out.”
I placed a finger on the trigger. That first voice decided to pipe up.
“No, Pete. This is wrong. He didn’t hurt you. Maybe he could help you. Maybe he could take care of you.”
“Fuck off.” Hissed the other voice, “Do it, Pete. Kill him.”
“No! You’ll regret it!” I felt like I was in the middle of a television show. On my left shoulder: there was a devil, on the right: an angel. I’m stuck between it and I don’t know which side is winning.
“Do it. Let the bodies hit the floor. Let the bodies hit the floor.” The left shoulder chanted.
“Spare him, he doesn’t deserve it.” Screamed the right.
I couldn’t handle it. No one could. The gun dropped out of my lifeless hand, the tears ran down my worried cheek.
“Are you okay.” The man I was about to kill got up and asked me. Is he kidding? I almost blew his brains to kingdom come and he’s making sure I’m okay.
“No. I’m not.” I said as the tears poured down, more and more.
“It’s okay.” He wrapped me in a hug and patted my back. “My name’s Patrick. I’ll try to help you.”
“My name’s Pete.” I sniffed “And will you really?”
“No.” Patrick sneered as he snatched up the gun and shot me square in the face.
The blood poured out from between my eyes. I saw Patrick running away. I felt like an idiot. No one could help me. No one would help me. No one did, and no one would now.
“I told you so.” Mumbled my left shoulder as my heavy eyelids closed.
That part of me was quiet in comparison to the other. The other was screaming, constantly. It kept screeching, “Do it. Do it. Pull the trigger. You know you want to.”
That was the part of me that was in control, the part of me that did it. I didn’t do these things, I was a good person. I’m the nicest of person with the worst of intentions.
“Please. Don’t-don’t kill me. I-I-I didn’t do anything.” The man stuttered. Was he right? Yeah. Did I care? No. “ I don’t want to be murdered."
“I don’t like the term murder. I call it… ‘organized death’.” I mumbled. Lock and load. This was it for him.
I pointed it to his head. A devious grin found it’s way across my lips. “Lights out.”
I placed a finger on the trigger. That first voice decided to pipe up.
“No, Pete. This is wrong. He didn’t hurt you. Maybe he could help you. Maybe he could take care of you.”
“Fuck off.” Hissed the other voice, “Do it, Pete. Kill him.”
“No! You’ll regret it!” I felt like I was in the middle of a television show. On my left shoulder: there was a devil, on the right: an angel. I’m stuck between it and I don’t know which side is winning.
“Do it. Let the bodies hit the floor. Let the bodies hit the floor.” The left shoulder chanted.
“Spare him, he doesn’t deserve it.” Screamed the right.
I couldn’t handle it. No one could. The gun dropped out of my lifeless hand, the tears ran down my worried cheek.
“Are you okay.” The man I was about to kill got up and asked me. Is he kidding? I almost blew his brains to kingdom come and he’s making sure I’m okay.
“No. I’m not.” I said as the tears poured down, more and more.
“It’s okay.” He wrapped me in a hug and patted my back. “My name’s Patrick. I’ll try to help you.”
“My name’s Pete.” I sniffed “And will you really?”
“No.” Patrick sneered as he snatched up the gun and shot me square in the face.
The blood poured out from between my eyes. I saw Patrick running away. I felt like an idiot. No one could help me. No one would help me. No one did, and no one would now.
“I told you so.” Mumbled my left shoulder as my heavy eyelids closed.