Pity, shame, hatred, darkness, dread, anger, sadness, hopelessness, abandon, pain. Such strong emotions feeding through my body, attached to the very blood that pumps through my veins, floating in the very air that fills my lungs, poisoning the purity left in me. Yet somewhere deep, deep down within my damned soul, a small voice cries out one last fleeting emotion among the others. Regret. Oh regret. The bane that ties me to this fucked up, hell hole of a life I call mine. Regret. The gluttony that has always kept me coming back for more of it all. Do I really feel this? Or is it just a last pathetic attempt to save myself from complete damnation? I find myself at a slight moment of loss, but clarity soon comes. No. By no means do I feel regret or remorse for what I've done, what I've witnessed, what I've become. If anything I feel a shameless pride swelling within my chest and threatening to make me BURST at any given moment. But regret, ha! I laugh at that thought. I laugh as I witness before me the carnage I've wielded with my own two hands. Laugh as the silence can finally come, and my day can finally end--
It had been another long day at work. We were short handed, and the customers decided this was my fault. Twice I'd been screamed at over the phone, and once I about slapped a woman for the condescending tone she was using with me. My professionalism was drawing quite thin, and I was close to just snapping anyways. Finally, that glorious moment came when I could clock out and call it quits for the day! Well, at least at that shit hole I called a job. Now, I had other things to prepare for the week. All work and no play, but I just wanted to relax and forget about that crap. Things in my life were simply spiraling out of control, and I was nearly at my sanity's length.
Arriving back at home, I came to find my home life was going to mirror that of my work life. Hell in a hand basket. I had yet to reach the door when I heard the shouting and cursing seeping through the walls. A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I fumbled for my keys and opened the front door. They were at it again. Why and for what I couldn't fathom and quite frankly just didn't care anymore. It was the same shit every day. Long day at work, getting screamed and bitched at. Come home to more screaming and bitching, and the occasional item thrown. I still had a scar from the damn bottle that broke on me last time, lucky I didn't press charges. I couldn't stoop that low with family, though, could I?
It wasn't strange to me that this was life, this was normal. NORMAL! I'd just tread through the war zone carefully and make my way up to my bedroom to escape into quiet bliss. Simple ignorance and indifference to the brewing battle below. So, the screaming faded into the background, just more noise. Until I picked up on my name. They acted as if I weren't there, able to hear their bellowing voices. With paper thin walls, that's near impossible. My ears picked up on key words to describe my actions as a human being. With the way things were in my life, my cup was near running over. I was mere seconds from basking in calmness to overflowing into the deep end. The clock was ticking down...
10 Selfish.
9 Inconsiderate.
8 Worthless.
Okay, so what? They'd called me that before. They were simply being irrational and flying off the end. I could get over it right?
7 Uncaring.
6 Lazy.
5 Useless.
That was starting to edge on a bit harsh, and my hand was starting to faintly tremble. I was getting anxious.
4 Incompetent.
3 Stupid.
2 A Mistake.
My heart was nearly in my throat, and I felt as if I might burst. This wasn't happening, this wasn't real. Was that what they really thought of me after all I did? Everything I went through and had done? However, there was one thing they hadn't said yet. If they kept it at that I'd be fine. I'd have time to cool off and forget about this. Let those harsh words slide, like so many times before. Yes...it would just be like every other time.
1 Failure.
There is was. The timer had gone off and in an instant I literally felt my world shatter. Have you ever had that feeling? It's quite strange to say the least, and quite painful. As if you've been hit with an invisible force and ripped into thousands of tiny pieces in the span of a few seconds. Failure. I was a failure to them? I was a failure at everything. All I could do was fail, fail fail. Yes, my entire life I had been raised and brought up just to fail. Well, that was it. That was the line. I'd had enough of playing this game. Enough of trying to defy what they thought of me and prove myself. If they wanted failure, I would give it to them. Another failure in the pantomime of life. Another failure in the fucked up, twisted hell hole of reality where hard work, long days, and being polite to people who didn't give a shit about me amounted to absolutely nothing.
Slipping downstairs I walked calmly into the kitchen while they continued to argue as if I were an invisible spec on the wall. Pulling open the drawer next to the sink, I took out a knife. Long, gleaming, slender, and sharp as the emotions I now felt. Next, I grabbed the skillet off the burner, blunt and to the point. These would do. Stalking into the room I approached the two of them with a kind smile. They looked at me and asked what I was doing, but I simply smiled. Such an innocent and sweet smile from their failure of a baby girl. With that I swung the skillet with all my might. CRACK. It connected with flesh and cracked bone as one fell down. Merely knocked out. The other looked at me with shock as they tried to get past me. Now that wasn't very nice. Taking the knife I plunged it forward with both arms, my biceps contracting as I used all my force and nearly lifted them into the air. They gasped and coughed up blood as I dug deeper into their intestines and gave the knife a nice twist before pulling it back out. Blood pooled from the wound as they slid to the ground. I wasn't finished yet. Standing over their body, I fell to my knees before them and brought the knife down once again into their back as they reached up at me for forgiveness. Too late. Sickened by my furry I simply kept impaling my victim with the knife, blood spattering my face, and gurgled cries of a dying life escaping blood drenched lips. Even after they stopped moving the swinging, stabbing, cutting, continued until I finally plunged the knife into their throat and stood as my second victim began to stir. Dropping the knife in the expanding pool of blood, I picked up the skillet that I'd dropped.
Groaning, the second victim opened their eyes to see the bloody sight before them. Panic. How glorious. They started to get up, but I was faster. I took another swing at them, their head flying back as they fell over. Looming over them, my hair fell into my face, "Who's the failure now?" the words formed so easily on my parched lips. Like a giant cockroach, I swung the skillet down onto their face with a CRUNCH. I couldn't let the cockroach live so I had to make sure they were dead. Swing, WACK. Swing WACK. Swing, WACK! It reminded me somehow of flattening out playdough. Each swing seemed to flatten my target more until finally they were just a lifeless mess. Throwing the skillet aside, I reached out for the knife once again. I had to be sure I finished. So the process began again, until I finally stood up in a river of blood. It was over, it was done.
As my manic laughter faded away, the silence set in. It was eerie in a sense, but welcoming at the same time. As everything settled down, I found a great calmness and tiredness overcome me. "I'm going to bed" I said to no one in particular. Trudging back up the stairs to my room, I slipped into my room and shut the door. The usual routine. Sliding in under the covers I grabbed my favorite stuffed animal. It was a plush tiger with big brown eyes, a furry mane, and a tail that wrapped around itself. I remember being given this as a present when we were all on vacation a while back. Back in the good days. It was a comforting reminder. Wrapping my arms around my prized toy, I pulled teh covers around me so I could sleep. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered a song that a little pink hippo used to play to me (the hippo also given to me long ago in better times). With a smile on my face the tune played in my dreams. You are my sunshine/my only sunshine/you make me happy/when skies are gray/you never know dear/how much i love you/so please don't take/my sunshine/away. Those were the last happy thoughts in my mind--
