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by Awesumitude 3/10/2012, 12:43 amCHAPTER 1
It’s not that he liked people dying around him. It just…always seemed to happen. It was never as bad as today though. Today, according to the police, and the media, and…well everyone he knew, he killed his parents. Yet, why would he do that? Oh right, because they were the worst parents in the world. But still, he would never do that to his parents. He could at least remember one or two good, well ok-ish memories he had with his parents in eighteen years. But he had no right to take away another person’s right of life. He was just a skinny guy with no talents whatsoever. A ‘rebel’, a ‘troublemaker’ or so his teachers say. The only time he felt like he was at peace was when he would strum his guitar and try to play his troubles away. He felt like the world was at peace and everything wrong that was going on just ceased to exist and all things right, prevailed. He wished that good would someday beat evil. He couldn’t fathom a world so coward that they wouldn’t fight for what is right. That evil would reign day in and day out. Deep down he knew the perfect world existed already and all the ‘good’ people took it for granted and therefore they didn’t know what it is to earn a good world. And as a result, the world started dying and the good with it. And all things wrong and chaotic prospered. And it has been a steady decline to the stage where the good has died and been forgotten leaving behind a barely surviving world with all hope gone.
Police questioned and ‘hurt him in the name of the law’, media interrogated him and citizens ignored him. He repeated over and over that he had nothing to do with his parents’ death. No one offered any sympathy but he preferred it that way. That’s when he realized he didn’t care about his parents’ death.That's when he realized he didn't care about anything anymore.
He could not determine between good and bad anymore. I mean, he would choose bad anyway but at least know it was the wrong choice. Now he didn't understand what was so bad about vandalizing property or fighting ordinary citizens. His life was becoming like one of his nightmares. Soon enough he began to lose a hold on reality. Sometimes he would use the toilet and then go back to sleep. But he wasn't sure if that was a dream. Because sometimes he would wake up covered in piss...sometimes' he wasn't even sure if it was his. It even smelled like rat piss a couple times...don't ask. The only way to know what was real and what wasn't was to either stop sleeping, or stop living. Personally, he didn't know which was worse.
So, he chose to remove sleep from his daily routine. Instead, he would just sit and contemplate...everything. And that's when he felt it. A slight tremor in his personality. In his identity. In his very being. Large enough to recognize that it happened, but not enough to recognize what it was. He sat up pondering on what had just happened but to no avail. He sat there for one more day, moving only for food...and occasionally for using the toilet...occasionally.
He lost track of time, yet another thing he didn't know. Then suddenly he realized something. No one was bothering him about the deaths anymore. In fact the whole world seemed quiet and tranquil. He tried to get up but couldn't after not moving for so long. So he just watched out the window. Nothing at all was going on. Which meant that something was terribly wrong. He crawled to the door and forced himself up despite the groans of his body. Everything was paused. The world was peaceful again. It was everything that I wanted, but not like this...never like this. For it seemed that time itself had stopped...
It’s not that he liked people dying around him. It just…always seemed to happen. It was never as bad as today though. Today, according to the police, and the media, and…well everyone he knew, he killed his parents. Yet, why would he do that? Oh right, because they were the worst parents in the world. But still, he would never do that to his parents. He could at least remember one or two good, well ok-ish memories he had with his parents in eighteen years. But he had no right to take away another person’s right of life. He was just a skinny guy with no talents whatsoever. A ‘rebel’, a ‘troublemaker’ or so his teachers say. The only time he felt like he was at peace was when he would strum his guitar and try to play his troubles away. He felt like the world was at peace and everything wrong that was going on just ceased to exist and all things right, prevailed. He wished that good would someday beat evil. He couldn’t fathom a world so coward that they wouldn’t fight for what is right. That evil would reign day in and day out. Deep down he knew the perfect world existed already and all the ‘good’ people took it for granted and therefore they didn’t know what it is to earn a good world. And as a result, the world started dying and the good with it. And all things wrong and chaotic prospered. And it has been a steady decline to the stage where the good has died and been forgotten leaving behind a barely surviving world with all hope gone.
Police questioned and ‘hurt him in the name of the law’, media interrogated him and citizens ignored him. He repeated over and over that he had nothing to do with his parents’ death. No one offered any sympathy but he preferred it that way. That’s when he realized he didn’t care about his parents’ death.That's when he realized he didn't care about anything anymore.
He could not determine between good and bad anymore. I mean, he would choose bad anyway but at least know it was the wrong choice. Now he didn't understand what was so bad about vandalizing property or fighting ordinary citizens. His life was becoming like one of his nightmares. Soon enough he began to lose a hold on reality. Sometimes he would use the toilet and then go back to sleep. But he wasn't sure if that was a dream. Because sometimes he would wake up covered in piss...sometimes' he wasn't even sure if it was his. It even smelled like rat piss a couple times...don't ask. The only way to know what was real and what wasn't was to either stop sleeping, or stop living. Personally, he didn't know which was worse.
So, he chose to remove sleep from his daily routine. Instead, he would just sit and contemplate...everything. And that's when he felt it. A slight tremor in his personality. In his identity. In his very being. Large enough to recognize that it happened, but not enough to recognize what it was. He sat up pondering on what had just happened but to no avail. He sat there for one more day, moving only for food...and occasionally for using the toilet...occasionally.
He lost track of time, yet another thing he didn't know. Then suddenly he realized something. No one was bothering him about the deaths anymore. In fact the whole world seemed quiet and tranquil. He tried to get up but couldn't after not moving for so long. So he just watched out the window. Nothing at all was going on. Which meant that something was terribly wrong. He crawled to the door and forced himself up despite the groans of his body. Everything was paused. The world was peaceful again. It was everything that I wanted, but not like this...never like this. For it seemed that time itself had stopped...
