FicWad

III. Rage

Again, I think I owe you some insight as to myself prior to this endeavor. I am what most would consider being the quiet type. I try not to talk to anyone except a select few who were as you may know, dead now.
I was nothing more than average in school, and was often at the receiving end of pranks and the hatred of my moronic peers. At a young age I had discovered that it was best to blend into the background and count. Count the days until my next birthday, where I would be a year closer to freedom.
I was scrawny, and therefore avoided physical altercations as much as I possibly could, and I had become quite good at it. That is why the events that transpired that day at school were very avant-garde and out of character.
I got up out of my seat and met the taller boy whose name I hadn’t bothered to learn’s eyes. My gaze alone was enough to make him back up considerably. Everyone in the room’s eyes were on us, expecting a fight.
With reason.
I peered around him; the teacher wasn’t in the room yet.
My fist collided with the side of his face with strength I didn’t even know I had. He fell to his knees, clutching his injured mandible. I sneered down at him as the rest of the class gasped and sent shocked looks at me.
In retrospect, it was an overreaction, the boy did not deserve my fist in his face, but I was overcome with such fury that I couldn’t help myself.
Nonchalantly, I stepped around him and considered the best way to make my exit. Rather than taking the door like any normal person would, I instead opted for shattering the glass in one of the windows and jumping out, a little more gracefully than I would have normally and walked away from the school.
I didn’t know where else to go, so I went home, hoping nobody would be there. Luckily, the vicinity was cleared. To my room I went, locking it out of habit. I sat in a corner and clutched my head; at this point I thought I was going crazy.
And, I could not be crazy, then I’d be no different from the people I despised the most. I rested my head on my knees, my breathing had become heavy, and I was no restless.
I got up and paced around my dingy room, not knowing what to do. The rage was still there, I was still angry.
I stopped and stared at a wall plastered in posters that I had collected over the years. I ripped them off the wall and watched as they fell in ribbons of colored paper at my feet.
I took hold of my bed under the mattress and over turned it, I smashed my computer against a wall. I continued in my room, destroying everything I could get my hands on, but it wasn’t enough. I went on in my rampage, into the living room, ripping the stuffing out of the couch, throwing the TV, cracking floor boards.
When I was done, my rage was slightly satiated, and everything had been extirpated. And I was ravenous once more. But there was no raw meat in the freezer. Or what was once a freezer but was now a pile of broken pieces.
The neighbors have a dog, I thought. Calmly, as if I were going to get the mail, I stepped outside and walked the few yards to our next door neighbor’s door. Of course the door was locked, so I put my fist through their window and jumped in.
Standard dog code made the small canine rush to the source of the noise and bark ever-so-annoyingly. I picked it up, in my eyes it looked like a meal.
I heard a noise.
“What are you doing?” my neighbor’s daughter, a girl about my age, was standing in the hall, giving me a wide eyed stare. I smiled and walked closer to her, my smile baring my elongated canines.
“Just thought I’d stop by and say hello,” I retorted, stepping closer still. Her fear and hesitation was amusing. Someone was scared of me. I let out a laugh. “Are you scared?”
She nodded softly and my smile stretched wider and I stepped away from her, stepping to the right, in the direction of the kitchen. She merely watched me as I rummaged through her kitchen drawers and found a knife. Her eyes grew wider still.
“What are you going to do?” she said softly. With speed I didn’t know I had, I dashed to her and plunged the knife into het jugular vein, and her limp form fell to the ground, dead, after a few seconds. I looked down at my lunch; it was such an easy kill.
Needless to say, I devoured her. The taste was indescribable; it was numerous times more delicious than microwaved prepackaged slabs of meat, this was fresh. I ate to my fill, leaving behind a carcass of mostly bones. I stepped out the door and locked it, and as if this were any other normal day, I walked back to my house and settled for a nap at the foot of the stairs.
*
I was rudely awakened by the sound of a scream. I opened my eyes to see my siblings standing at the door, apparently home from school. I yawned, momentarily confused as to why they were shrieking. But then I recalled the events of today, how the house was completely upturned, how I was covered in the blood of my first kill.
“What did you do?” said the oldest, her voice shaking. Technically, she wasn’t the oldest one of my six siblings, just the oldest to live at home. The other five sort of cowered behind her.
“I redecorated,” I said, getting up and tousling my hair that felt considerably thicker. I looked down at my hands, noticing my nails had also grown exponentially, they now resembled claws. Again with inhuman speed, I was standing behind my oldest sister, and I punched a hole through her chest. Blood spilled out of her mouth and she fell to the floor, dead. My second kill of the day. I killed the rest of them with no remorse. I felt myself becoming colder and more animalistic as I slaughtered my relatives without a second. Though I had never really considered them family by anything other than having fallen out of the same vagina, it struck me as wrong that I could kill them so easily, without a second thought, and that it could even be fun.
Soon they were all lifeless forms, but still I was not satisfied. I vandalized their bodies, severing limbs, and creating new orifices.
Just as I was creating my macabre art, dear old mom and dad walked into my studio. Mom dropped her purse and tried to scream, but no sound escaped her lipstick smeared mouth. All dad could say was “I knew there was something wrong with you.” This unleashed my full fury. First, I ripped mom’s throat out, leaving her instantly dead.
And I began to work on my morbid masterpiece. I didn’t want him to die right away; I wanted him to feel his death. He gave me a cold stare. My shoulders heaved as my shuddering breaths shook my body. At my feet was a shard of glass.
I took it in my hands and jammed it deep into his gut. This wouldn’t kill him instantly. But it would cause him pain. He spit up blood at my feet and I forced him to the ground and dragged him by the feet into the kitchen. It brought me an immense amount of delight as he reached for something to hold onto, to free him of my grasp. I turned the stove on, and waited patiently for it to heat up.
I pulled him up by the hair and forced his face onto the hot burner. He tried to scream in pain, but couldn’t. I let his pathetic, pitiful form drop to the ground and I left him there, deciding I would let him die slowly of blood loss, feeling that insufferable pain.
My acrimony was finally quelled, I felt peaceful now that I had slaughtered a few people.
People stared at me and my bloody clothes and skin as I stood on the front lawn. I knew they would be calling the police. I was slightly scared now. I needed to run. But I didn’t know where. I also needed to know.
I had been attacked by something in the forest a week ago that had made me different, it had made me superhuman, it had made me a killer.
I decided it would be best to go back to where it all began, to the forest. The sun was setting, turning the sky a pretty shade of orange. There was a light snow fall and I should have been cold, but I wasn’t.
I began my sojourn to the edge of town, at an amazing speed.
Soon, I stood at the edge of the growth in the same spot I had entered it that night. I was about to make my decent into its darkness when…