Categories > Original > Horror
Chapter 1
*The car journey was becoming increasingly boring. This morning I was looking forward to seeing my brother. The long lost one from the 80’s. Not the one I left for dead a few days ago in the hotel room. Now I just wanted to kill the geriatric driver. I’m not psychotic, I’m a normal human being. With a few rumours under my belt, that I’m not ashamed to say, I took care of.*
The snow that had settled in London from the night before I must say, was a sight to see. The thick red blood that sat so promptly on top of the pure snow was like a twisted Christmas horror. The wide gash on the drivers left side was still bleeding heavily even though I was certain had been dead for at least five minutes now. I dragged his limp carcass into a street ally. Stripping him naked and giving him a kick in the stomach. Which to my satisfaction made his head jolt forward and blood gush from his mouth.
I put on the uniform. Which was made up of a snug cotton shirt and some acrylic trousers. Oh and a little hat, which I perched on my head like a train driver. There was a blood stain on the cuff and side of the top. I decided that if anyone asked, it was a coffee stain. I left the man cold and alone, oh and dead, in the ally, where a little old lady and her cat can find him in the morning. And piled in the drivers seat of the car. Well. That’s what my views are about slow drivers anyway.
Chapter 2
The front seat of a cab grows boring after a while. Especially when all you have else to look at is the crowds of people in London. Staring through the car window, as if the drivers would look back at em. 'Do i entertain you bitch?!'.
The homeless people dotted around London was actually a nice thing to see. For me anyway. It made me feel that however low my life gets. It can never be as bad as theirs. Well. That was my deep and meaningful piece for the year.
I like to consider myself as an artist. I draw flowers and cute animals. Well. From the sense of my character so far. You would expect this. No? I draw things from my tortured mind. As i see things. You see a cute little bunny. I see a savage killing machine with a vengeance it only wish's it could take care of. And what you see as a sick and twisted middle aged man with nothing to live for, i see an innocent old man who spends the rest of his days making right or his wrong, fulfilling life to its full potential. That's how i see me. 'What do you really see me as.' I ask this before every kill make. Just to see theory expression. Weird. I know. But i get a kick out of it.
*The car journey was becoming increasingly boring. This morning I was looking forward to seeing my brother. The long lost one from the 80’s. Not the one I left for dead a few days ago in the hotel room. Now I just wanted to kill the geriatric driver. I’m not psychotic, I’m a normal human being. With a few rumours under my belt, that I’m not ashamed to say, I took care of.*
The snow that had settled in London from the night before I must say, was a sight to see. The thick red blood that sat so promptly on top of the pure snow was like a twisted Christmas horror. The wide gash on the drivers left side was still bleeding heavily even though I was certain had been dead for at least five minutes now. I dragged his limp carcass into a street ally. Stripping him naked and giving him a kick in the stomach. Which to my satisfaction made his head jolt forward and blood gush from his mouth.
I put on the uniform. Which was made up of a snug cotton shirt and some acrylic trousers. Oh and a little hat, which I perched on my head like a train driver. There was a blood stain on the cuff and side of the top. I decided that if anyone asked, it was a coffee stain. I left the man cold and alone, oh and dead, in the ally, where a little old lady and her cat can find him in the morning. And piled in the drivers seat of the car. Well. That’s what my views are about slow drivers anyway.
Chapter 2
The front seat of a cab grows boring after a while. Especially when all you have else to look at is the crowds of people in London. Staring through the car window, as if the drivers would look back at em. 'Do i entertain you bitch?!'.
The homeless people dotted around London was actually a nice thing to see. For me anyway. It made me feel that however low my life gets. It can never be as bad as theirs. Well. That was my deep and meaningful piece for the year.
I like to consider myself as an artist. I draw flowers and cute animals. Well. From the sense of my character so far. You would expect this. No? I draw things from my tortured mind. As i see things. You see a cute little bunny. I see a savage killing machine with a vengeance it only wish's it could take care of. And what you see as a sick and twisted middle aged man with nothing to live for, i see an innocent old man who spends the rest of his days making right or his wrong, fulfilling life to its full potential. That's how i see me. 'What do you really see me as.' I ask this before every kill make. Just to see theory expression. Weird. I know. But i get a kick out of it.
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