I, psycho.

Chapter Five.

I'm really sorry for being so inconsistent with my posts, my exams are in full swing and my brain has been in over-drive for a long time now. Your prayers, as always, will be highly appreciated. Thank you for you understanding and patience.
                                                 With love,
                                              Your Author.

  Contrary to my earlier speculation, I did not burn shit to the ground.

  Sure, I might have teleported to Africa and laid waste to a few thousand acres of land and maybe leveled Everest a teeny, weeny bit but aside from that, nothing much. No major outburst or waking up to burning buildings.

  Needless to say, I was suspicious all through the day.

   Class was hell with me zoning out and being asked a couple of questions, yes, Mr Cunningham was, even after all my crazy deeds, not afraid of me, I know right, very insulting. Anyway, I ended up having picking the answer from his mind which, surprisingly, contained a lot of fascinating things.

  Whence class had ended, I remained rooted to my seat. Fear, my friend, my foe, kept me glued to my seat, my legs shaking and in obvious need of stretching.

  Laughing at the dark humor in my situation, I stood abruptly.

  Yes, I was afraid. But even in my fear, I thrived. That was the difference between the rest of the world and I.

Stepping out of my homeroom, I took long steps towards my house, conscious of my breathing and emotion.

  By the time I reached my car, sweat was pouring down my forehead in buckets. Sliding smoothly into my car, I cranked it and stepped on the gas, almost hitting the motorcycle passing. Luckily for the driver and unluckily for me, since an accident was a sure way to take my mind off my predicament, cruel, yes, I never claimed otherwise, I managed to stop just in time. Purely reflex on my part.
My engine still running, I alighted the car and sparing a brief glance at the motorcycle and it's rider, I rounded my car and checked its side even though I knew well enough that nothing has been damaged. All in the hopes of sparking a fight between the rider and I.

"Can't you see well?" The biker said in a monotone voice.

Well, I thought gleefully, there's my cue. A snarl came all too easily from my mouth as I turned around to face him, "obviously, you are the blind one here, zooming on like you've got the devil on your heels"

  Pulling off his helmet, he met me with angry blue eyes, anger coming off him in waves.

I gave a little girly clap, inside of course, he was just the kind of victim I needed.

"Unless you've tiny glass chips in your ears, I can't see how you didn't hear me honking from a mile off" he said viciously.

  "Of course you can't see, honey pie, remember that thing I said about you being blind" I gritted.

He huffed a frustrated breath, probably not getting me, "you bitch" he growled.

  I narrowed my eyes at him, at least I was sure he'd deserve whatever I dishes onto him, calling a girl a bitch was a tad too rude.

"You could have gotten me injured" he said, a vicious swear followed next. Glancing around, he scowled at the mass of people gathered, obviously hindering him from doing what he really wanted to do which, if his cleching fists were any intention, was pound me into a pulp, "just wait until we're alone, pup, I swear I'll knock you down a few notches" he said under his breath.

  Walking up to him, I gave him the most patronizing smile I could muster and patted his leathered arm, "oh honey, you couldn't harm a hair on my head even if I burnt your ugly mutt of a bike into a crisp".

Quick as lightening, which was slow if you had eyes like mine, his hand came to wrap around a large mass of my hair, tugging it so hard that my nerves screamed in agony.

It was refreshing, the pain, calming, in its own way.

  I let out a painful whimper, playing the victim.

  A cruel smirk spread across his face at my show of pain and he tugged even harder, "not so mouthy now, are you?"

  My calm gone at his taunting words, I said, "let go"

  At the coldness in my tone, he paused, hesitated, then, like the fool I'd long discovered him to be, he raised his hand and drew my fleshy check painfully, "make me"

  I rolled my eyes, of all the cliche things he could think of...

  I raised a thin hand to the arm tugging my hair and... squeezed.

  Bones crunched beneath my hands as flesh have away and blood ran down my arms.

   Rotete, I thought as I let go of the wailing boy. I scoffed at unsightly sight he made, arms shattered and all.

  Pulling out my pristine white handkerchief, I cleaned up the blood that had splashed on my hand and walked to my car without sparing another glance at the sobbing mess my attacker.

  It -our entire fight, from the hair tugging to the hand smashing- had proved disappointing unworthy of getting worked up over.

     Ennui had descended like it'd never left.

Starting my car, I drove away from the scence, the irresistible urge to taste my bathing soap driving me. I forced myself to circle my house three times before sliding into my private parking lot.
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    That night, I dreamt of blood.

I was standing on the bodies of people with vague but recognizable faces, their blood having pooled to the extent that it touched the thigh-length gown I wore. It would have been traumatizing if I wasn't used to it. I didn't scream, I hardly reacted.

  It was not sane of me to react thus, but like I have always stressed, I was not sane.

  A body twitched beneath my feet, a bloody hand came to hold my calf, other limbs followed, twining itself around my body and still, I reacted not.

  I let the bloody, twitching limbs squeezed my stomach to the point of pain, I let a pair of hands I distinctly remember as my first kill encircle my neck, it squeezed, squeezed so tightly I could scarcely breath. Black dots appeared before my eyes, my vision grew fogy and I let it. I didn't struggle, or try to attack my attackers.

  My last thoughts before the nightmare gave way to reality was that it was only fair that they kill me in my dreams, since I had killed them, ruthlessly at that, in real life.