You have awoken in an unknown abandoned Hospital on a cold winters night without any information as to why, The blood starts to soak through your cheap and off brand solo punk band t-shirt which was exclusively founded by your father who owned it. Dizziness hasn't subsided as you discreetly look around wouldn't wanting to risk being caught on random property of a possible crime seen. You could've sworn that passing out on your remotely large couch wouldn't have resulted in you landing in some god forsaken facility miles away from home. But at your own expense you would rather find out how to escape before fixating on the murder you caused, That's right you do remember after all. No sign of kidnapping even. This entire massacre was planned by your other personality which you failed to take control of, some people have issues with their family, some have resentful emotions from the deep scars once only shared their alcoholic fathers, some have deep spiraling depression with unknown causes. But you. You have another being inside of you. It tells you when to sleep and when to eat, when to talk and when to breathe. It's no moral compass just a mere part of your dysfunctional personal disorder that has shaped you into what you are now. The answer being is a spine chilling and cold blooded killer. Ah yes you remember everything, who it was, how it happened and every specific detail besides a why. It was your parents who without fail neglected your mental health so poorly that the demons started to control you, Those medications that were proscribed to you did not a fucking thing. It's a normal teenage thing they said, having violent urges is all apart of hormones they stated after only feeding you dry uncooked oatmeal for the past months. But you NEVER once resented them. I mean how could you? They manipulated you so far into making you think that the treatment was nothing abnormal. But then how come you've killed them?
It was an accident you tried to convince yourself
Their mutilated and split open bodies were only nothing but a feeble accident. You worked on the farm so as to be expected it could happen. But no, this mere chainsaw existed for your own pleasure
