Obsessed With Death (ON HOLD)

Obsessed With Death.

I love to watch people suffer. I love the thought of blood hitting my lips. I've always wanted to feel more powerful than everybody else. Killing someone makes me feel powerful. Well, I've never killed someone. But I will one day. Simply with a knife. No gun. 

I tell no one about this obsession. I will probably be put into a mental hospital. 

I feel lost. Cold. Trapped. Well I am trapped. Mother doesn't let me out of the house. On reasons I'm not sure of.  I think she is just scared what might happen if I went outside into the real world. I'm like Rapunzel without all the hair and I'm not in a castle. 

I'm also home schooled. I want friends. But I would probably end up killing them in the end. It used to not be like this. I used to think of happy thoughts. I used to be able to go outside. I also used to have tons of friends who loved me and I loved them. That was when I was only a child. Now I'm 17. I think.  Mother never tells me if its my birthday or not. We never celebrate it. But I've been trying to count on my own. I have nothing left from my childhood. But I don't know if I want to remember or not.

I want to feel wanted. Feel free. Mother keeps me locked in a room, my room. I'm not sure why. She brings me food though. She treats me sweetly. But I still hate her. Like everybody else. 

I think mother gave me a drug of some sort. Because I don't remember anything from my pass. Just that I had a normal life. I do have a cat. I love animals though. Nothing will ever make me want to kill them. I want to kill the humans. I am human, but I still hate humans. 

Well, honestly I never feel human. I'm a monster. I want to kill people. So therefor I am a monster. On some levels I want to be locked away before I do anything I would regret, like kill.

But on other levels I want to kill. I want this to be my hobby. I just want power. No one understands me. But this is how I live, so I got to except it...

I have images in my mind of me killing Mother. Its indeed a beautiful site. I just wish... I could get out of this room.

I lay silently on my bed like always. Petting my cat. His name is Spirit. He is a beautiful white cat. Hes the only thing I really love.

"Sweetie, I have dinner." I heard Mother say to me on the other side of the scratched door. (Because of Spirit).

Spirit hissed. I think I might have trained him to hate her too...

Mother unlocked the door and came inside.

"I got some hot soup. Chicken noodle soup." She came with the tray with soup on top.

"Set it down and get out."

"Now Blaire, no need to say that."

"Get out."

"Honey-"

"GET OUT!" I was now furious with anger.

I grabbed the nearest object, which was a hair brush and threw it at her. It hit her in the head. Bulls-eye.

Mother raised up her eyes with anger in them. It actually scared me... She came to the bed and grabbed my arm. I couldn't get loose. So much for power. I was now struggling.

She pulled me out of my room. I haven't been out of my room for about 10 years... she was dragging me by my arm. I was tring with all my might to stop me from going, which I'm useless to her strength. She dragged me into a room. A room with white walls. Empty. 

She let go of her hold and pushed me down on the ground. She took out a gun. A gun... why a gun? She was going to kill me. But why? Why?

"Why?" The words slipped from my mouth.

"I just can't take care of you any more. And I never wanted you anyways. I hate you. So much."

The word hate sprung around in my mind.

"Why... do this to me? I thought you loved me." I said with hate.

"I never have. No one ever has. You are a failure to life. A failure to me. You are ugly. In every possible way."

"Well if you are going to kill me, tell me how it was before."

She looked confused.

"You seem like you don't care you're going to die. And this is the first thing you bring up before I kill you..?"

"Yes. Tell me." I was demanding.

"You know what? Fuck this."

I squinted my eyes. I was still standing perfectly straight. I opened them and I saw hew slowly pull the trigger. But not to me. To herself.