𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐓 // 𝘱𝘰𝘤 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐠𝐮𝐧 // 𝐢

The first thing I felt when I woke up was heaviness.

It was not because of the heaviness of my heart, nor the heaviness of my head though it did ache strongly. Such weight came from my stomach, which felt as though I had eaten a whole pig.

The next feeling, I felt came from my mouth.

It was an ache like what you felt like after eating food that was a little too tough. I tried to reach a hand up to feel my teeth but was met with heavy resistance. After struggling for a while, I managed to flop a limp hand over my lips. Shoving two fingers inside, I swabbed along my teeth for anything out of the ordinary when a sweet taste hit my tongue. Although I was confused at first, I savored the sweet taste as it caused a tingly sensation to travel through my chest.

The more I licked, the stronger the sensation got. It was addicting. It smeared around my mouth and nose as I pulled my other barely functioning hand. The taste was euphoric and caused me to become even more obsessive as the substance provided me warmth in my normally freezing room. However, despite being engrossed in whatever I was tasting, I could not help but hear the faucet drip.

The small pit pat grew increasingly annoying causing my attention to focus more on that than anything. Slowly, I moved my weak arms to try and sit up, which took a while. I then tried to stand, but my knees buckled and made me stumble forward like a freshly born calf. Slamming into the door, I managed to find purchase on the door handle. I quickly grew frustrated and angrily blamed it on my weakened state, wondering just how long I had been asleep.

As I stumbled towards the bathroom, I sluggishly felt for the switch and casually gazed into the mirror. What I saw caused me to immediately jump backwards, my head knocking into the wall behind me. I saw me. But it wasn't. The thing in the mirror had the same features as me, but the eyes looked blank and dark, and the skin looked oily and was smudged with a dark burgundy liquid that was beginning to congeal into a darker brown. I stared at it for what felt like hours, confused, and scared.

Was I going crazy?

I slowly padded towards the mirror, remaining anxious of each step until the sink became all that separated me and the feral beast in front of me. I crept an arm up to my face and watched as the thing copied me all the way down to how my fingers trembled. Cautiously, I reached out to touch the mirror and the thing copied me in perfect synchronization. I brought my hand and tugged my black t-shirt up to reveal a long, ragged scar that trailed along my pelvic bone and up to my hip dip. In horror, I watched as whatever it was replicated my every move. What was even more scary was how it had the exact same scar.

Backing away slowly, I flung myself out of the bathroom, my heart pounding in my ears. Panic propelled my steps, fueling me with a desperate energy to escape this surreal nightmare. But as I stumbled out of the room, I realized: The faucet was not dripping. An audible pit pat could still be heard outside of my room. Walking over to my door, I quietly peaked through to see if anyone was there.

Stepping out of my only safe haven, I walked against the wall and trailed along it until I reached ma and pa's room. My stomach dropped. Their solid wooden door was shattered in half and had a sizable gap in the middle with a dark stain smudged around its edges and was pooling near its bottom. In the corner, barely visible, was a simple double barrel shotgun. That was where the dripping was coming from.

Putting two and two together, my body felt as though it was thrown into a fire ant hill with the way it began to suddenly tickle. The itchiness consumed me, gnawing at my skin like a thousand tiny needles pricking at once. It was more than just a physical sensation; it felt like an invasive force trying to burrow beneath my flesh. Every time I dragged my nails anywhere on myself, it only seemed to worsen, spreading like wildfire across my body.

No amount of scratching provided relief; instead, it
felt like I was disturbing something lurking beneath the surface. I quickly ran back to my room, suddenly hit with the weight of the situation.

I am a black chick living in Louisiana who murdered her parents in cold blood and is going to be sent to prison to rot for the rest of her life.

I can see it in the paper now, maybe it'll make state-wide news. The more I thought about it, the more elated I became at the thought of my crime being known. The adrenaline rushed through my veins, fueling the dark satisfaction that welled up inside me. The itchiness that consumed my body seemed to throb stronger as the thrill of my actions grew.

I couldn't help but revel in the chaos and destruction that will soon occur. The once-normal farm life I led, filled with monotony and consistency, had been shattered in an instant. As I sat on my once cozy bed, the walls seemingly closing in on me, I couldn't suppress the grin that crept across my face. The weight of the situation, the consequences that awaited me, seemed insignificant compared to the rush of adrenaline and the sense of purpose I had found.

I would soon be sent to prison, locked away from the world, but I no longer feared it. In fact, a twisted part of me welcomed the isolation and confinement. The grin on my face remained, a manifestation of my newfound defiance and acceptance of the consequences that awaited me. The sound of approaching sirens echoed outside my window, growing louder with each passing moment.

I knew my time was limited, but strangely, I felt a peculiar sense of liberation in the face of what was to come. As my thoughts spiraled into a dark abyss, the sound of approaching sirens shattered the eerie silence. My heart pounded with both excitement and dread. They were coming for me, and I was ready for the final act of this twisted drama. Outside my window, flashing lights illuminated the night.

Red and blue danced across the walls, painting the room with an ominous glow. The creak of heavy boots echoed down the hallway as they made their way to my door. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. This wouldn't be a passive surrender. I had come too far, crossed too many lines to simply let them take me away without a fight.

As the door burst open, revealing uniformed officers, a surge of energy coursed through my veins. I lunged at the nearest officer and began to bite at him. After managing to get in close, I managed to lock onto their neck and tore off a good chunk of flesh. The guard collapsed and began to gurgle and seize on the floor while clutching their neck. Chaos erupted as I fought with fierce desperation.

I was no match for their numbers and training, but I fought like a cornered animal, biting and scratching with wild abandon. Adrenaline masked the pain as I was wrestled to the ground, handcuffs finally securing my wrists. Through the haze of the struggle, I saw the mixture of fear and concern in the officers' eyes. Perhaps they sensed that I had willingly crossed the line of sanity, beyond the point of no return. As they dragged me out of my once safe haven, I caught a fleeting glimpse of my surroundings.

The bedroom walls, once adorned with memories, now seemed like the bars of a prison cell closing in on me. The adrenaline from my twisted satisfaction didn't end there. I yanked around and bared my teeth towards the hands that carried me. I managed to nip at some hands good enough to draw blood, but it wasn't enough. The officers just harshly tossed me into the back of a car and slammed the door.

'Rude.'

-- [<3 ]