STOLEN CONFESSIONS | yandere.

iv | step on me

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STEP ON ME | THE CARDIGANS

go one and step on me

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Samuel arrived at school punctual as usual. One thing about him and school. Sam took it extremely seriously. If were to keep a reputation to the outside world, it'd be a good one. He couldn't have anyone even have the thought cross their mind that maybe something was up with Sam. Because nothing was. Nothing of their business anyway.

He would have only needed two classes. Two classes to end his high school career, graduate, and live his dreams away from all his worries. But again, he needed to uphold his facade. So, he ended with five.

First period, AP Literature and Composition (Lit), 2nd AP Physics, 3rd AP Government, 4th AP Calculus, and finally his favorite. AP Art Studio: Drawing. Because what psycho didn't love to draw as a way of secretly venting? The apple didn't fall far from the tree.

Sam's high school required him to take the minimum of one vapa period as they call it. A visual and performing arts class. And of course, being Samuel, he chose to do Photography. Yes, he never wanted to sit around all day on his ass and wiggle his pencil around in hopes of being the next Picasso. But his counselors decided to instead put him in drawing and painting 1 his sophomore year.

And if he could, he'd give them a small nod for what they did. Samuel didn't like saying thank you in a genuine context.

When he started off, Sam was horrendous. He got his first assignment, which was to a simple creative drawing one. And Sam, well, he was a raging hormonal teen with lots of built up resentment towards people, so of course all he could think to draw with the dull, colored pencils he received from his gross, ugly supervisor was a mess. A blob of red, black and brown that mixed into a array of shit and dirt was what he turned in as his first assignment of this class.

He got his first F. And a concise warning to his aunt and obviously himself of a failing grade and a drop from this class if he ever drew something so hideous again. Well, the teacher clearly didn't word it in that sense, but was the verge of calling Samuel's anger incompetent. And just because he hadn't met Johnny yet, didn't mean Samuel didn't harbor homicidal urges.

And it certainly wasn't Samuel's fault this disgusting man was such an easy target for him or pry apart and kill. A suicidal man who in his teens raped his younger sister and somehow got away with it. An obvious case of secrecy between his family as to not loose their only son. The only one of practical use to them as the victim of his assault was mentally disabled. But Sam dug it up with his many resources and slaughtered the man in cold blood, and attentively shaped his death into a suicide, leaving his corpse to rot for his deadbeat to wife to find days later after she was done having her pussy fucked for some extra money.

Samuel was quite satisfied with his work.

Until a new teacher came in replacement of the last. And he made Samuel feel entirely different than he felt with the last.

His first assignment was again, to draw whatever he wanted. But for whatever reason, this teacher had oil pastels instead of just boring crayola branded markers and pencils. Samuel had never used oil pastels before. He had never even heard of them.

Samuel remembers the first time he picked up one and touched the pigmented color, the immediate shivers of disgust that transpired through his body. It felt like lipstick. It fascinated Samuel. So much so he didn't feel like scribbling widely with the materials. He instead drew a family direct portrait on the blank piece of paper he was given, a small smile playing on his lips as he sketched stick figures to represent his immediate relatives. Before ultimately scribbling over all there faces. The faces of his parents.