As previously stated, my preoccupation was that of immortality. I craved it, and I loathed death as a concept.
Today, I am going to express my desire for immortality. I shall do so by explaining my decisions, and the reason behind their seemingly irrationality.
To begin, I killed her on the 4th of July, 2013. This quick albeit invigorating encounter was the first of its kind, at least, in my case. It was the first gruesome deed that I committed, and fortunately, not the last, and no where near the most heinous.
I killed her simply to escape my reality, and prompt the manifestation of my infamy. Her death entailed an existence that was in complete juxtaposition with my current state, I could prevail from the unknown, and leap glamorously into the limelight. This gorgeous atrocity was the beginning of my lucrative career in the slaughtering game. Given my level of narcissism, it was only a matter of time before I took another life. And, in June, almost 3 weeks later, I once again made my appearance, and kickstarted the ascension of my egoistical nature.
These various obscenities made my life a trillion times more livable, they provided excitement, amongst the chaos. It quickly became an addiction to me, and I was thrust into a world of horrendous cruelty. I held the hand of death, and I walked amongst his people. For a brief part of my existence, I was truly immortal. Even when the time came for my passing, I would still exist in the desperate attempts to shun me for my monstrous actions. I would still live in the conscience of those that tried so desperately to erase me, but only accomplished keeping me around. I existed in despair.
This was all so arousing to me; it was so glamorous, so glorious, so desirable, after I had committed the acts, I would always look back and loath on my past life. And a rush of enthusiasm would be channeled through my body as I basked in the high, the moment where I re experienced my last, and realized that so long as I kept my antics up, I would no longer have to dwell in that nauseating vile existence.
I would continue to commit more acts of homicide. It was an addiction to me, my monstrosities were pre determined, for my crave for immortality would always be satisfied by stealing another life. It felt as if every time I stole someone's existence, it made mine all the more great.
This was, however, a hazardous way of living. I slowly became infatuated with death, and each of my killings was more drawn out, more horrendous, more vile and heinous. I needed more violence to promote my happiness. I was completely and utterly consumed, I was an agent and an ambassador of chaos.
How sad is it for one, that being me, to learn that I am nothing without my abominable addiction?
How sad is it, to learn I had never achieved anything, that all the greatness I had basked in had not brought me anything but a temporary thrill?
How sad is it, to assume that I am a lifeless, emotionless, void of any use or care for the well being of others?
How unfortunate for those that I am acquainted with, to learn that I am no more, or no less, that an abomination that lacks basic compassion?
I used to ask myself: "why does the world hate me, why does it prevent me from possessing something I beseech? Why is it so cruel?"
Now that I look back; now that I realize that all my immortality meant, was that I would spend an eternity constantly anticipating the moment when I could kill again, I realize that the world does not hate me. It simply cares too much, far too much, to allow me to continue my tyrannical slaughtering. My world is a horrid result of so many mishaps, but through it all, life has remained here, trying to prevent me from acting upon my deepest desires, trying to prevent the anarchy that my existence entails.
Given my rage in my current state, it will be hard for me to tell my story; but there really is not much for me to say.
I feel now that I have gifted you with enough information, enough knowledge, for you to base an opinion on me.
Given this, all I ask now, is that you let me explain myself. With or more piece to my story, I want you to hear, and not just to observe, but to listen, and to understand, how I felt trough all of this.
Thank you, now, it is time:
YOU ARE READING
The Unknown Origins: Introduction.
Mystery / ThrillerAnother novel I have finally began writing, this is the introduction; please, read it and give me some feedback via comments. I am 15 years of age, and I am a beginning author of both novels and screenplays, as well as an actor, Thank you! Ps. Cara...
