If not in Real Life.

The Dogs.

Humans are so gullible. They make movies of my illness, they idolise the idea: the thrill and excitement that my torment procures. It's menacingly hilarious it is. I talk of them separately, as though I don't belong with them. That, once upon a time, my kind was banished from the entirety of civilization. And now I do feel this, the feeling of no belongingness. Just as a table or the tasteless gum you keep chewing on to look cool, you, human, are just another entity to me.

The gory details in my head make me laugh. They try to explain me with psychology, expecting me to show a hint of compassion if you repeated your name over and over and over and over... Haha. It just irritates me more: your repetitively annoying voice saying a name I would name a dog; before I'd play with it and then eat for dinner, alive. Humans, animals, fish, birds, insects, plants, bacteria, and so many entities to play with. "It's too graphic!" They yell as they run out of the theater. If only they had any idea of the terror that surges through my veins, the graphic dreams. Let me illustrate, yes?

A dog, okay, three. I starved them. To the brink of death I starved them. But only two. I made them watch the third dog eat right in front of their cage. He ran around, enjoyed his freedom and food, didn't bother helping the other two of the same breed and kind. He didn't bother, the cur. And I found this quite amusing. Then, when the two in the cage had their stomachs mimicking a trough, deep as that of the Mariana, I threw the well-fed dog in. What happened next was just the epitome of my euphoria. They gnawed, to say nicely. They bit through him in a matter of seconds, ripped his jaws apart, and swallowed his bowels... I think they were his guts, at least, I don't know. Too much blood for my liking, but enjoyable just the same. While they ate and broke his bones, he looked at me with a mouthless face. Ripped bones and gushing blood was what replaced his mouth. What a healthy dog I grew! He looked at me, the poor fellow, with a face of utmost betrayal, as though it was my fault that the other two despised him so. They showed no remorse. They ripped him to shreds: from his tail, quickly making their way to the front. He just looked at me, the dog, with the one eye and all the strength he had left, he looked at me walking towards him. Salvation? Did he expect salvation from me? Did I give him hope? I sure hope I did. I walked right into the kitchen, picked out my kebab skewer and came back to the slippery, noisy, and beautifully bloodied cage and squatted in front of it. I looked at him, eye-to-eye, well, because he had only one. I laughed and stabbed his one good eye and left the skewer there, "Don't look at me." I said. "You could've shared, but no. You've been a bad boy. Hahaha." I covered my face and mouth with my bloody hands, unable to control my snickering.

Why did I refer to the entity as him? Simple. Dogs are just the substitute for the real thing. I will soak myself in the truth, I will accept my role in this godforsaken society. A society where abortion is looked down upon but a population is too. Where six hundred words disgust people, but the action of six hundred bullets is preferred by at least one party. This world will burn in its own shit. And I? I will be behind bars for being one of the few who has accepted his role. My mind may be submerged in a lovelorn way that the universe intended for me. To be hated, be spat, and cursed upon. To be called the Devil.