Sometimes I go to a place where nobody knows.
A place where I'm forever young, and I meant the words I love you to my parents.
Where my brother was still alive and my father didn't believe the Devil was among us.
Where my mother wasn't racked with paranoia in result of my father trying to kill her.
I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about family until late, but I try to hold off on it as much as I can.
Hold off all the memories of my old home, just a cottage in the middle of a nowhere town, not even close to the city in which I was in.
It was all before my brother got his brains all messed up by a trampling horse.
My father thought the horse was cursed and shot it a thousand times, it sounded like a thousand times.
Then he tried to turn the gun on my mother, but thankfully she wasn't sleeping.
She was a fighter, always was, and always will be, even though now she wasn't all right in the head.
But that was fine, who was nowadays?
Even I think I'm losing myself, or maybe I already have, I can't even look myself in the mirror.
But this was all after my brother died, before it, it was pretty fine.
It was full of large oceans of bright colored flowers, soft pillowy clouds swimming lazily in the blue ocean we called the sky, and dancing butterflies.
And my dead dog.
We buried it amongst all that, for good luck, I suppose, to make it into Heaven for living the modest life of a dog.
Keeping me company, making me laugh, letting me know that I could look forward to seeing it even if I was having a bad day.
I guess that's why I kept Moose, he looked a lot like it.
In that house, you would see things like my mother's old painting, passed on from generation to generation, my father's prized shotgun, chipped at the top and a burned handle on the bottom.
And my brother, well, we didn't have much, but he had this horseshoe, from his first horse.
But it died from disease, I suppose he could never let it go, not the way I could.
When my brother's horse died, when my dog died, when Taeyeon died, I wasn't sure how I felt.
I cried a bit, sure, but it didn't burn me from the inside out, not the way in which I saw Tiffany or my brother break down.
There was this sort of indifference, more like impatience of moving on, forgetting that I ever had feelings.
It was like I had better things to do, like I was looking forward to something better, something more dramatic, more drama.
I wasn't even sure if I would find satisfaction from killing Tiffany.
Sure, I let her sleep in my house, I didn't lay a hand on her, I allowed her to have a companion of comfort, I gave her space, I defied against the impossible Taeyeon for her.
But did I do any of those things for her benefit over mine?
I don't think so.
I'm not sure what kind of life I'm leading anymore, is it one of a serial killer now?
The one where everything you touch turns to blood splatters across the windowpane when the whole world sleeps next door?
Is that what I am doing?
Mindlessly killing, because of my boredom, because of the sudden rush I want, the desire that I'm am frustratingly trying to fulfill?
Or am I doing this to define myself, a person I never was, trying to fill a role in this world, any role.
I can carry the name Monster around wherever I walk in society, if I am to ever be able to walk above the surface of the Earth again.
I just a place, and I will go to extremes to achieve such an entitlement; I have a right to be free and define where I stand.
No matter the cost.
My thoughts altered to this excuse, I'm not a hero, but I'm not a villain.
Just because I kill, it is all in self-benefit for trying to fit a role, a role of the truth.
I shoulder the role of being the truth, where a human can wax and wane like the moon at any given time.
Good, or bad, or neither, somewhere in the middle.
Even if I kill, I am somewhere in the middle.
This is just getting more and more insane.
Sometimes I think I'm losing myself, sometimes I think I've found myself.
It's this never ending tug-o-war of me against this person I call myself.
I tread amongst the people freely; no one knows that I am their killer.
But as Taeyeon leads me away from another crime scene that will definitely lead cold, I am brought to another place.
A place where Taeyeon was the enemy to man, and I thought I was a savoir.
What a fool was I.
To think that just because I talk about unspeakable acts and go to confession every weekend I am good.
Good, God, what is the difference?
They're both nonexistent.
They're both just one letter away.
And I am just one drop away from creating the exact formula for Liquid Knowledge.
Taeyeon led me to one crime scene to the next, the one in which she partook in.
The one in which she started.
Countless of vial and vases and beakers and cylinders to be mixed and poured and perfected.
I didn't spill and single drop, and allowed Taeyeon to take control of my body and my mind.
I didn't want to understand the source of who I am now.
Just like how I wish to avoid my mother, half of what I am.
I'm done, now just dip the knife in, just a small bit, don't let it drip.
I stared into the sides of the beaker, watching the Liquid that burned me while I had done everything wrong.
And I had complete power over when I, in everyone's eyes, have done something wrong.
I carved out a small part of Taeyeon's right lobe of her brain that I had dug out previously and watched it contrast with the white color of the Liquid.
Ripples were soft.
When I looked into the mirror hanging above the sink when I washed my hands of the deed.
I swore I saw her.
Tiffany, behind me.
I had the knife, laced with what would instantly kill her in my hand.
She gripped my wrist, not with any sort of resistance, but a demand.
Not a plead, but a demand for elapsed time.
Wait, she emphasized, body language was enough, I thought.
Kiss me.
And I did so, while dragging the knife across her neck.
Her lips traced mine with blood.
At this point, I knew I had done something very wrong.
I have led myself astray.
I am a Monster.
And Tiffany isn't dead.
She isn't even here.
I clutch a single fist into the dark air.
