I hold the outstretched, algid kitchen blade in my right hand. I place it on my silky soft bed and grab the transparent plastic bag from the box.
I pick up the knife and place it in the bag, blade facing down. "Should I?" Yes! Do it, I want to see her blood on your hands. "Yes. But do I still love her?" NO! ARE YOU STUPID? Do you remember what terrible things she's done to you? "Oh, yes!"
I grin. I love talking to the voice in my head, he always has the best advice: Of a friend does a dire action or if someone stares at me for too long because of the scars and brusies and scrapes. I'm the one who will kill Bailey Walkins.
I'm the one who will wear her blood.
I'm the one who will save the souls she gave no gratitude to.
I'm the who will kill those souls and when I do I'll wear their blood like diamonds laced on my neck, wrists, fingers, and ears.
I'm the one who will torture all of their selfless and selfish souls.
YOU ARE READING
The House Of Gasoline
AcciónI live in the House of Gasoline. Are you Insane like me? We try not to be mean. Been in Pain like me? Leave New York City. Don't forget to "Go To Sleep", baby.
