Eyes like mine

Prolouge

I'm a monster. I've always had one in my mirror ever since I was young. If anything I've learned since I was ten the hardest thing to do in life is to open up. Every day just looking in the mirror is hard. Facing the pain of looking at yourself, is hard weather by the judgement of your features, past or others words there's still a certain hardness to do just that. Then comes loneliness caused by the fear of opening up creating the inability to form healthy relationships. Many faces pass by features after features, weather male or female pass you by never really knowing what truly lies behind the mask. To open up to not only others but yourself is the true test of honesty and to finally begin the process of cleansing one's soul. To open up to another is like looking at a mirror only in their eyes, when you truly see yourself through their eye's like Windows to your soul, only then can you truly see for yourself just who you are. that is the journey we must begin to heal our everyday life and our own soul from within.

In the end The worst thing in life isn't pain, I used to think, was a scrape,a broken bone, a cut, a burn, a bruise was bad. In the beginning I used to think a paper cut stung like a bitch and when I used to cut a laceration in the meat of my forearm seeing the blood run red against my pale skin and the pain I used to experience was life to me, it was my life, my control in that choice, that it made me human that it allowed me to cope with the pain that all the world could see. Take away the emotional pain of all my failures disappointments and losses, my asshole relatives and painful secrets and all those retched lies it was easier than feeling dead inside. Numb. And in the end that's what made me human, that pain, that was worth it. Now In the end it's suffering that's truly cruel, like being dipped in the river Styx, when it gather mind body and soul, that's the worst and when every molecule and fiber in your being becomes numb unable to feel the pain you used to cope.  That is truly To suffer and to truly never see the realm beyond where your loved ones live is painful. To never know the sweet release of death is painful to suffer eternally is pain. Life is hard, cruel, unfair, bright and violent it's hell. Death is easy, painless almost like going to sleep in the end. Still death and dying is different and difficult to understand.  When you're like me and have nothing left to lose, you wish for death, practically invite him to dinner. That is painful and the the suffering goes on. In the end I'm aimless and I think I'm going bat shit insane and that's the only way to describe this empty silence inside me.

I've been in this cage longer than I can remember. I was fifteen and fresh out of high school, when I was incarcerated in Wisconsin. In an asylum for the criminally insane for an act of unspeakable heinous horrors, I did not commit. That was twelve years ago. I'm now twenty fives.

When I graduated highschool at the age of fifteen. I have a genius level IQ. A week later, my adoptive parents and younger sister, Lilly were murdered and cannibalizes by My elder twin sister, Erika and our elder brother and the couple's biological son, Rowland who was twenty years old. they murdered them, faked their deaths and framed me, all by sticking human remains down my trachea DNA, body parts and all. Erika's and my DNA is identical to the untrained eye, and at the time was overlooked. Carelessly they were desperate to solve the case. When a rich east coast society couple gets murdered things go from zero to sixty in a instant. Panic and desperation was in the eyes of all agents new and old. Everyone that day agreed that I was the spawn of Jack the Ripper and that the scene was like a horror movie. I was then dubbed the York town ripper or tiny terror in the eyes of every known physiologist that came and shortly there after ran away screaming.

Only person to believe me was my psychologist, Emily ducard. At the asylum I was treated with fear and ignorance, likened inhuman. Unless of course you were her. Mrs. Emily ducard a doctor and a therapist of French persuasions. The woman had a knack for seeking the good in every day life and it's people, Emily was like a mother to me and A lot of our conversation where in French, she helped further my education and kept me occupied with my time at the asylum, keeping me on a schedule helped produce a good outcome as well.

I've gone from maximum security to a minimal security and have been on a strict schedule of medication for my psychosis, sociopathic tendencies, suicidal behavior and depression. All of which are maintained here at the facility. I do group therapy and art classes along with music and am allowed free time in the kitchens and library as I please with the guardsmen's permission and escort along with them monitoring my behaviors providing that I was not aggressive with other inmates.

As of late I've been very good about keeping out of the news except now that The new killer or at the very least old one is making there debut back into society. If I am correct this means that  My sister and her lover were back and I was once again right the killing will not stop until the fat lady sings. I just hope it's not to late to see her burn and I'll make sure to bring the marshmallows this time, though I won't hold my breath. The time has come to once again become who I am and maybe inhale my breath of freedom and breath a little life back into these bones as the have grown weak and decadent with being out of use, let's put the shine back into my eyes as the light leaves there's. I know I cannot be charged with the same crime twice, double jeopardy being what it is and in the end even if I die at least I go out with a smile on my face and atlas I shall be free.