Some Things Never Change: A Book Dedicated to Absolutely Nothing At All

Gone

I didn't mean to kill her. Nor did I intend any harm to befall her. As you probably know, things have a nasty habit of turning sour when your not careful. But she's dead, nonetheless. No changing it. Now, I'm left with the choice: confess and be punished, probably spending life in prison with no explanation as to what the hell just happened or dispose of the body and all the evidence, ridding myself of my humanity with it. Neither. I'll leave the body here, dump my car into the Craven Ravine, and pray I don't get found out, and bury what's left of the evidence. Sitting up in the driver's seat, I flicked on the overhead light, blinding me immediately. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed there was no weapon, no knife, or gun, or any kind of object I could kill someone with. Only my hands could've done it. Even then, she was missing fingers, teeth, her eyes, and lots of skin was torn savagely away from her body in long strips. It's as if I had some kind of razors on my fingers, sharp enough to slice through skin like splitting apart paper. I examined my hands, and by the amount of blood stuck under my nails, and caked in all the wrinkled corners and pockets, I had done this horrible act. But how? And why did I have to kill her? But most importantly, who was she before I mutilated her? The harder I tried to recall what had happened, the more it escaped me. I unbuckled, and shoved the door open, stepping out into the humid night air. Tonight will be a night to remember for a long time to come, that's for sure. Walking down the side of the road, I notice a vehicle. The lights hit directly into my eyes from about a mile away, and then, I wake up and stand up from the dirt. The car's driver is a woman, judging from her figure, with her head smashed and brains and blood splattered inside the car. Observing my body, my shoes are caked with brain bits and wet, crimson blood. What the fuck is happening to me? Why am I the sole witness of these killings? Ignoring the gruesome scene, I continue to walk, limping badly because I probably injured myself when stomped that poor woman's head into mush. This time, I see black car, driving from the crossroads ahead. He gets closer and closer and the lights hit me, with me blanking out, and I again stand up, this time from in front of the car. Looking around, the driver is still alive, and is inquiring about my wellbeing, probably due to the fact that he just ran into me. He gets out, and I come to the realization that I must kill him. I feign staggering in pain, drawing him near. Without any real thought, or any control, my hands shoot out............his face is bloody, his eyes popped open with fluid seeping slowly down his cheeks. My hands ache. My body's sore. And another car's coming my way.................It's medication time again. I guess I better not keep Dr. Markins waiting any longer. I shuffle to the med administering desk, signing my name, and taking my Prozac, my skitzo meds, and sleeping pills. The water is metallic like blood, and flushes the pills down less easier than usual. Crawling into bed, I fear the nightmares are coming again, and I have to relive that night on the highway.............