Go Ahead, Shoot

Chapter Five

He swallowed hard, turning on the television as he sat on the couch. The news channel was on, per the norm. It made him feel excited most of the time, but now it made him feel worse.

"There have been several killings on Maple-Honey Boulevard," The news reporter grumbled deeply into his microphone. "The bodies found were all male, older than seventeen, and all killed in the same fashion. Chunks of their muscle have been reported missing, as if eaten."

Alfred groaned, but let the news reporter finish. "Back to you Carol," was all he heard when his mind came back to the T.V.

It's bothering me, man, He growled towards the ceiling. I have to do it.

He stood up, and went to his bedroom, pulling himself far enough to lock the door. "I'm gonna stay in here to see if I'm right."

Almost as if instinct, his stomach rumbled, giving a slight pain as it did. "Don't have food, just be patient." It grumbled in protest, getting louder and the pain slightly growing - not at an alarming rate, it was just there.

He could feel multiple emotions pushing themself onto him; hunger, tiredness, and one that he couldn't pinpoint. He tried scooting them off, but instead, ending up dozing off.

When he woke up, the feeling of 'go back to sleep' lingered, not giving him peace.

Shit, He thought, angry but full of surprise. It's back.

He shook his head, still wanting to prove if the murderer was him or not. If it wasn't, there would be no murders tonight, if it was, then it's obvious.

His eyes were groggy from his nap, and he stood up. The voice spoke, in a whispered, subtle, but understandable voice, "Do it. You know you want to.

"Or," It continued, becoming more hoarse. "You can stop all this - only one way. Killing yourself."

Alfred gulped, shaking his head. "N-no..." He said out loud.

Behind his glasses, his blue-gray eyes seemed a bit dismal; he looked around the room, sluggishly unlocking and opening the door. He stepped out into the livingroom, and checked a clock.

Only eleven at night.

This is going to be the longest night yet. He thought, grumbling something to himself.

Moving over to the couch, he turned on the television, changing the channel to something more nonchalant and happy. The only thing that caught his interest was a dark comedy, of which the name slipped him.

His eyes glossed over in a tired fashion, though he couldn't sit still. His brain seemed to be moving one hundred miles per hour.

Alfred got from the couch and went to the back to get a notepad, pencils, and anything artistic-like. Moving back to the couch, he began to doodle, tripping over stuff in the process, but eventually made it to the couch.

"Trying to tame it, eh?" The voice asked, seeming to swish around his head and through his thoughts. "You know that ain't gonna work." That was definitely his voice.

He tried ignoring it, his hands coursing smoothly on the paper, but the voice made a slight sound that irritated him.

It was a small tune his brother had sang when they were younger, but it stuck around when they grew older. "Shut it." Alfred snapped.

"Oh, does that bother you?" Despite him telling the voice to go away, it became louder. The twenty-two-year-old wanted to cover his ears, though the voice was inside his head.

"Stop it!" Alfred's yell had increased volume as well, but cracked a little on the second word.

The voice chuckled, but stopped. "What? Don't want to be reminded of that innocent Canadian fuckup."

He clenched his hands angrily. "Don't call him that."

"Heh. Pathetic thing." The voice sighed, but resigned from irritating him.

Man, I'm going insane.