Psycho In The Bloodstream

The Strange

I sighed again and picked myself up. I'm glad I didn't actually kill Alyssa, because I could see she was falling in love with me, and to be honest I was too. She helped me become a better person; at the start of the trip I wanted to kill her, I wanted to kill a human being in general, but at the end I released there is so much more to life than being crazy (I didn't want to end up like Clive). I consider myself as down-to-earth now, and that's all thanks to Alyssa. I took my cutlery knife and carved a thought bubble into the wall, wrote 'Alyssa' delicately in the middle of it and drew an excellently detailed drawing of myself at the end of the thought bubble. I was always a natural artist, i'd always draw graphic yet interesting drawings of murder. When I was 9, I painted a picture of a blooded dungeon, a dead body hanging from the ceiling by a thick rope that was drenched in blood. A weird figure, quite alike to Slenderman, was stood in a gothic cape cackling at the sight of the body. I remember my dad saying "he's a strange 9 year old," to himself once he saw the painting. That made me frustrated, but I was never violent towards him because I had plans in the future of ending human race maliciously. I'd just ignore my dad when he angered me; for I always wished to be the face of a wanted photo or the reason for a car chase. I suppose I believed being a criminal was easy, committing a crime and heading on the run, simple. Well, wasn't 9 year old me wrong? Here I am, 18 years old, cooped up in a prison for committing a crime.
Apparently the last person accommodated in this cell killed himself, it was a hanging. There was a cross taped in the area it happened. I could almost feel his spirit still lurking, dangling from the stone that was tampered with by cracks, spit and stains.