Diary of a Madman

"One person's craziness is another person's reality."

― Tim Burton

Madness. What is normal in society? Go ahead, answer it. What is your definition of normal? Do you consider talking to yourself normal? What about talking to inanimate objects? Everyone does it. Where do you draw the line at talking to inanimate objects?

Every human is mad at some extent. We all have seen things, done thing, thought things that would classify us as insane. That is why I write this. This is the journal of me. You need not know my name. It is unimportant. I would just like who ever reads this to take this into consideration. Is murder acctually murder if the victim is a cruel hearted man?

That is why I am here, at the North Wales Lunatic Asylum. I murdered a man. I am a notorious murderer. I was in the papers for a decent leangth of time due to how well I was hidden.

It all started in August, a month prior to now. I was a hard working, city dwelling man. I lived in North Wales in a wealthy town. I was well liked and had many friends, and was completly sane. The only fault in my life was my neighbor.

Mr. Williams was a wretched old man. He was seventy two years old with a large house, no wife, kids, or friends. There was a reason he was so lonely. No one wanted to be aroud him longer than needed. He loved to complain about everything under the sun. He was never satisfied with anything anyone except himself did. This wretched old man loved to ruin others happiness also. I had a dog once, and he shot it because it barked too much. Thing is, it rarely barked.

Well, one day, the man was complaining about how the tree in my backyard was growing over his fence and demanded it be cut down, but I couldn't cut the tall oak down. It was far too large and would crush my house due to the way it was leaning

"I cannot do it, sir,"I said. I was gripping a cold, grey stone in my hands behind my back. I was going to knock him over the head with it if he didn't silence.

"And why not?" he said.

"It will destroy my residence!" I said. "I can trim it, but I cannot cut it down."

"I don't want it trimmed, I want it gone damnit!"

"Mr. Williams, I am growing impatient. I cannot take the tree down. It will destroy my home. Can you not get that through your thick damned skull?!"

"Mister-"

Before he could speak, I had him over the head with my stone. He fell to the grass in a heap. I dropped the now bloodied stone and grabbed him by his ankles and dragged him inside my house.

Once in, I checked him for a pulse. I felt it, but barely. I had to finish him.

I stood straight and calmly brushed my shirt down. It was now stained with splattered blood. I frowned. That had been my favorite shirt.

I left Mr. Williams limp body in my living room and went upstairs to the closet. I looked over my options and thought them all through. A hammer, too messy. A saw, too bloody. I needed something clean.

I pulled out a bucket and ran downstairs and filled it with water. I walked back to the living room and flipped my neighbor on his back. I picked up his head and shoved it in the water. His thrashed, kicked, gasped for breathes, but failed.

"It's a pity, really, that you should die over such a petty argument," I said to him.

His body fell lip and I pulled his large head from the bucket and dumped it out. I went back into the living room and stared at his body.

Now I had to decide what to do with the body.

The blood oozed from his head still.

I went out to the back yard and grabbed my shovel and dug a hole near the river in the wood s a mile away from my home and used my horse to drag him to it. I pushed his body in the hole and buried the old man, then rode my steed back home and cleaned up my house.

Around two weeks after I murdered Mr. Williams, I heard police sirens outside my home. My heart sped up. I peeked out my window and saw policemen outside. They were knocking on Mr. Williams door. I knew I was next, and I knew I was a terrible liar. I ran upstairs, grabbed my pistol and waited at the door.

I heard the knock, waited a few seconds, then opened the door and shot the two officers. I knew I had to escape, now. I was going to be hung. Shot. Drawn and quartered. Totured.

I ran out back and saddled up my horse. I rode off into the forest until I reached the town on the other side, Windrixville. It was dark by then, so I bought a room in the inn and went to sleep.

End of Part One