My Highway To Hell

Final Part Three

Part Three

I knew what was coming. I knew when I first started that it would sooner or later come to this point in time. It was clear which path I was heading down. Destruction. Eventually damaged goods have to be thrown out. I knew that very well. I mean, I was contemplating all my life decisions, as I sat on the cold chair, awaiting for my punishment. A punishment it may seem, however, to me it would be rewarding; one of the best thing to ever happen.

I watched in amusement as the next person was dragged out of her seat to finally get executed. I peered through the viewing window as I watched in anticipation. First, they pinned the young woman down and strapped her to the chair that was inside of that room. I remember her. She was innocent. She didn't belong with the rest of us. What was her name again? Carla- no, Clara- that wasn't it, aah, her name was Cara. Her long, raven black, hair cascaded down her shoulders in an unruly mess. Her tear stained face brought me joy. Cara was a weakling; unable to defend herself against the ruthless insiders. She was suspected of murder. Who knows, maybe she did kill her best friend; intentionally or not. I don't care, I had my fun with her yesterday as she protested. Her muffled screams was still impeccably high as it brought me a sense of euphoria. I recognised the same screams from last night that resonated inside the clinical room filling me up with excitement. I continued to look on through the window, as her face soon contorted in excruciating pain. Everything seemed to slow down inside the room and I knew I was next in line. Her lifeless body stilled.

The sound drowned out as I was dragged into the room. I scoffed as I took in what little of the surroundings I could see. I looked beside me and welcomed, what a sight I saw. Cara now lay on a table that clearly had someone else's blood over it. Knowing I would be there soon made me feel triumphant, seeing how I had achieved nearly all my goals. I wondered what type of punishment they would try on me as I looked at the pale coloured walls. If it was anything like how I treated my victims, I knew this would leave an immense feeling of exhilaration within me. I was already letting go of myself, letting the flashbacks overwhelm me.

My last, sweet victim.

Her short, petite frame made her seem so innocent. Her pink luscious lips, were so soft and inviting. Different and special. One who had not been tainted. Just thinking about her screams and moans sent deep pleasures to my core. I had the beauty of her slender body flushed up against mine. Her cheeks rosy red and long brown hair ; I could never forget. She was one of my last, after Cara, that is. I remember her tiny fist trying to pound into my chest, attempting to break free. I laughed at the thought of her escaping from me. Never. Not one person has ever tried or succeeded in running: obviously my strength overpowered theirs. The musty scent of her blood brought me to a high. Her pale, lifeless body lay on the concrete ground as her empty eyes pierced into my soul. The dark soul where emptiness lay within me. I hadn't been bothered to close her eyes. It was something about her misty blue eyes. They reminded me of her, of them.

Heartless and soulless. Their deep blue eyes shunned away the little boy that pleaded. Me. Eventually, their misty eyes were unrecognisable. Injecting and inhaling. Poison was flowing through their veins.  They knew what they were doing. They weren't always abusing drugs. Sometimes it would be a selection of mix and match. Heck, I bet they didn't even realise I had got my hand on some as well. Usually, she was so drunk that she couldn't even see straight and he was high as fuck. Some messed up family we were. He had finally left when he had blown all his money. Figured out that my whore of a mother couldn't provide for anyone and just took off. No words, no notes. Nothing. At least one of them disappeared from my life. I had hoped I never saw the sick bastard. Fuck that, I had hoped I never saw either of them; but things don't always turn out the way you want them to. Sooner or later I had to come to the terms that my washed up father was still alive. Key word here: was, not is. I had to get rid of him. It wasn't an option. As for my mother, she passed after a drug overdose. When he left, there were different men at the apartment every other day. They abused her. I let it happen as well. I didn't even move an inch when her cries echoed throughout the the house. How ever disturbing it was, it seemed to enlighten me in ways that was unexplainable. A crack whore and an hopeless inebriate. Useless. A start of my habitual lifestyle. Domestic abuse clearly presented in front of me from a young age. I obviously had the best role models as parents. My best traits, I had definitely inherited from them: drug abuser, raging alcoholic, going on a warpath; however I had much better control over the situations.

Small tablets, crushed powder and injections; they were my school life. Satisfying my every needs before I needed someone else to take over. They never did fully satisfy me until later on in life: when I had fun torturing the girls, they sometimes made good play toys. The life I had... It was all fun and games for me.

The organisation process was quite easy. A game of cat and mouse, tug of war and a bit of hide and seek was all it took. They were putty in my hands. I controlled the game. My own personal puppets. I had no trouble with competition either as a kid. Girls seemed to like bad boy but I could only play with them once. I was too late to stop if I wanted to. Rumours had already been circulated among those who wanted me. The so called attractive bad boy was now having his way with the girls. Obviously they didn't know how to say no. What could I say. I was irresistible, still am. I was their own personal heroine, too addictive. In this case they could only ever have one dosage. Never did I play with the same toy twice. Lesson well learnt.

Lesson well learnt indeed. My first victim turned out to be a lying back stabber. That innocent looking face and behind that lay evil. Much like me, in a way. She tasted so sweet. I recalled the memory of our first night. Getting high on ecstasy and drunk on each other. She thought she could play me at my own game. The rumours. They actually helped my reputation. I didn't have to do anything in the end. Just had to let the lying conniving bitch to see if she could keep up. Obviously she couldn't ;otherwise she would have never cracked. The pressure was on. Full heat and in burning up. I had to. It was the only way. I had fooled her into thinking that I would have lasted another night with her. Boy, did that work out great. I hadn't even thought about killing her at the time but something within me just, snapped. Uncontrollable and lethal. My thirst for her blood was so high. I wanted to see her writhing underneath me, begging and pleading me to stop, of course I wouldn't, I would just step the game up even higher: until she begs me to end her life. It didn't turn out that way though. She begged. Begged for me to take her higher, until she was satisfied. I didn't give her the release she wanted. Instead I tortured her. The sick bitch was expecting something so thrilling. She didn't expect me to beat her up until her body was covered in bruises and blood pooled around her. The bitch bled so much that I had to change my fucking bed covers. Who does she think she is? Slut.

Luckily, I had managed to actually finish high school which was a shock to me. Maybe they just passed my courses because they felt bad for the kid that was suspected to have some sort of a disorder. I was perfectly fine at school. It was always the other kids that needed a good beating: and I gave it to them. Fucking bastards. I had saved enough money to buy a house. I didn't need a job. I already had one that I loved. Taking the girls from the club and having my way with them before they slowly succumbed and squirmed under me. This was where my new house with a built basement was put into use. God, I loved that place. The musty scent made others-the girls- nauseous and made me feel light and in heaven: even though I am most definitely going to hell. This was my path. My highway to hell.

A blurry vision, that was all it was. I hated how fast this was going. I wanted to enjoy my pain. A numbing side and heavy eyelids. That was all I was right now. I knew my body was shutting down. A small grin had escaped my lips as the tingling sensation made its way to the opposite side of my body.

No stop signs and no speed limit.

I'm on the way to the promised land.

I'm on the highway to hell.

Pleasurable pain

Sensual strain

My own way to go

No escaping death

I'm all alone

Cheating death is one thing

Receiving it is another

My highway

I own it.

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The End