It didn't have to be this way.
If I were to start from the beginning, I grew up in an orphanage downtown district. At young age, I've been forced to do labor at factories, farmlands, and small brasseries but nothing works my way. I've been clumsy and bad at everything. In my life, I couldn't take pride in a single thing; I always messed up.
"She probably has a screw lose somewhere in her head."
"Dream small or nothing at all."
People said things about me, nevertheless, I pay no attention. They don't understand what it feels to breath when you're drowning.
Be a good person, they said. Good things will happen, they said. People will not take advantage, they said. But life is a demeaning experience and I'm one fruitless endeavor.
However, there was one person who was kind to me. She wouldn't make fun of me, she doesn't declare things behind my back regardless my background and my mistakes. The days I spent with her were the only time I was able to distinguish the difference of making life and just living. Until that day, I was with her, as usual, at her house in a cold rainy evening.
A man appeared at the door and began to get violent. Eventually, he grabbed her neck and strangled her rapidly. The man was huge and wearing this unfamiliar black fleece, and I knew I should do something to save her.
Things happened too fast and the man was beheaded. I was surprisingly calm. The man died immediately and my hand was firmly holding a cleaver.
She was shaking from what happened, but my mind was crystal clear.
That day, I never saw my friend again, but the incident taught me one thing. Tranquillity.
Few days after, group of men wearing the same fleece came at me. Although I was threatened, my mind was surprisingly calm again. My body moved too fast on its own and I killed the men one after another with the same cleaver I kept for protection.
That's when I realized, the screw lose in my head turned me into this strange person I've become.
A murderer.
I became enigmatic to myself but a hind of satisfaction was over me and I knew then that there's something I can be use for, I can help eradicate garbage in the society and in exchange,
I have sought self-composure.
I was able to breath again.
YOU ARE READING
LYSSOPHOBIA
Short StoryInside the MIND of an eighteen year old girl who's BROKEN by an EMOTIONAL PSYCHOPATH. She lives by the scent of blood, she worships the blade, she have a fear she doesn't want to tell - going insane. How will she survive the cruel world without th...
