Chapter 10: Metamorphosis
~"I dream of massacres.
I am a garden of black and red agonies."~Sylvia Plath
At sixteen years of age, his first love showed him her naked body for the first time and he wanted to know her inside out. He told her that and she smiled. So he carved a heart on her flat stomach. He didn't know it hurt until after she drowned in her own blood.
He told her mother about his love for her and she only shook her head, wailing, "I'm so sorry."
She lifted the newspaper. The words read his lover's death. He was famous.
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Ella huffed out a breath. She managed to peel her eyes off of him, after being in some sickening trance, and shuffled over to the toppled couch. Slowly as if her whole body ached, she inched down on the ledge of it, her whole body angled toward the telvision. She couldn't bear to look at him, to feel his eyes underneath the mask roving over her expressions in some analytical way. She would puke if she did, not necessarily in disgust of him (even though he was a sick person), but in disgust that she let him do that to her.
"Why would you do that to yourself??" Simon Cowell's voice exclaimed. She blinked rapidly, it was like he was talking to her through the screen. Yeah Simon, why did she do that? He elaborated more. "Why did you chose that song? It's bloody awful."
The sound of the front door closing came from behind. Jumping in her seat, she crooked her head around. He left. He was gone. She just let him fucking leave. He thought he could just walk out the door after that? Her head was swimming. He toyed with her brain, screwed it around and fucked it up, then used her and left.
Ella shot to her feet. No way. Not anymore. She wasn't a pawn to his little game anymore and she was serious this time.
Vaulting over the crooked couch, her feet sprinted to the door. She whipped it open and threw herself outside. She was instantly scanning her eyes across the lawn, around her porch, up and down her empty street.
A cold breeze swept her hair around. Putting a hand over her eyes, she peered around more, racing down the porch steps, on the hunt. Oscar bounded past her, his tail brushing against her leg.
Her heart was almost beating faster than it was in the house. She couldn't see him anywhere, not a single movement or sound. It was eerie, a shiver chased down her spine. It was as if he was a shadow and blended into the darkness. He was dressed in all black, it would have been hard to see him but surely she could see his movements? How could he possibly be gone already? No one was that fast.
Ella looked to the forest lining the side of her house. That was where he would go. She knew it. In fact, she was betting he was watching her somewhere in there behind the thick brush and tall pine trees.
Looking down at her dog, Ella asked him in mock enthusiasm to get him amped up. "Can you catch him boy? Do you knew where he went?"
Oscar looked up at her with large, oblivious brown eyes. He sat down, wagging his tail. He didn't know what she was saying but he liked her excited tone. Ella pointed to the forest. He didn't even bother to turn his fluffy head to where she was directing him to, only keeping his eyes trained on her.
Ella sighed miserably. He wasn't a tracking dog nor was he a particularly obedient dog. He loved her and that was all she needed.
"Fine, ok, it's ok." She told Oscar, more to herself than anything. It really wasn't though. It was freezing outside and she was reminded of the winter creeping closer and closer. She didn't want to freeze her ass off. She pivoted back around and went back inside, her canine companion trotting closely behind her.
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PSYCHOPATH
Horror"fuck me," said the monster. _______________________ A psychopath, a person with a mask of sanity. Someone who blends in. Unlike their sociopathic counterparts, psychopathic criminals are cool, calm, and meticulous; making psychopathy the most dan...