December 3rd, 20XX|10:21 pm|Dale Park, South End
For the first time in what seemed like forever, Clyde felt the warmth of blood.
He shouldn't, really. It should be impossible, beyond the bounds of reality, and yet he felt it.
Warmth. It flowed down his hand, down his arm, covering it. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, but nonetheless the sensation sent chills down his spine, chills he had forgotten even existed, that could exist. It had been so long, so long that just thinking about it hurt.
How long had it been?
To Clyde, time was irrelevant. He knew that it passed, knew it was there, but he could never feel it. He couldn't feel anything. He was empty.
And empty, he knew, was definitely not good.
Empty meant dead.
And dead, Clyde knew, meant darkness. A lack of senses, the absence of the tools that showed that he was indeed alive, replaced by a calm sense of emptiness.
Emptiness that could make a person count the days, only because it was something other than waiting aimlessly, lost and not caring to be found. Emptiness that could make a person try something, anything, to fill the void inside of them. Emptiness that could compel someone to kill, so that they may feel something other than the infinite void inside their mind
Emptiness that made them crave for pain.
Maybe that's why he killed. The possibility that, by filling others with pain, just might fill himself with it too. Anything to revive the loss of sensation he felt on a daily basis.
And now, finally, it worked. He felt it- a sensation, running down his arm, dripping onto his knee. Warm. It felt warm, calming, and although he always felt calm, this was...different.
Was this pain?
Clyde inhaled, and squeezed his eyes shut. No, this...wasn't it. Pain made a person wince, made them scream-at least, that's what he had observed over the past three years. He didn't feel like wincing, or screaming, for that matter. No, this wasn't pain.
But it was a start.
After all, for the first time in years, Clyde Johnson felt something. And while it wasn't pain, it was still a feeling.
And it was exhilarating.
Clyde grinned as he walked away from the lake, leaving the corpse of Gloria Straut behind him.
YOU ARE READING
EMPTY
Mystery / ThrillerClyde Johnson is dead. He remembers dying very clearly. The pain flooding through his system, ebbing away at his vision, until everything went dark, empty. And yet somehow, for the past 4 years, he's still existed. He was almost identical to everyon...