Adam

A

Disclaimer- this could get kinda sick. I have an obsession with serial killers... so if your not into that dark stuff you probably shouldn't read this. :) I warned you.

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The glow of the morning sun rose, and shone through my curtains, it's piercing brightness making me close my eyes tightly.

I closed my eyes, the overlapping sound of voices in my head, making it hard to know which one was really me. The pounding of my heart, loud, each one pounded in my ears, as if it was a ticking time bomb.

Boom, boom, boom.

There were precisely three seconds of complete silence in between each beat. And in between those beats is when I could feel senses cooling, and forming into a puddle of calmness inside my being.

When I was 5, I was diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder. My mother would always cut my foods into perfect circles, I remember one time in particular..... she was standing at the counter in our small kitchen, her butcher knife cutting franticly at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I remember crow, being annoyed by her attempts to be as great and as perfect as him. And Andrew wondering what exactly made her the way that she is. I had to explain to him that it wasn't her fault.

Her dad was a drunk, a miserable, disgusting old man. His hair white and prickly, his eyes were as black as coal, and the wrinkles outlined his face as if they were placed there symmetrically. My mom was only a child, when her mother died in front of her after getting raped and stabbed to death. She had a clear view, of what was happening, because she couldn't hold her ears tight enough to stop hearing her mothers screaming, followed by the sound of a punch, or stab. My grandpa, he had obsessive compulsive disorder, and had to have his foods cut into perfect circles. And if my mom didn't succeed, he would spit in her face and beat her until the neighbors started to wonder what was going on. The house was full of terror, broken beer bottles laying on the ground, for my mom to step on or to clean up. Her dad coming home every night to have her cook dinner while watching over her shoulder.

My grandpa died 18 years ago, but she is still stuck in those times. She's now mute, and completely petrified of men.

I killed my grandfather.

On the night of October 5th 2013 I was 14 years old. I snuck into his home, and broke a beer bottle over his head. I sliced circles into his skin, and watched him bleed out. And then I left, with no trace of me being there. The case is still open, with it being the only unsolved murder case in Massachusetts. I'm proud of myself for that accomplishment so many years ago, it seems.

I must explain something, I didn't kill him out of spite, for hurting my mother. Because I don't have the ability to care. I killed him, because he deserved to know what it felt like to be hurt. I wanted to make him fearful, and he was. In his old age, he was blind. But he knew exactly what was happening, when I traced the first circle into his chest. He knew he deserved what he got.

Since then, I have killed over 500 people. Their names all beginning with the letter A.

I'm not sure what's wrong with me, or what's inside of me. But all I know, is that when I kill I feel as if I'm the only thing that is powerful. Crow dictates the kills, Andrew doesn't want me to hurt anyone, I think the thought of my mother created him. Kelly, she's a bit mysterious but loud. Loud, and abusive. I rarely let her come out, she would come off too strong.

I go to counseling each week, just to keep everyone thinking that I am perfect, I like that everyone thinks I'm a good man. It is humerus to me, that I can be thinking the most repulsive thoughts about hurting them, but they don't know. And they just sit there smiling at me, while I gaze blankly into their eyes, a shining smile printed on my face like it was faxed to me.

I could never hurt a fly, could I?

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A//N

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