Three

-him

PTSD , is something we all face once we witness something traumatic. I watched the young man's mind unravel as he stared at his mothers lifeless body. A life, that was so easy to take. A life, that evaporated in the air, like smoke. I blew out her candles. Is this how GOD felt? When he ignited them. I watched as he slid in crimson, trying as quickly as possible to exit the house. A small laugh escaped my mouth, I tried my best to catch it before it got too loud

I think he handled it well,

                     you know besides the whole

                      sliding out the house part.

I stood their waiting for the authorities to arrive. Waiting for them to put cuffs around my wrist . I waited for them to take away my freedom; I waited for them to criminalize me, Patiently waiting for them to add me to statistics. The sirens started of whispering in the distance, a slight murmur in the night. The closer and closer it got, the murmur transformed into a wail and I began to see the flashing red lights.

I exited the kitchen, leaving my footprints in the sea of blood. I made my way to the living room, slowly crouching down, placing each hand on the floor as I laid in the middle of the room. The once warm blood that covered the floor like carpet crawled all over my skin, death's cold touch sent goosebumps all over my body. The lack of warmth is soothing, beautiful in a way.

    I stole the warmth,  leaving her lifeless, leaving her cold. Is this how a VAMPIRE felt? Sucking the life out of its victims, feeling the heat of life course through their veins, only to leave in the wake of death and corpses; Cold. I spread my arms and legs out wide , resembling the dead body that laid on the dining room table. The blood seeped through my clothes like sap in a tree.

        Honestly I haven't decided what I planned to  do. So I thought I would just lay here until an opportunity presented itself.

I hear the police officers exit the cruiser, two doors closing simultaneously. All I could do is stare at the ceiling, stare at the red and blue lights flashing

                    Police, anybody home?

The officer hadn't stepped through the door yet, he had his flashlight in hand scanning the doorway.

His partner probably scoping the other side of the house, he waited for a prolonged 5 minutes before his partner arrived.

            We are entering the house, again this is the police, we are entering the premises

There was blood smeared all over the walkway towards the door , footprints led to the lake of blood that I waited in. The officers unclipped their holsters and drew their weapons once they noticed the blood on the inside of the door . Flashlight and gun at the ready, they began to move through the entrance. Aiming the light towards the wooden floor, enlightening the evidence that led out to the door. His partner close behind, watching his back carefully, while eliminating their blind spots.

                      Looks like our suspect fled

                   These footprints lead out the door

    They walked slowly through the dining room. Family pictures laced the wall with memories, distant memories of a family that lived here, a family that was alive, a family I destroyed. I closed my eyes, listening to the cluttered footsteps of the approaching officers. I laid here motionless, bathing in the blood of my last kill. Blood that gushed from her veins as I slit her throat, blood that sprayed all over my suit like that early morning mist. I licked my lips to taste her, that copper like taste that made my mouth water.

                           Tasted like death

                            My favorite taste

    I felt the brightness of the flashlights as the officers finally stepped foot in the dining room, the light shined on me like a spotlight. I could hear the cops lost of breathe as they analyzed the scene; There I laid, in a sea of iron. The dead woman lying face up, nailed to the table in a way that resembled Christ;

                              Crucified

Trying my best not to move, I began to hold my breathe. To simulate a dead body . My chest is rising too much, it wouldn't be hard to notice I'm alive. As my oxygen cease , I start focusing on the sound of my heart beat. The sound came from afar it seemed, like drums playing in the distance. The thumping grew louder and louder but the rhythm began to slow. I could only hear the beating of my heart, the officers voices drifted off. They became nothing but a mumble to me, words sent to my ears like a voicemail; only to be deleted and never heard.

I could feel them standing over me, looking over my somewhat dead body. The officer quickly reached for his radio

A possible 1-8-7, repeat a possible 1-8-7 I request backup immediately, please send EMS assistance we have two victims, two that we believe to be dead. Possible stab wounds afflicted to the torso.

    They continuously stared at the floor, following the river of blood that led from the kitchen.

The two officers both looked at one another, gave each other a nod and split up. One heading to investigate the body in the kitchen, while the other stayed to see if I was actually alive. The knife I used was placed a few feet from me, close enough for me to reach for it if anything got out of hand. To my surprise the cop kicked the knife to the side. It didn't slide far because of the blood and all but it was mostly out of reach.

Dammit

The officer began to kneel, grasping the gun in his left hand, the flashlight in his right. He had to drop one to check my pulse , and that would be my chance. Luckily he drops his gun, keeping the light shining on me so he can get his fingers in the right position. I'm sure he felt the warmth of my skin, but it could be possible that I might have just died briefly before they arrived so he ignored it. Pushing his fingers around my neck, scavenging for my pulse. Once he found it, I opened my eyes. The officer, surprised at the sudden jolt of life freezes for a small second. I thrust my arm out hard, connecting with his Adam's apple. He instantly reaches for his throat dropping the flashlight. I quickly roll over picking up the gun he laid on the floor. I took aim as the officer struggled to catch his breathe while grasping at his throat.

Damn, in mere seconds

The odds are in my favor

I'm getting too good at this

I slowly squeezed on the trigger feeling the handgun charge up and explode as it sent a lead projectile in the man's direction. I truly never enjoyed guns, they were so quick and loud. There was no meaning in the death, no beauty. The bullet collided with the officers forehead burying itself deep within his skin before it penetrated his skull. The bullet bursted out of the back of his head sending a splash of brains all over those family pictures.

I guess there is some beauty in this,

    I began to stare at the heavy metal that smoked in my hand. I stared at the splattered brains that slid down the living room walls, the chunks of skull just sliding down the family portraits. I made my own painting, a painting of blood, a painting of brains. Did Picasso feel this way? Being able to create such a beautiful thing , in a world so terrible. A world so horrid, we wish to hide from it. Hide from the horrible things that exist within this world.

Horrible Things

Like Me