Just For Fun

Its head slowly turned and looked at me. Eyes, blank and emotionless, stared for what seemed like hours. I grasped at nothing, for there was just the cold hardwood floor beneath me. The air seemed so toxic and heavy. It wrapped around my throat, my whole body, making me shake and struggle for just a little bit of sanity. This wasn’t real. How could it be? I had awoken to that same voice, the calm, cooling voice, which had told me what to do many times. At first all I could hear was soft whispering. Now it was just so clear. Every word was crisp and flowing. “One hour Marcus.” A chill shot down my spine. Every time it spoke my name I felt so wonderful and alive. It had to be real. I rose from my sitting position. I had been waiting for it to speak to me all night. I was thrilled it finally had my last and final command. I knew what I had to do. Many times before I was told only one at a time. I had asked why, but that was defiance. It made me hurt myself. If I faltered just a little I was forced to cut deeply into myself. I had scars everywhere. They mainly traced up and down my arms and legs. So red and swollen, always. I had learned to be good though. I had to be good. I stepped over to my bed and pulled out my shining, sharp friend from underneath my pillow. How beautiful and welcoming he was. I wasn’t allowed to have friends though, he was the one exception. My…master…I suppose that was what I would often think of that beautiful voice as, had allowed me to have this one friend. I was so thankful to finally have a friend, who caused me so much pain, but excited me as well. I took such good care of my friend, every time he was drenched in wet, sticky, crimson, I would clean him so carefully and lovingly. He never left my side; after all he was my very best friend. I had already spent so much time staring, and admiring him. I silently walked out of my room, closing the door behind me. I tried to stay so quite and not so seemingly eager…just yet. I wanted to save it all for what I was about to do. There I was, right in front of my mother and father’s room. Was this wrong? I didn’t know anymore. What was wrong, maybe it was just make believe? There was never a wrong, just what was forced into everyone’s mind to stay in order. I placed my hand on the silver doorknob and slowly opened the door. It softly creaked as I opened it, just enough to slip inside. Pitch black covered the tiny room. Though my eyes took just a second to adjust to it. I had been in this scenario many times before. I walked so close to the bed, occupied by the two sleeping figures. My hand reached out in front of me and covered the mouth of the woman. I could feel a smirk starting to develop across my face. My friend was patiently waiting to be used once again. I raised him and plunged him deeply into where I knew the heart to be. I still got a struggle from the figure, but I kept my hand pressed hard against her mouth. I tried to not let out a chuckle. The blood pouring from her wound made my heart skip a beat. It was so exhilarating. I could see the life seeping from her. Her eyes turned completely stone and her useless struggling and finally subsided. I hadn’t been surprised that my father had still not awoken. He was such a heavy sleeper. What a lazy fucker. I hated him most. Master had told me to wait though, and of course I had to obey. My smirk grew to a wide smile as I began to plunge my friend into my father’s body, over and over again. I heard his loud cries echoing through my ears. I couldn’t stop; I wildly tore apart his body. I was having so much fun, every second I enjoyed even more then the last. His body lay in front of me, so mutilated even I could have not been able to tell it had been a man. Blood had poured everywhere. Thick pools of it covered the floor and drenched my arms. I had to take a second to appreciate the wonderful masterpiece I had just created. Now it was my turn. How fun this had all been. No one had ever expected me. Master guaranteed they wouldn’t until the very end. I was the happiest child in the world. Yes, a child. All those terrible people, asleep, in their warm, large houses would be shocked to find this out. A thirteen year old, scrawny, short, child had killed his parents and so many more people. I was not crazy. After all, wasn’t I just conforming to everyone else? I was perfectly normal. Only doing what I was told by Master. I stabbed the knife deeply into myself, savoring the pain and crimson that flowed out of me. My last words. “Thank you Master.” 1