Can I spread my joy?

I'm sorry but I don't know how to do the link thing so this is the whole story :

I’m not sure why I’m writing this. What done is done. I’m not trying to help anyone. Not to soothe the ones wondering what happened to their love ones.

Fuck them.

That means nothing to me.

They meant nothing to me.

They all served their need.

My need.

Maybe I’m writing this to see how I screwed up certain things, certain opportunities and how I can change that.

To make my life easier

And

Their death harder.

Everyone has areas in their life where they need improvements.

Day 1

   I watch the flame die from the match and wonder how much that compares to me. The glow was there, the spark happened in the past.

   Even with the match out, the flame gone, it still produces heat. I place it against her skin. She tries to scream but the gag prevents her. I know that reaction came more from fear then pain. It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t a full scream. More of a guttural growl. I’ve learned that I get off more hearing that then a full blown scream. The full scream is just a release without thought. With a gag placed the project can’t let loose. So many times I’ve felt that, just from everyday life.

   Unlike her though, I have my release.

   For her, any release is gone. Life is gone. In my eyes, her life has been gone for two days now. I don’t tell her that though. That would be pointless. What’s the use of telling someone something when they’re already dead?

   I light another match and placed it against her inner thigh while still lit. This brings more of a growl.

   She’s killing me.

   I’m not sure who has more power here.

   I light another match to make sure.

Day 2

   She’s dead.

   I kick her in the chest to make sure. There was one in my past that taught me that lesson. Playing dead until I unlocked the chains from her wrists. She attempted to attack me, but fell a few feet short. Weak from not eating. Stupid bitch.

   For once in the past three days, this one actually surprised me. I thought she had more in her.

   I unlock her from the chains.

   She was a release before, my release and now she’s my burden. This is the part I hate. The end result. Not death. Cleanup.

   Call me simple.

Day 3

There was a pair of children’s shoes, small and white abandoned on the asphalt next to a glass jar filled with dead beetles. I took the jar and left the shoes, I knew I would have more need for them farther up the road.

   I saw the small body.

   The same place she always was. Sprawled out in the gutter.

   Hiding nothing.

   If she was the owner of the shoes, I couldn’t say. It seems like they would fit, but I was never good with kids. She was mangled, decayed by time, Mother Nature and other sources. I stood above her and watched as the beetles and maggots feasted on her carcass. I placed the jar on her chest and watched it sink down. I grabbed it and with a sucking sound, pulled it out of her and found a firmer spot below her neck. I wanted to let the living see what lies ahead of them. It was already too late for the child, maybe the insects would learn. As always, I let the living say their peace and move on up the street. Each body means less and less to me as I continue forward. The child will always stick out to me. I’m not sure why.

I wake up screaming.

The dreams and reality are mixing together. It’s getting worse.

   I’m getting worse.

   The only way I can tell the difference now is the end product of my actions. If it’s a dream then the only thing that’s scarred and mangled is my mind, if not, then it’s something I need to take care of on my next day off.

   I believe Albert Fish had the right idea by just eating his victims.

Day 4

   She was a mistake. I know that now. An error. That’s why the child haunts my dreams. It’s not that I didn’t want her to die, I did. I just wanted so much more from her before she did. People say children are the only innocent thing left on this planet.

   I believe that.

   That’s why I wanted it to last longer. I wanted to taste the innocence. To bathe in it. I tried so hard to gain that from her, but she resisted. I just wanted to feel, but she wouldn’t let me.

   She was a picture of innocence. That’s what drew me to her. Playing in the lot across from my house by herself.

   I should have known then she was selfish with it.

   Selfish is my term, for her it was natural. To see what I could have, to see that in the hands of others kills me.

   In return

   Kills her.

   She brought this upon herself.

   After watching her for hours from my porch and window, my thoughts of what I wanted to do wouldn’t suffice any longer. I went down to meet her. It’s so much easier to gain the trust of a child compared to others.

   It’s the innocence.

   I made a comment about my cat having kittens and the next thing I knew I could feel her pulse beating through my hands as they’re grasping her neck. I grab tighter to feel more. I can see it in her eyes.

   The innocence trying to escape.

   So hard.

   Her fighting and I enjoying it.

   She wouldn’t let it happen. The more I try the more she resists. I despise her for that. I grab her neck tighter, I try harder.

   I enjoy that.

   She doesn’t

   As she fights, I let out a laugh. There’s no point to her fighting. What’s done is done, but I can appreciate the fact she doesn’t know.

   It’s the innocence again coming into play.

   She scratches my arm with her tiny nails. Some blood appears. I grasped tighter around her neck and more blood forms. I let her loose and she let out a cry she hit the floor.

   I lick the blood off my arm.

   I waste nothing.

   She isn’t the first by any means, but the fight stands out. That’s why I let her rest.

   After a few seconds, I grab her again. I feel nothing. She lays limp in my hands.

   She’s dead.

   I still feel the warmth of her body. So tender.

   Flesh, body and mind.

   It’s her fault that she’s like this that she ended up this way. I would have stopped. I cradle her and look into her empty eyes, trying to find it, but it’s gone.

   The innocence.

   She’s nothing now, just like the others. I throw her body aside and cry.

   For myself.

   She’s nothing now.

   Sinner’s bleed.

   Day 4

   I left the house to clear my head. It needs to stop. I need to stop. This started out as my release, then a way of life and now it’s causing my demise. For all the ends I’ve caused in my life, now they’re coming back for vengeance. The things to others, I don’t care, it’s what they’re doing to me now.

   I stop in a bar to drown their sorrows.

   As I open the door the stench of stale cigarettes hit me. As cloudy as it is, this is what I need to clear my mind. I pull up a stool and order a beer and a double shot. While the bartender is fixing my drinks, I scan the surroundings.

   This is a force of habit.

   When I was younger it was caused by paranoia from drugs I took; now it’s to look for the next project.

   I shake my head. Not tonight. No projects. The only sounds of pain in the house tonight will be the ones in my head.

   But then I see her.

   Fuck.

   I want to stop. Seeing her isn’t helping. As I stare at her more, she’s just promoting it. Even in the dimly lit bar, I can still see it glowing from her flesh. Against my will, I move down to sit closer to her. While I’m still in motion, I hear her laughing, I pause. That needs to stop.

   She does.

   I sit down two stools from her and take another drink from my beer. As I’m still taking my drink, I hear “I’m deaf in one ear.” I try to say I don’t care, but get cut off halfway through by that cackle of a laugh.

   I despise that so much.

   I’m curious to hear when the cackle stops and the scream begins. Making her and that laugh suffer the same.

   No.

   Not tonight.

   I go to light up a cigarette, but before the match has met its target, she’s telling me or the bar that she’s divorced. I then notice the half empty bottle of wine in front of her and understand why.

   It shouldn’t be this easy.

   Damn her for that.

   Damn people for that.

   I picture her with the gag on to stop the sound and chains to prevent everything else. The growl when the gag is on and the pleading when it’s off. It’s the same result.

   It will get her no where.

   She interrupts my thoughts with her babble. I down my shot and look at her. Her eyes keep darting from the wine bottle to me, so I’m not sure who she’s talking to. “You need to shut the fuck up. Trust me.” I casually say as I place my glass down.

   That worked. The noise stopped. She’s silent.

   For a minute.

   “Excuse me?” she says.

   I take another swig from my beer. “I said you need to shut up. Well actually I said shut the fuck up if you didn’t hear it and really want to know.” I take another drink and look for the bartender to get another shot. When I make eye contact with her, I point to the empty shot glass. She knew the routine and headed for the Jagr. I wish it was so easy to work with all people. I guess that’s the reason that some are still alive. I look over at the cackle while waiting for my shot. Her face was empty. Her eyes wide. Her mouth opened, but thankfully not spewing anything. The bartender came back with my shot, which I quickly downed.

   The cackle was still silent.

   “When I said trust me, I meant it.” I said, not looking at her, but knew she was listening. I finished my beer, threw a twenty on the bar and left.

   I didn’t do it to save her. I could care less.

   I did it to save myself.

   For that she should thank me. To be honest, if she doesn’t, that would be even better.

   Day 5

   I woke up not having a clue where I was. After few minutes my eyes and mind became adjusted and realized I was lying on the floor outside my own bathroom. I went to get up, but quickly fell back to the floor once the pain hit my head. I saw an empty bottle of Crown Royal lying next to me with a puddle lying in front of that. I pushed the bottle off to the side and tried to rise again. I met my goal this time and went to the bathroom to take a piss.

   That’s when I noticed the blood on my hands.

   I finished releaving myself and went to the mirror. I had blood all over me.

   I stumbled out of the bathroom, down the hall to the kitchen and saw two glasses on the table.

   Fuck.

   What did I do, I was thinking, but knowing the answer as I headed down the basement stairs. I reached the bottom, flicked the switch and saw her laying there. Chained, naked and lying in a pool of blood. I approached her and kicked her in the side.

   Gently though.

   No reaction.

   I flipped her over on her back and saw her face. It was for the first time. I had no idea who she was or where she came from. I know what she is now.

   Dead.

   And where she’s going.

   Chopped up finely and distributed evenly along the highway.

   With a sigh, I headed back upstairs and prepared for work.

   Day 6

   I should have learned my lesson the first child should have taught me. She’s with me every time I close my eyes and try to sleep.

   I should have learned.

   I didn’t.

   When I saw her playing in the same lot as the other, I thought maybe I was getting a second chance to gain the innocence.

   Fate you could say.

   I should have learned.

   With news from the first one everywhere, maybe others should have learned also.

   Stalemate.

   After my first time passing her, I already knew what I wanted to do.

   What I was going to do.

   After pacing in the front room, I went back outside to meet her. I used the same line as before about the kittens.

   She looked at me.

   With those innocent eyes.

   And said no.

   With that innocent mouth.

   I stood there speechless.

   “I think they need your help though.” I managed to stammer out sounding somewhat pathetic.

   Those eyes just kept staring at me and then she turned and ran.

   I watched her small body grow smaller as she disappeared.

   I walked back to the house. Disappointed in the fact I couldn’t taste her, but at least happy in the fact the ruins from yesterday were still in the basement.

Day 7

   I was still upset about the child. I watched for her today, hoping she would show.

   She didn’t.

   I took my frustration out on the object in the basement.

   That helped.

   I gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead and thanked her for that.

   She was starting to smell.

   I would take care of that later. I needed to. My actions needed to stay my actions. I couldn’t risk outside sources.

   I left the problem and headed back upstairs. She was still contained to the basement, so I figured I had at least another day.

   I knew the routine.

   I knew how long I had before the neighbors started to complain.

They were talking about the one girl on news. Vera Walker was her name.

   Maybe I should have asked her.

   Her family was worried about her. Her husband, her parents or her fucking cat was worried about her, the newscaster was mumbling.

   “They shouldn’t worry. She’s dead.” I said as I turned off the TV and headed out the door. I had no destination in mind. I just started to walk. The child kept over running my thoughts.

   I wanted her.

   She should be in my basement rather then that stinking thing.

   She would never offend. Her flesh would be sweet to the nose no matter what.

   I chuckled to myself as I kept walking. I saw the neon sign signaling a bar and entered. As I stepped up to the bar, I heard that cackle.

   A smile I couldn’t help formed on my face.

   I ordered a beer and two shots and made me way to the cackle. I sat down a stool away from her and waited for my drinks. “You still deaf in one ear?” I asked, not looking at her.

   “Do I know you?” I heard back.

   I saw the wine bottle in front of her.

   “We met briefly the other day.” I said as the bartender showed up with my drinks. I quickly downed both shots and took a drink of beer. The warmth formed in my stomach.

   It felt good.

   To feel warm.

   To feel.

   “Christ! I never saw anyone drink like that.” She said with a small cackle following.

   I grinned.

   I could already picture her in the basement.

   She refilled her glass and took a large drink. I knew she was doing it to show me. “You’re no rookie yourself.” She smiled back.

   I hated this part, the acting to gain their trust. Probably as much as they were going to hate what was going to happen to them.

   They say payback is a bitch and after everything that has happened to me in the past few days, she was going to pay.

   “I was going to ask if I could buy you a drink, but I see you have that covered.” I said motioning to the almost depleted wine bottle. She took another drink, staring at me as she did.

   There wasn’t any innocence in those eyes

   I would gain nothing from her.

   I will still take them anyway.

   Slowly.

   After the eyes I would move on to her mouth. I wanted to find the root of that cackle and kill it. I looked over at her and noticed she was still talking. I finished my beer, ordered another along with two more shots.

   Thank god they came quickly. I wanted to leave this place. Once again I quickly downed the shots and took a large drink of beer.

   The warmth was there again.

   Why can’t the living provide that?

   “What do you say we head back to my place?” I asked taking another drink. She did the same and after a few seconds said “I would love to.” We both finished our drinks and we were on our way.

   She talked on the walk back to the house, I said little.

   My mind was preoccupied with planning the evening. There wouldn’t be a gag. I already determined that.

   I wanted to hear everything.

   As we entered the house, the first thing out of her mouth was “What’s the smell?”

   I laughed and thought ‘it will be you in a few days.’ “I’m sorry I missed trash day.”

   It was odd how I was use to the smell of death.

   “Can I get you a beer?” I asked as I saw the hammer, still having a patch of blood and hair on it, lying on the counter next to the fridge. I casually placed it in the cupboard.

   “No, I’m fine.”

   Good. I hated to waste a beer on her. She’s not worth it.

   I grabbed a beer, opened it and just stared at her.

   Her eyes were darting around the room. Probably looking for a bottle of wine.

   “I never even got your name?” I asked.

   “Does it matter?” she answered.

   I laughed. “No, it doesn’t.”

   For once she actually said something that mattered and was true. I stood there, drank my beer and just stared at her. I should have cleaned up the basement. I was going to have to do this in the kitchen. I didn’t want that, but that was the way it was going to be. For some reason, I really didn’t care where it happened, it just needed to happen.

   I need this.

   I want this.

   “I need to take a piss, you sure you don’t want anything?”

   “Well, I guess I will take a beer.”

   Damn, what a waste.

   “Sure.” I said as I went to the fridge. I grabbed a beer, cracked the top and handed it to her.

   “Thanks.” She said while looking at me in the eyes.

   I hated those eyes.

   “I’ll be right back. Have a seat.” I said, pulling out a kitchen chair.

   I left her and traveled down the hall to the bathroom.

   I despised her for drinking my beer, for sitting in my chair.

   I despised to have to take care of her in the kitchen.

   I finally reached the bathroom. It was complete silence other then the echo of my piss hitting the water of the toilet.

   It was a beautiful sound.

   You don’t hear that purity anymore. An action that just happens. An action that can’t or shouldn’t be interfered with.

   I finished and left the bathroom without washing my hands. I was dealing with a person who was already dirty, so why would another outside source change that?

   She was still sitting at the table, her beer hardly touched.

   A waste.

   I grabbed my beer, took a drink and made my way to the cabinet where the hammer was. It was just going to be a love tap. There was no way I was going to end it fast for her.

   “You doing ok?” I asked taking another drink.

   “I’m fine.” She said with a slight glimmer in her eyes.

   “How do you feel?” She asked.

   I was attempting to say I was fine, but couldn’t.

   I heard my bottle exploding as it hit the floor.

   I looked at her, but couldn’t get her into complete focus. I could make out a movement of her reaching into something under the table.

   Her purse.

   Then it hit me, she put something in my beer.

   “You fucking bitch! What did you do?”

   I didn’t hear a response.

   I saw the light reflecting off of something in her hand.

   I felt the floor hard as my body hit it.

   I looked up and saw the kitchen light for a second before she over shadowed it with her standing over me.

   I felt the blade entering my stomach, and then withdrawing.

   I could feel coldness on my neck.

   With her crouched over me, I saw the knife in her hands and could feel the blood raining down on my face.

   My blood.

   Fucking bitch.

   I felt the blade entering me again and again. I heard the cackle as it was happening.

   That made the blood pump more.

   She was trying to kill me.

   I could appreciate that and at the same time despise her for trying. I saw her licking the blood off the blade.

   My blood.

   With each pass of her tongue, her smile grew.

   She was enjoying me.

   Even with the blood leaving my body, I still had enough to get aroused. I smiled and mouthed ‘thank you’.

   She left my body and the room.

   I said “thank you”, instead of just mouthing it this time.

   I rose up off the floor.

   The pain was intense.

   I rose faster so I could feel it more.

   I made my way to the cabinet and grabbed the hammer. I looked behind me and saw the trail of blood following.

   I laughed.

   That was me on the floor.

   Me seeping into the cracks between the floor boards.

   I dropped to my knees and ran my finger across the trail and placed it in my mouth.

   I waste nothing.

   I heard footsteps. An echo of them coming closer.

   She entered the kitchen.

   I could feel her before I saw her.

   She knelt down next to me and whispered “I thought you were already dead.”

   I laughed.

   “I was never alive.” I said as I let the hammer meet her head.

   She fell next to making, shaking violently.

   I hit her again and again. Each meeting put a larger grin on my face. After a few minute she was nothing.

   She was nothing before and she’s nothing now.

   I brought the hammer down again just for my own pleasure.

   I went straight to the floor.

   She didn’t provide any resistance.

   I fell down next to her and let our blood mingle.

   I woke up.

   I wasn’t sure how long I was out for.

   I looked over to the side and saw her.

   What was left of her.

   A mound of meat with a body below. Within that mound was the cackle

   I believe I killed it.

   I tried to rise but knew it was pointless. I brought up one arm to make sure I was still alive.

   I was.

   I raised my head off the ground. The blood had dried and it pulled at my hair as I attempted the action.

   I succeeded.

   I sat up and surveyed the surroundings.

   On the walls, floor and even the table was blood.

   I let out a chuckle.

   I eat off that table.

   I saw her lying on the floor.

   “You tried to kill me,” I said as I kicked her in the side. The body moved over a few inches.

   The mound remained.

   There was a perfect outline of her in blood. I laughed as I saw the dirtiness of her blood,

   Of her,

   Compared to the cleaniness that she was hiding beneath her.

   How something so dirty could hide something so clean.

   I went to the fridge to grab a beer. I glanced over at the table and saw the half finished beer of hers.

   What a waste.

   As I was taking my first drink the phone started to ring. I walked over and grabbed it.

   “Hello,” I said while taking another drink.

   “Henry, this is work. Are you coming in today?” the voice said.

   “Yea, I’m sorry. I had a rough night and woke up kinda late. Give me an hour and I’ll be there.” I said while reaching down and fingering the hole in her neck where head once was.

   “That’s fine.” The voice said.

   I hung up the phone and licked my fingers.

   I would taste more of her later I thought, as I finished my beer and prepared for work.