**WARNING: If you're squeamish to violent and graphic details, then this journal may not suitable for you to read. This is raw memory I'm going by, and for that, I am not going to be held responsible simply because you failed to take notice of this warning. This is put solely on the purpose because of the grotesque, depressing, and rather disturbing details I've seen and the only way to calm down about it is to vent through this journal. You have been warned. Proceed with caution.**
I don't normally dream these often. Hell, I normally dream of murder when it comes to dreaming ANYTHING, but this one was with ME murdering, rather than the normal routine of me getting killed by something. And... disturbingly enough... I felt overwhelmingly satisfied with it.
We all have dark sides. No matter how much someone doesn't wanna admit it, everyone has a dark side. I've known that I've had... violent tendencies and rage to the point I've wished death on multiple people before. I've even gotten tempted so far as TO want to kill people before. I almost did, in fact. I was lucky I got held back though. I don't think it's immature like people keep trying to make it out to be. I think it's dangerous
. VERY dangerous
. It's not something you can just put out there lightly. It's not a game you can play. It's real stuff, and if you're not careful messing with that flame, you are going to get burned. Badly. You might even lose your own life.
It's 10:36 am. Or was. It'll probably be 12 pm before I get this done. I rarely ever wake up at this time, but I guess it's a good time as ever, huh? I better get to the dream, since it's what woke me up. You might find it disturbing yourself.
It was in the middle of the day. The news was on the TV, saying a killer was on the loose. The police had lost track of him somewhere in Greenville County, in North Carolina. Greenville is near where I lived at, so he wasn't far. Being in the Kannapolis, the last thing you'd want to worry about is some large man coming at your door. The description of the man showed he was rather large indeed. Curly brownish red hair, a lumberjack's beard. Blue eyes, and had a rather stoic expression. His skin was like a vanilla cream, I would say. Pale. He was also claimed to be described as a little on the obese side, but it seemed like he could keep up in terms of running.
My family, strange enough, took no heed of it, since we had a bunch of shit to be done today. A lot of things had to be taken care of - you know, everyday things. It wasn't until we heard knocking at our door. But... it wasn't your normal friendly knock. It was more like "BANG BANG BANG". My mom went to go open the door, but then the door was kicked down - hitting my own mother in the face and sending her flying backwards. Lo and behold - it was that same man on TV.
I literally felt fear and dread at that point. In my house, there's only one way to get in and out - the back door. Unless you count the windows, then that's a different story. That man had waltz his way inside the house, and he only... looked at the three of us while I was helping my mom up. That man gave me... such the... strangest look in his eyes. He also smiled. It looked... sinister. Could the news have left out an important detail that this man was also a possible raper? Because that's the expression I saw on that man's face. He only started to draw closer, and closer, until I ran in my room to grab my spear I had sitting on the brackets I have holding up a shelf in my room. No joke, I have a spear - from that broken hoe when I was burying those kittens - IN my room. I also have another one that's decorative.
Knowing how muscular slightly obese, large men are in their own way, I knew I had to be careful. One wrong move could've ended my life. When he had saw that spear in my hands, he stopped. I told him plainly, "get out of our house, and you will not be harmed!" That only made the man laugh. Huh? That just... made him laugh? What part was funny anywhere in that sentence? I didn't notice he was carrying a hammer with him. I told my parents to run, but they were hesitant to, because they know that I wasn't ready to stand up against such a large man, compared to me almost looking like a lolita to him. I told them to run again, and my dad said "we're not leaving you behind!" But in my mind, being left behind is... normal. I've had many, many morbid thoughts of being left behind in the worst cases, and some of those HAVE happened. How could this one be any different? Before I could think everything through, the large man swung himself at me, and I was lucky to dodge it. I gave him a swift hit on the head with the pole of my spear, able to squeeze myself through back in the living room. From there, I proceeded in trying to stab the man... but to no avail. The spear being so dull, unfortunately it only felt like I was meaninglessly poking him. Taking no other chance in being cornered for slaughter, I ran for my parent's room, grabbing whatever guns I could, took my parents and made a run for it.
We couldn't take the cars - no keys. I could've swore my dad had his keys on him. He normally did. I wasn't going to take a chance on going back in there, though. Then... I heard the sound of dogs yelping. Was he... was he... hurting my dogs...? That... BASTARD!!! I've known that people can sometimes be cruel, but humans are out of that house!! WHY THE FUCK WOULD HE HURT MY DOGS?! Was it to get to our heads?? I wanted to run back inside, but my dad held me back, saying there was nothing we could do for them. Like hell there was!!! I was ready to chew the guy's arms off! If it's one thing I absolutely CANNOT stand, it's animals being harmed in any way. They did absolutely NOTHING wrong, and now they have to pay the price for it???
Reluctantly leaving the dogs behind, we came to a gas station at the end of the road. The QT gas station, if you will. We were pleading for the staff there to call the police. To our relief, they did... but then it came to our minds that it'd take them some time before they got there. We didn't want to put anyone else in danger. So with that thought, we headed outside, and - to our surprise - found the same man... covered in blood. It was splattered over him like he were a canvas. He... he killed my dogs. I would know that blood anywhere. HE. KILLED. MY DOGS.
I know that the fight or flight motion was arguing inside me, and it was better to get the fuck out of there... but to me, I didn't want to run anymore. After knowing that, I wanted to beat this motherfucker's skull in until nothing left remained that would make him even remotely noticeable. I felt like the Devil himself was tempting me. To see if I would carry out my urges. To see if I would really do such a horrid thing to a person. Just whispering in my ear. I've always believed that if you ever took a look inside a psycho's mind, you would go batshit crazy. I literally felt that in that moment. I felt hellbent on revenge. And in my head... I was going to get it.
I decided to spare no amount of mercy for this man in the slightest measurements available, as I cocked one of the guns I grabbed. I aimed at the man's head, and took a direct, clear shot at the guy's skull. Little did I know - I was holding a BB gun
. Can you say "woops"? Fortunately, it made the man stumble back. Although, he used his hammer to grab a hold of something, slamming it in a propane tank holder - IN one of the tanks. I had said "quick! I need a stronger gun! These are just BB's!" A store clerk then handed me what looked like an old western revolver. I decided since it was basically a magnum (or what it looked like to me), once the man regained his stance, he charged at me. Having absolutely no experience with revolvers of any kind, I was not prepared for the recoil when I pulled the trigger. It sent my arm going back, as well as the majority of my body, but I got a lucky shot right between the man's eyes. He got sent backwards, falling to the ground with a sickening splat. I think I might have just shot him right inside his brain, since I thought I was seeing bits of brain scattered around him a bit.
But what came next is what really unsettled me. I don't think anyone was prepared for it. This guy - who I shot dead between the eyes, bits of brain scattered everywhere, and more than likely bleeding profusely - struggling his way back up, as if he weren't human. I'm sorry, is this a scene of The Walking Dead, or is this fucking real life?? I wasted no more time, and decided to shoot him again, but...
Click. Click, click. Click. Holy hell. You can't tell me... THIS ONLY HAD ONE BULLET?! Thanks a lot, store clerk. You've just killed me. I checked the rifle, no bullets. BB's are useless, since they don't kill. This revolver was out of bullets. The only other gun left that WAS full of bullets we didn't get, cuz - who woulda thought - it was LOCKED IN MY DAD'S CAR. SHIT!! What the fuck do I do now?!! Wait... I saw an emergency hatchet in the store. I know, weird right? Keeping a fucking ax. Inside a building. Brilliant. I also knew that the spear wasn't worth hairy donkey balls at this point. It barely punctured the guy. Only other way was to sharpen it. Oh yes, let me just go ahead and sharpen it while I'm RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF MY FUCKING DOOM. Yeah, that always works. I went in and busted open the glass holding the ax (what? Axes gotta have SOMETHING to block people from getting it) and as I ran ran back outside, I took it on a revenge gambling chance. I charge right up to that motherfucker, and with no regrets, lunged the blade of the ax deep into the corpse's skull. It caused him to fall down with a sickening splat again, only this time brain becoming more apparent in oozing out. I pulled the hatchet out from him, and brain stuck to it like sticky cum (for lack of a better word).
I felt like it wasn't over yet, because at that moment, the guy could've gotten up again. So I drove that blade in his skull again. And again. AND AGAIN. I wanted him to look like mincemeat. I finally axed his face to the point of no recognition, but I didn't feel like stopping there. There was still the revenge for my pets I wanted to do. So with that in mind, fire raged inside of me like no tomorrow. I hacked his limbs off, sliced him open like dissecting a frog. I saw his intestines spill onto the otherwise hot pavement. I wanted to strangle him with his own body parts. Bad thing was, he was dead. No way I'd get pleasure from strangling a dead person. I hacked his chest open, tearing out his heart. I said to myself "you don't fucking deserve this heart at all. You don't deserve LIFE at all. You deserve... NOTHING!" I didn't notice that there was a lighter nearby, until I lifted my head up. I thought it would've been perfect to end things that way. I grabbed that lighter out from the propane gas puddle, wiping it off with my shirt, and spared no time in lighting his dead ass on fire. I decided to run, since I also knew there were multiple propane tanks nearby. All of a sudden, KERBOOM
It was only a matter of time before the police showed up... and they noticed me drenched in blood as if I bathed in it. As for the man... he looked like burnt roadkill. None of his organs were inside of him. They were all beside him, hacked up to bits. His intestines adorned it like spaghetti noodles. In fact, it did look like spaghetti. Cooked spaghetti, I oughta add. The man's head was too hacked up to tell anything. Nothing about this man seemed the same anymore. The only lead they could get that it was the killer were the shreds of clothes that weren't completely engulfed in the flames. In my defense for all that mess... I was defending myself and my family. I don't care if I had to go overboard to achieve that. But something was burning inside of me... I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I didn't feel regret. I didn't feel a single smidge of remorse. I felt nothing... but satisfaction. Overwhelming satisfaction, to the point I could laugh, skip around, and cheer because of what I did. But it almost seemed like I wasn't quite done yet. I wanted more. I wanted more bloodshed. I wanted to kill again. The adrenaline rush of the incident thrilled me. That moment not knowing whether you were going to live or die... it almost seemed as if I never felt more alive than I ever have until that moment I brutally murdered that man. I couldn't help it as I had the most sinister smile upon my face. The thought of killing was definitely contagious.
... Not that pleasant, is it? It sounds like taking a trip into the mind of a killer, I believe. Either that, or my imagination is too vivid or wild. I found that oddly disturbing, yet satisfying, simply because I got revenge for my puppies. 8(I need therapy, don't I? >_>;
**Again, I take no responsibility for what you have read in this journal. I gave you the warning. In fact, I put it up in bold and enlarged it, so you would be more likely to see it. This was indeed raw memory I was collecting from a dream. I have specifically also told you there were grotesque, depressing, and rather disturbing details that I said I would provide, so don't go blaming me for your lack of understanding.**