My real name is Jack.
But I don’t call myself that.
It’s too normal. Too average day mundane life.
Living in ignorance of the shackles that bind me.
It's too....false.
It’s not me at all.
Some name my parents came up with to resemble their perfect school boy son.
Some son that never existed.
My parents died when I was fifteen.
Car accident.
I know, typical right?
Even when they were alive: we never had a connection.
They pretended I was their perfect graduate son, while I pretended they actually loved me.
Maybe that's what feeds my desire: A broken past and broken future.
All I know is that my soul is adjacent to shattered glass: just a swirling conglomerate of death and dismay.
I am empty.
I don’t know what makes me do it.
What makes me force the blade into his stomach with hard force. What makes me stare into his eyes with increasing pleasure as he retreats back into the world of no form and no space.
All I know is that there is a desire.
A desire so potent that it CANNOT be resisted.
Sometimes I try. I resist the urge. I distract myself.
Making love to beautiful women, listening to music, walking the streets with my head down focusing on one thing: keeping my hands in my pockets.
Or spending hours in the church up on broadway that they keep open all night.
Staring up into the rafters, searching for any semblance of truth as to the existence of some God.
But, no matter how hard I try; I can’t keep away.
I can’t resist the urge to kill.
To take life.
To see the anguish on someone else's face.
To recognize that all their hopes of their future will die with their last breath....
It’s the only thing that eases the pain.
Relinquishes my sorrow.
The only thing that keeps me sane in this fucked up world.
If I managed to suppress the urge, If I managed to hold it back; it would retaliate in a manifestation of greater violence...
It happened once.
It was a cool night in december.
The wind so sharp I could have sworn it was ripping my face off.
I was stumbling through the unbroken darkness.
Had just finished my last injection.
I had run out of heroine.
ANd had just injected liquidized cocaine that I had robbed from my dealer.
The world was spinning.
I didn’t know where I was.
I knew he would eventually find me.
His name was terrance.
A small guy with a decent build and strong connections.
I knew he’d come for me.
That's why I stole his gun.
An automatic uzi.
A good gun.
I stole his bullets too.
I didn’t kill him.
I didn’t have the urge.
Just wanted the drugs.
I knew they’ed come for me.
But the high was worth it.
The high the only thing that kept me alive.
Kept me from murking myself.
The only thing that kept me sane. That fed my empty soul. A wondrous illusion.
I had never injected cocaine before.
It was different than heroine.
More intense.
The world less vivid and colorful. More displaced.
Upside down. Spinning.
Me walking straight; running into buildings.
I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew that terrance and his thugs would chase me down.
Gun me down.
I had to get somewhere safe.
And then the realization struck me.
I had to kill them.
All of them.
As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I threw up.
I knew my body wouldn’t allow them to kill me.
Knew that this demon inside me wouldn’t let them live.
I contemplated killing myself then and there: but knew I didn’t possess the guts.
So I did the only thing I knew how.
I ran.
Or tried to.
After the first few steps a brick wall stepped in front of me and blocked my path.
Or at least that's what I thought.
I kept running.
Mostly into buildings.
Falling down and getting back up.
Making my way through the labyrinth of alley ways toward the church on broadway and fifth.
Where I’d be safe.
Where I could call the police and end this whole cherade.
With any luck I’d be a wanted killer.
With any luck they'd have some evidence.
They'd lock me away.
And I’d never end another life.
I hurried faster.
Knew I was out of time.
Knew it even before the alley came up into the street and headlights pulled up.
I knew it was them.
Terrances thugs.
I knew it was them.
And believe me when I say this; I tried with all of my will to raise my hands and let them have me.
Let them have their “justice”
But I tried to no avail.
Because their is another part of me.
A part I can’t control.
A demon that lurks in the shadow of my soul.
And only comes out when it is most unwanted.;
It was this other half of me that disobeyed my commands.
This other half of me that reached into my camo pants and pulled out the uzie
This other part that aimed and shot before I could even blink my eyes.
It was this other part of me, that sent forth a cascading parade of merciless gunfire.
This other part that 86ed terraces whole crew.
I could only help but think one thought before this demon took a hold of my soul and I was no longer.
And that thought was: no.
It was only a whisper.
Said like a suggestion.
A quiet no.
A useless protest.
And then the thing was back.
And I found that I was smiling.
I saw that my knife was out.
And then I saw terraces crew get sliced to pieces even though they were already dead.
I then I relished in the madness.
And then I drank their blood.
I howled like a wolf at the moon: and went looking for more.
That’s when I let the sickness consume me.
And took a back seat.
Protesting only slightly and eventually, nevermore.