Self-Written

A new beginning to write my own ending.

Have you ever thought about the difference between death and sleep?

Aside from of course, the fact that you'll never wake up once you die.

---

Almost everyday, there is a new one right in front of me. I watch with unbearable curiosity as that glimmer leaves their eyes. Then they are cold. It is always the same. What is death? I have never understood it, even though I watch it everyday. It only seems more and more elusive to me.

@@@@@

I sit here in my worn out car. It was my father's, long ago (before I took it from him, of course.) The key still smells vaguely of his blood. Perhaps I am merely imagining it.

I take another whiff of the nicotine-filled death stick in my hand. Yes yes. It's bad for my health, but it's so incredibly soothing.  It always puts me in a good mood, and it helps makes sure that my next target goes according to my plans. Of course, I don't even know what plans I'm talking about, I hardly ever have any plans. What was I talking about? Oh well, forget it.

I let the hand with my cigarette hang slightly loose from my open window, and my free hand's fingers stroke at my jaw as I once again reflect about life, death and sleep.

My knowledge about these three things is limited. Ever since I can remember, I have had very little sleep. 1-2 hours a day is normal for me. The bags and dark rings under my eyes do not bother me. I can care a lot less about what I look like. Of course, it's not like being awake for at least 22 hours each day is a blessing, but I can't sleep even if I tried. Too many thoughts. Always so many unanswered questions.

My jaw feels slightly prickly in my hands. I need a shave. Perhaps after this killing.

I turn my attention to the sound of footsteps nearby. It is only one person, and the feet sound rather light. A child, or a midget. Either way, rather easy to hide and dispose of. Trouble is, children scream and wriggle too much. On top of that, they die so quickly before I can get any kind of answer or result.

Oh bugger. My cigarette just disintegrated into nothing more but a tiny pile of ashes on the sidewalk. That was the last one of my current box. How bothersome. 

Nevertheless, it was clear who my next target was. True, I don't like child slaughter, much too unproductive, but this is a very lonely and dark street. Very few people come here, except for the brave (or stupid) people and children who were obviously neglected. If I skip this one, I might not get anyone today, and that's dreadful. That would mean another day that will assure me I will never get any answers.

I get up from the worn-out leather seat and open the door. As usual, it let out a rather loud, complaining creak. I step out of the car, and onto to the faded-red sidewalk.

A tune that was being whistled echoes in the air as the small footsteps continue. I can almost clearly hear that she's skipping. Such a happy child. Perky children have always irritated me.

Her hair is parted into two pigtails, and she looks like she could be no older than 7. What kind of idiotic parent let such a small kid wander off into this dark and damp street? I'm not complaining though, if it means this child might give me the answers I'm looking for.

As she passes by me I quickly make my move and put my hand with the handkerchief in it over her mouth and nose. Almost as fast as I grabbed her, she became limp in my arms.

The only advantage to a child is that they're very easy to carry back into my car. I remember when a rather morbidly obese man came by this street. Horrid man, smelled awful, and was horribly difficult to bring back to my house.

The car ride back home was silent, and it unnerved me somewhat. This is the problem with me not being able to finish my cigarette time. My hand goes to the radio knob, and I immediately turn it back off when I hear the familiar, detestable wailing of that Miley Cyrus. The quality of music nowadays is sickeningly low.

I park in front of my old, crumbling 2-story house. The land the house rests on is so dry and cracked, that apparently no one aside from my great-grandparents ever thought of buying a house in this area. Ever since I was a child, I have never had any neighbors. It has made my quest for answers easier, I suppose.

The inside of the house smells of alcohol, tobacco products, and cheesy flavored chips. Ever since my mother died, I never really bother to clean up anything, and I use the dining table as my work area more than a place to eat.

The little girl moves in my arms and her eyes open a crack as I lay her down on the table.

"W-where…."

She immediately sits up and looks around the place in a panic. I take advantage of this moment of surprise to lay her down and tie her as tightly as I can to the wooden table.

There, the wriggling and squirming that I'm talking about. It gets annoying, after a short while.

"Haven't you ever wondered what death is like?"

She shakes her head, and there is a pleading look in her eyes.

Over the course of time, I realized how surprisingly easy it is to kill a person. Strap them down and leave them defenseless, and there is nothing left to stop that shiny, glistening blade. Time and time again, I am still not used to how cleanly my knife slides into their flesh. Eventually, I find that it becomes rather fun to slide it in and out of several places, leaving behind more and more wounds.

Of course, my victims can never respond when I ask them how it feels. I can never understand what happens when that final breath leaves their lungs. It drives me mad. It is these thoughts that cause more anger to me as I look at my newest victim.

My fingers close around the familiar handle of my knife, which rests on the table. I never bother to clean the house, but I make sure that my knife is spotless. I love its shine as I raise it up in the air.

Her scream echoes within the old wooden walls. The first time, when it was the screams of my father and mother, it rang in my ears and head and stung my very being. Not now though. This is a girl in which I have no emotional attachment to. She is just another one of my experiments, another one to kill in my search for an answer. She's nothing but a guinea pig. Her high-pitched screams remind me and assure me that I'm not taking away the life of a real human being.

What life, am I talking about exactly? What is the act of taking away a life? This is so frustrating, and it seems I still have no answers. I have no idea what I'm talking about, I don't know what I'm doing anymore.

With those maddening thoughts I stick the knife in one more time, and I twist it. That did it. Once again, I see a person's body as it changes from a living being to nothing but a corpse that will rot forever in the ground. 

This is insane! Dozens of people I've killed, and I still can't answer what death is! This is unfair. Another one gone, just like all the other useless ones, and I have gained no answers. I begin to go about my normal cleaning procedures, and go out to bury the body in one of the nearby empty lots.

I go on to eat my dinner- another cup of instant noodles, before going upstairs to my bed.

///

I wake up with all the memories of the failure from yesterday, and all the failures I have gotten so far.

However, today is a clean slate. Perhaps today my victim will get me the answers I want. Today, I have another shot to try and figure out all my questions. Today will be a new person, a new story.

It will be a new beginning.

Followed by the end I wrote myself.

Author's Note

Comments, please? :)

Reviews

[nighttimesnoozer]

i agree nice work

[Cynthia]

I've never read something alike!
Write ending by ourself...
I wish to die in peace, such a hard wish!
Great write!