
There was that trickle of blood that tainted my window of vision.
It probably just hazed it a little, as it slowly crept it's way down, inch by inch- the smudge of cruelty.
I raise a hand, my fingers gently caressing the blood, carefully rubbing them away delicately with the tips. There- it was, undeniable evidence of the aftermath of what I had commited.
A sin.
An irreversible sin.
"You... You... Goddamned daughter of the Holy Mother! Perish... Perish..." Seconds faded into oblivion and his voice grew weaker and softer in decibels. He buckled to his knees, grabbing a penetration spot near his chest, now only a black hole with gushing red liquid pouring out from within that was visible.
My eyes flashed.
This man is dying, I told myself, and yet I do not feel anything. Not at all.
Just like his dessicating organs, mine were hollow, beating machines, that worked and pumped just because they were designed to. Did, because they were told to. All the emotions that might have connected in some way to another, it got snipped from the original source and discarded into faze.
The man limped, painstakingly, towards me. He was grabbing, grasping, reaching out his bloodstained fingers as far as he could, trying to grab hold of me, trying to bring me down to hell with him.
I watched. Apathetically.
"You..." he huffed, his breath shortening, his lungs cutting off the oxygen supply involuntarily- it just could not hold on any longer.
I smiled.
Probably the only different expression I had for the entire night.
I reached out the hand.
The hand that pulled the trigger.
The hand that snatched away the life off this man mercilessly.
Oh, it did feel good.
Kill.
Kill more!
Humanity does not deserve to live.
I did not say anything else.
The hand that I reached out apparently brought, along with this sick scent of rotting death- a warm light that gently encircled my body and brings me into an extraordinary embrace.
--
For one, the dream did feel, to a certain level of insanity- good.
I, for one, am a psycopathic teenager who actually revels in writing murder scenes and have no problems reconstructing such scenes in my maybe-scrawny head. True, I abhor crimes. Does abhorring crimes mean you cannot write in the perspective of a killer? What makes killer, kill? What is it in them that sets them off? An unhappy childhood? A certain grudge? A certain, deep, longing, deep pursuing of something materialistic?
You might think I'm falling into the traps of violence and may never be crawling out of this whirlpool of vengeance. Maybe. Who is to know what is to happen in the future? Who is to know when I decide to leave a screw loose? But either way, this dream struck me of all days- on a day I was suffering from fever. That's why I say most of the times, luck CAN choose the time. Sure, it can.
I woke up and blinked a few times. Maybe.
Maybe there's a second me residing in this empty shell of me.
Who is to know for sure?
For a person like me,
Who fails to truly fathom what life is all about, why life actually came to be, why there is life, why are there humans, why are humans constructed to be this way, why is it imperative to breathe, why is imperative to eat, why must there be digestion, why is this world actually here in the first place- I feel as light as an empty shell, trying to absorb as much as I can from this unrealistic, reality.
There would come no such day as a day of answers.
Anticipate, and be disappointed.
What is the truth?
Who is to say that it is the truth?
How much do we know, exactly?
--
As usual, some Jaejin-madness. The video was pretty long, but it was all Jaejin-biased. I know, somebody has to love me for this.
Followed by the second youngest!
SONG SEUNG HYUN! AWW. <3
AND OHMGEEEEEEEEEEEE it's Jong Hun. OH Crap. Seriously. OH Crap. This video. Is. Just. Friggin. AMAZING. OH CRAP. SO. MANY. PICTURES. OH CRAP.... I'M. LOSING. MY. SANITY. CRAP!!!!! I mean seriously I love this slideshow. It's really amazing. Glad I found it. Please enjoy, people! :D
I shall end here!