A mental note.

- the diary entry of a psychopath, describing the thought processes and fantasies he encounters, just as his therapist asked--

Blood.
Running through my fingers.
Slipping over my veins.
Trailing across my skin.
It's crimson beauty weaving intricately around my bones.
Dripping.
From the knife.
Which cuts the flesh.
The soft, soft flesh.
So soft.
I can press my fingers in, into the warm hugging slit. I can hook them under, just under the surface. My nails dig in slightly. The blood runs across the edges, spilling over. The pink meat, now painted red.
I dig some more. Now I've got a grasp. Inside, the centre. Half my fingers are consumed.
The blood.
My mind is numb now.
Throbbing.
I can't tell if it is the meat, throbbing, or I.
Hot.
It's hot. I'm hot. Too hot.
Focus, on the flesh. The bleeding stab wound in the flesh.
I push my fingers in a little deeper, wriggling them around to really feel the slippery satisfaction of the flesh against my skin. Nothing compares.
I push my fingers outwards, stretching the stab wound. It's so soft.
The meat gently...tears. So softly.
The blood drains to the bottom, surrounding it in a sea of red.
I drag out my knife once more.
My fingers suck out.
The knife glides through. Again. And again. And again.
Diced. Meat.
The blood is on my shirt.
I'll lick that off.
The flesh is ready.
I peel it off, and settle it down.
Onto the tray.
Into the oven.


I do enjoy preparing chicken fillets for supper.

It's rather...liberating. Then again, I find many things liberating. Which is ironic, when you consider the fact that everything I do if...constraining. I am a man of many moods, you see. I'm so changeable, I can barely understand myself. I guess that's why I hate myself so much. Because I just can't get a hold on me. Me has a whole mind of its own. A mind I hate. I hate so much.
There aren't many things I hate. I don't particularly like bike sheds, but that's a personal opinion.
I like to think I'm an optimist. The glass is always half full. I know that. I've proven it.
I experiment. That's what I do. Not for a profession, no. It's more of a...hobby. I do all sorts of arts and crafts. Interbreeding, mutating, you name it. I've done it.
Hah, I'm kidding. I don't have the equipment for that. The animals wouldn't make it to day two with me around.
I don't get along with animals. Accept my cat, Fiona. She has a lovely golden coat. It's really soft. So soft. She has sharp claws, and a white spot on her shoulder blade. She's not that old, she's exactly 4 years and three months next Tuesday. I need to pop out and get some more cat food. And a toy.

If you wonder why I'm writing all this down, it's because my therapist told me to.
Her name's Fiona, too.
Dr. F. A. Charleston. Fiona. A. Charleston.
I don't know what the "A" stands for. But I will soon enough.


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The window is ajar and the fresh scent of urban filth filters in through my blinds, as I sit down at the perfectly decorated table to enjoy my fillets, and then, write this. The cutlery is the finest, and polished to perfection, placed precisely 2.45 cm away from my plate. The wine glass is place upon a matt, although it doesn't hold wine, for alcohol dulls the senses, and that is something I need no extra encouragement to do. Instead, I wash down my dinner with orange juice, squeezed freshly from the pulp of a cheap cardboard carton which now lies in the dustbin. Accompanying my chicken is a siding of peas - the only greens I can force myself to eat, for all vegetables are yucky, but peas are so very adorable, so I can accept that they are only trying to enforce my immune system, and meet them half way. An old record plays in the background; Moon River, my mother and father's choice of song for their first dance at their wedding. I had found the record, along with the vinyl, in their house soon after they died. I was only young, but I grew fond of the old thing, and it is all I have used as entertainment (in the most expected of sorts) since.

You dream maker, heart breaker,
Wherever your going, I'm going your way.

I sing the words over in my head. It had a forbading essence that enchanted me so. You see, my mother and father referred to each other in jestful terms as "dream maker" (my father) and "heart breaker" (my mother). Then, when they did go - and by 'go', I mean die, they went together.

Some say sad, I say sweet.

But apparently that's odd, according to Fiona.A.Charleston, who will no doubt take extra notice to those words, so I will retract the statement, and let you decide on what mediocre excuse of an opinion you would see suitable.

I don't see how that's so strange, though. It isn't like it's not sweet. They died, arm in arm, as lovers should. Though, the small detail I have decided to neglect is that, in fact, my father murdered my mother and then himself, so all in all...maybe it's a little distorted. But still a sweet gesture of eternal love, nether the less.

Oh, that's right, Dr F.A.Charleston. I hadn't told you the cause of my parents decease. Though I'm sure you've discovered it despite my efforts to conceal it through those Internet database dingymidabs. Oh well. I guess we know who I take after, eh?

Anyway. I am now shaking a little, so I have decided to retire for the night.

I have big plans for tomorrow night, Fiona. I must sleep now, or else I'll be tired. It's to be a late night tomorrow night, Fiona.

Goodnight, Dr. F.A.Charleston. Goodnight, Fiona.

Author's Note

This is only an experimental piece- I was bored so I decided to do this. Please, let me know how you reacted, opinions, etc. thanks! :)

Reviews

[Dan Fite, Jr.]

WOW! That was so good! At first I was convinced it was a girl cutting herself, then when you revealed it was a man cooking I was like "Oh, ok. That's a little bit more upbeat." Then I was so confused about what why he was telling us all of that random stuff, and then the therapist thing was a nice twist! I was on the edge of my seat (or my couch :D) reading this! Now I'm curious, though! It sounds like he wants to kill his therapist, talking about all of the blood and meat; however the fact that he named his cat after her gives off the impression that she is special to him. If you could expand on this and write maybe a few chapters about this guy, I think it would be top notch! He could be crazy and half of him want to kill Fiona and half of him love her, it would be great! And the writing and description was top notch! I was really entertained! Great job!
The only thing I that threw me off was all of the random stuff he said between cutting the chicken and talking about Fiona. Although, it does serve to convince the reader that he is mad and that a ton of strange thoughts go through his head. I would say just don't go overboard with the random stuff, but include it.

[G.A. Collins]

Woah, thank you so much...this is the first proper review I've had! :') I'm glad it didn't just throw you off straight away, I was quite worried it wouldn't sit right at all...I get what you mean about the random stuff...I was just trying to throw in some character profiling that would've been useful had I continued...I probably will upload some more during the week...it was fun to write, and it could be a challenge to continue :')

[john]

Wow that was so eclecticly awsome

[J3ssInJupit3r]

I loved this! Anything that is psychotic, twisted and messed up is already intriguing to me, but your word choice and the lack of caring about keeping in the lines drew me in. Anything cryptic and creepy like this is WELL WORTH reading over and over again. Amazing job! THank you for sharing! I loved the ending!

[Rév O'Conner]

Damn this piece is amazing, the first part and the rest. How the story changes from a dark to comical all of a sudden when we realize it's a man making chicken then again the subtle movement towards its original state.
"Accept" at < Accept my cat, Fiona.> will be except.

[Riding the Rainbow]

WOW!
This piece was really strong and raw..
You did an amazing job describing his mind and all..
Well done!