The air was damp and heavy to breathe in. It had rained the night before; it had rained because evil had done its very dark deed. Some believe that murder is the highest sin one can commit, but our existence is a sin more daunting then that. Perhaps that is why the events of last night give me a slight feeling of relief.
Their blood stains my hands and no matter how many times I wash them, the blood just won't go away. I want it to vanish taking along with it my memories. The smell of congealed blood is inescapable, it seems impossible to clean. My remedy for this is to send the whole house to hell in flames. Now only the sent of kerosene fills the air. My mind is too scattered to have even notice how lovely the sky is this dawn, only the hellfire lights the morning; the light in the middle of darkness.
Hours have passed and the sun now shines radiantly in the sky, just embers remain of the atrocity that once stood here. I saw you, watching; watching like you always do. I had once thought you my guardian angel, but after you stood there idlely, letting me slaughter them; now I see you for what you really are, a demon. You are the puppet master and I the puppet. You stood there controlling my every move, with out budging a fraction of an inch. Laughing, as if a grand comedy was just preformed before you.
? ? ?
The sun had just set and life continued as normal. The people that I know as family; junkies, alcoholics, witches, and the kin of the devil came and left the house like they always did. Brothers bring w****s, of whom they would have no affiliation with the next day or perhaps the day after. Sisters whose battle scars intertwined and were reopened now and then when a new place to shoot up could not be found.
It really is most unfortunate that this is the place I call home. But myself remorse is drowned out by the noise and I poor a glass of booze and find a place to sit down and call upon the spirits of hell with my sins. You see I am only 17 and a runway junkie with a baby. My son however is long gone. I had sold him to a woman who had wanted a child terribly and I myself had a hanker for my next fix.
I had shortly fallen asleep when I heard a voice calling me.
"Ruth, Ruth." It called, "listen to me Ruth. I need you to do some thing for me."
"Who are you?" I asked half awake, half in a drug instated slumber.
"I am God, Ruth. And I need you to do me a favor."
"God? Why would God want me to do him a favor when he lets me life like this?" I ask perplexed as to why this voice called itself God and why it had the audacity to ask me for a favor.
"Because, darling Ruth, you are the only one who can do it. If you do me this favor I promise to take you to heaven with me. You'll be free and won't have to endure this anymore." He said.
"Heaven? What favor could warrant me the right to go heaven?"
"Kill them, Ruth. Kill them all and you may go to heaven." Spoke the voice.
"Kill who?" for some reason I need to know, could I kill my own family just for salvation, and would I really be saved?
"Kill every one. Kill them. I your lord command you to. Now Ruth, do it now!" boomed the voice. And as if I was being controlled I rose up from the chair that I called a bed and wandered out in to the shed and searched. I was looking for anything that I could use to kill them. There it was, as if a heavenly light had shined upon it; a rusty old chainsaw that was probably left here by the old tenants. I looked at it with glee as it started with the first pull on the cable. A dark murderous intent filled my heart, and my victims were no longer of any importance, I was the lord's messenger and they were not my family but filthy vermin that must be terminated.
I walked to the house and opened the door to find that they had all fallen asleep. I crept over to the stereo and turn up the volume so no one could hear their cries. I then reeked merciless havoc on them while they slumbered. The blade of the chainsaw ripped into their flesh and showered the house with blood. I went from room to room in that house, killing them one by one, and each time I did so with even more pleasure. Their blood streamed down my face. It was cooling and desirable. More- I need more blood. Their cries of help and stop did not even reach my ears until after it was too late.
Once they were all dead, I awoke to find bodies, limbs, and heads covered in blood. Had I been the only one to survive this attack? No, the memories of what had just happened seeped back into my head. I had killed them all, with out remorse. I looked down and all I could see was red. Their blood had clung to me, it was every where a deep maroon type color.
"No," I screamed at the top of my lungs, "why." I sobbed. I stood as much as I could and wandered in to my bed room and looked for clothes, ones that had not been soaked in my sins. I tried scrubbing and bleaching but I just couldn't get their blood off of me. I heard a snicker that filled the house, it slowly grew in to a laugh dripping with distain. The voice- that laugh belonged to the voice that called itself God.
"Why?" I screamed at it, "Why did you make me do this?" tears tumbled down my cheeks. But the voice did not answer, it just kept laughing. Laughing, taunting, laughing, I could no longer take it. I grabbed a gun and a gasoline tank and poured it all over the house, along with any alcohol that was left in bottles around the house. I stepped out on to the grass and watched the place I called home burn to hell. And the he was standing, watching, laughing- and then in one instant, I was standing watching myself, like a reflection, only I was laughing and my reflection put a gun in its mouth. That is all I can remember, everything else is gone- almost as if life did not continue from that day on.
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