Chapter OneA Chapter by SinbulvinterIntroduces Frey, a homeless serial killer with a hatred and misunderstanding towards the world.Warning: Does contain brief mentions and discriptions of murder and gore, and some disturbing subject matters and ideals. -Frey- I'm not a bad person, But it doesn't stop those judgmental stares I get from people who don't even know who I am " much less the things I do. I just hate the world. That's all. I hate everyone and everything, from the loud mouth teenagers whose voices make me want to shove a pencil in my ears and stuck up rich folks who make me want to tear their eyes out, to the religious type who offer shelter at churches and the police who tell me where I can't sleep. I despise them all. I didn't really expect the world to be this way, I lived all my life away from it and when I finally saw what was out there I realized it wasn't what I thought. It's busy and constantly moving, loud and full of life. I was used to quiet suffering, death and hatred. They're people, with lives, names, memories, houses, families, friends, and jobs. Me… I got nothing but the clothes on my back and a whole lot of death and blood in my mind. No name, no memory or history, just a name given to me by a psychopath and memories that would fit wonderfully into a horror movie. I had been staying in this city for a few months now, sleeping on the pavement under highway with the other drifters. The fires in the metal burrows kept me surprisingly warm, and sometimes if the junkies aren't too loud and the voices in my head allow me, I was able to rest for a few hours at night. The drifters were starting to ask a lot of questions already, meaning I'd probably have to move on soon. I never stay anywhere for too long. One person, a street girl probably barely just out of her teens, seemed to have developed some kind of interest in me. Not an actual interest, just constantly questioning me, asking for money, prying into my life, and trying to get something out of me. She followed me around like a lost puppy looking for a treat, she seemed to do it with every man around here. "So, you still haven't told me where you're from?" Her voice made me want to strangle her. She smiled. For a street girl, she always seemed so damn happy. Maybe it was all those drugs she raved about. I wouldn't know. "Not here." I muttered. She rolled her eyes, sighing in a dramatic way. "God, you're so mysterious!" I was tempted to glare, but then I'd have to look into her annoying face. "She's a waste of air, you know that, right?" "You got five bucks?" She asked, for the fourth time that week. "I need to get food." I felt the monster stirring, deep under my skin. "Greedy little wretch." She could just go to the corner, she'd be sure to find some a*****e who'd love to pay for her time. "Nope." "I'll give you smokes?" "She should die. No one would even miss her. No one would notice. It would be easy." The monster encouraged me, pushed me. It brew the anger already inside me even deeper. It wanted her dead. "You know, you really should talk more. Open up a bit. Yeah, you're a little rough looking, but I'm sure you'd fit in fine with my crew." "Her crew of drunken brain-dead fools." I heard her talking, but all her words seemed to run together and fade in and out as the monster clawed its way through my skin. Then, suddenly, her voice stopped. "I don't understand why you're interested with me." I told her slowly after a moment of the silence. I noticed it was raining. "You wouldn't want to know me. You wouldn't like what you'd find." All I could hear was the silence and the downpour hit the pavement. "I kill people." It came out easier than I thought it would. "Not because I really want to, although I don't think I don't want to either. I have to. It's all I know. Death. Blood. Pain. It feels familiar to me… It makes me feel calm, alive… I'd say happy, but I don't know what that even feels like." I waited for a reaction, like wide eyes, a gasp, or even a small scream. Her eyes just stared off into nothingness like large empty voids. "You don't understand. You couldn't. We aren't the same even though we ended up in the same place. You brought yourself here, and I had no choice. I barely even saw the sun for the first fifteen plus years of my life. I literally came from hell. You… You just probably were some spoiled brat who didn't wanna live under her parents rules and ran away, addicted to so many drugs you had to sell yourself to get them. You think you understand suffering or loneliness, b***h… You got no idea." I felt almost bitter. The hatred in me growing for her. At least she had a chance for a normal life, even though she blew it. I was never given a chance. I don't have a single thing I could have built a normal life on. I've been screwed since day one. "Why won't you talk to me anymore?" I asked suddenly, a mixture of fire in my gut and pain in my chest. "Is it 'cause I kill people? Do I repulse you now? Is it the scars? Or the voices? What? Why won't you f****n' talk? You ain't gonna tell no one right? You're not gonna tell on me?" I snapped, my voice straining to stay at one level. "She can't even hear you, She's dead. Idiot." Realization hit me once the monster's growl echoed in my head. Her eyes were empty of life. Her skin pale and lips blue with crimson dripping from them. Her shirt was covered in blood and holes, showing the gashes and stabwounds in her stomach and chest. For some reason, this made me fall over laughing. I couldn't even remember killing her. "Yeah, you ain't gonna tell… You're dead." I laughed so hard my ribs hurt, it took forever to calm myself down. I picked through her bag, finding make-up, a bag of unidentified pills, a half a pack of smokes, and a little over ten dollars. "F****n' liar." I muttered as I snatched the smokes and money and shoved them in my pocket. I leaned back to light a cig, inhaling deeply while I thought about heading to the bridge and debating jumping off. I glanced back over at her, taking in the darkness of her eyes. "You don't like me too much, eh?" I chuckled as I pushed off my heels to stand, looking over my shoulder one last time before I walked away. "Yeah, neither do I." I'm not a bad person. © 2017 SinbulvinterAuthor's Note
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Added on April 6, 2017Last Updated on April 24, 2017 Tags: serial killers, murder, horror, thriller, psychological, hurt/comfort, dark themes AuthorSinbulvinterEphrata, PAAboutI am a Twenty-Five year old Writer and Mother of a Two Year Old Daughter and pregnant with a little boy on the way! I am a shaman, too empathetic for my own good, and a Major Horror Junkie who is obs.. more..Writing
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