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"Why did you do it?" Does he really expect me to suddenly answer that question? For the past 3 hours he and his sweaty little friend have been asking me that question over and over again. Not if I did it, there's no question about that. Not since they found me, covered in blood and crying like a new born baby. They want to know why. Not easy to answer a question that stumps you. I remember how everything happened, when and where, but why? I couldn't tell him to save my life. Ironically my life might be on the line, depending on the answer.

The handcuffs are really starting to chafe as the talker and the sweaty one leave the room, they probably think this will give me time to build up some serious fear, make me more likely to talk. Whatever, it's not like they can do anything worse to me than what I've already done. Images flood back, blood splatters on the wall, a warm sticky mass in my hands. I don't want to think about this, but I can't help myself. The images come accompanied by feelings, exhilaration, excitement and a strange, almost animalistic lust. This can't be real, can it? Would I take such enjoyment in acts like this? I remember the actual violence and the strange detachment at that moment, almost like I was just a passenger in my own head. Not being in control, unable to stop what was happening. Even when she was pleading with me to...........

The door slams open, dragging me out of my recollection. Talkative guy is back but has left his sweaty little friend behind. I can see him shouting, his face flushed with anger, but the words don't seem to penetrate my brain. I still see the images, no matter how hard I try to push them away. Why did I do it? Why did I kill her? We were so happy together, a sickeningly sweet story book life, I'd never even raised my voice to her, there was never any need to. It sounds cheesy, but we we're perfect together, complimenting each other in every way. The thought of holding her in my arms again got me through the day. Just the thought of her warm blood flowing over my arms........... What is happening to me? Where do these thoughts come from? I'm not a violent man, god, you could push me over without even trying and I would still apologize to you. After I rip your throat out with......... Where did that come from? This is not me.

Talkative guy is now getting really agitated, he has started slamming his fists into the table in front of me. He's more of an annoyance at this time than anything else, interfering with my train of thought. Something must have happened that changed me, I would never have done this, it can't be. What were we doing before, before it happened? We had dinner, she cooked my favorite and was wearing the same dress she wore on our second date. The red one that really hugged her figure without being too revealing. God, I loved that dress. It reminded me of her salty blood, pulsing through..........

Sudden pain, pulls me back to the room. I feel a tooth loosen in my mouth because of the blow talkative struck on my jaw. I guess he really is through playing Mr. nice guy. Wow, he must feel like such a stud, beating on a handcuffed 90 pound guy. What does he do in his spare time? Steal candy from babies and trip up old age pensioners? For some reason he's staring at me now. I didn't say that out loud, did I? Why is he reaching for the keys on his belt? He's talking again, I try to focus on the words but they seem all garbled through the rushing sound in my ears. Is that because of the blow to my jaw? I think he just called me a though guy, jeez, what kind of crap movies does he steal his dialogue from?

Time seems to slow down as I watch him unlock the cuffs on my wrists. A sudden sensation of movement takes me by surprise as I become aware of an almost animal like sound. Why is he growling at me? I try to focus and see his face inches from mine. Did he throw me to the floor? No, the perspective is wrong. He's on the floor and he's not growling, he's screaming. I realize why, my teeth have sunken in his throat as I claw at his face, puncturing one of his eyes with my thumb. The growling turns into a howl and I now know where it's coming from, it's me. But how? I didn't want this, didn't do this. I want to stop, but can't seem to control my actions. Talking guy, what was his name again? Sergeant Wilson? He's not talking anymore, he's not doing anything but bleeding at the moment. Such warmth comes from inside his body, such an intoxicating scent. The sheer ecstasy of his lifeblood flooding out has me enthralled as I hear the door slam again.

Sweaty guy has brought some friends, the look on their faces is almost comical. A strange mixture of disgust and amazement. I feel myself laughing, the laughter turning into a low guttural growl. It comes from deep within me and feels natural, like this is what I've always been meant to do, like finally my true nature has been allowed to emerge. I straighten up, reveling in the fear I see in their eyes.

And they should fear me, I finally realize this is me, this is the true me. Not the person I tried to be, the one that fit in with society, abided to the rules and norms laid upon me by weak humanity. Finally I am free, free to be myself. Free to be what all of us, deep down in our souls, really are.

I advance towards them, blood-lust in my eyes. The smell of their fear filling my flaring nostrils, exhilarating me even more. They pull their guns as I leap, still hungry for more blood.

Reviews

[Anamika]

really amazing it actually raised goosebumps on my arms. nice spooky story