The Sociopath
This is my English Literature coursework, or will turn into it at some point. quite sickening, 'American Psycho' was my stimulus text.
'Sociopath' is such a cruel word. It leaves a foul taste on the tongue of any unfortunate enough to want to say it, its sting scalds all who are disengaged enough with reality to be called it. It is a bad word, a nasty word. Personally I prefer 'liberator from the evils of humanity' or even better 'man hater'.
Even from the earliest age, from when the other children at school realized that I was the 'runt' of the school, with my semi disfigured face, massive creases and scars running down the left cheek, normal in every other way, they realized that I needed to be bullied. I hated them every day, but now I have made them pay, but the twenty five year old me wants something more, something more fulfilling. I want humanity to bleed for me, to experience the pain that I felt the entirety of my life.
I have lived in this city forever. It is despicable, but the unrequited and obvious guilt free society here is perfect to conceal my deeds. I have a new look now, a brighter, more acceptable face. It covers up the majority of the hideousness of my life, and when I wear it, which is always, I feel new. I don't remember the old face, bullied, alienated, and the new me won't stand for those atrocities any longer. My transformation was complete when I thrust the corpse of my final bully onto the metal railings of an industrial fence in the city, with its head hanging loosely on the remaining remnants of tendons and skin that once made up his neck. The head swung in the wind, the slow drip, drip of blood onto the pavement, followed by a rip and tear, as the skin gave way and the head falls to the floor. Crunch.
They always bullied me for my left cheek, the side of me that is scarred, so to repay the favor I cut off their left cheek completely. I leave the cadaver there on the fence, equaling the skyline with its bleakness of color. I gun the bloody cheek skin to the mask, nails stick through flesh, the plastic and back through. It is finished. Completed. I now wear my aggressor's faces. Push the nails into my already mutilated face; push it harder, sinking through, slowly, painfully. The mask won't come off now. I had taken one last look at my old face. Now I have a new face, and it is mine. Deep breathing, pain, no end, growl in agony, metal through my skin, and pierce my flesh.
Months later. The pain is bearable now. Leave house, walk into the city. This hive of rotten, sodden, disgusting, hateful, illegal and grey makes me want to vomit. What ever happened to morals, I ask myself. I can tell me where morals went. The paper that they were written on was screwed up into a ball and the remains were burned into a pile of emotionless ash. Which was then stamped into the ground.
I can smell the ever growing rot of this city. It smells damp, with no responsibility, no morals, no problem. I wander for several hours, every street with their red lights. The drugs, gangs, prostitutes, murder, rape and guns- yes; remorse- no. Walk past several girls. One at the end approaches me with a seductive smile.
"C'mon mate, ill do anything just for a twenty. Anything you like, promise you I do mate."
I bring out the butchers knife out from my long green coat's pocket. I slash quickly, no time for her to scream. I hate these tramps, the wares that they sell. No decency, accelerating the problems that run deep through the grimy veins of the city.
Grab her hair, now she screams. Cut quickly, forcefully. Head comes off in my hands. The cadaver falls to its knees, blood continuing its journey, into the still beating heart, through the atrium, out the ventricle, moving with growing velocity upwards, to the chest, and then out of her newly severed neck. Spurts to the ground, stains. The other girls scream, run inside, scramble for safety. Smile behind my mask. I stand over her, slash the breast. Comes off in two, hacks. Pulls away in my hands. Blood covers every surface, ground, me. My coat is covered with a brand new coat of red droplets. I pocket the bloody breast, replace my cleaver and continue my journey through this true hell.
Even from the earliest age, from when the other children at school realized that I was the 'runt' of the school, with my semi disfigured face, massive creases and scars running down the left cheek, normal in every other way, they realized that I needed to be bullied. I hated them every day, but now I have made them pay, but the twenty five year old me wants something more, something more fulfilling. I want humanity to bleed for me, to experience the pain that I felt the entirety of my life.
I have lived in this city forever. It is despicable, but the unrequited and obvious guilt free society here is perfect to conceal my deeds. I have a new look now, a brighter, more acceptable face. It covers up the majority of the hideousness of my life, and when I wear it, which is always, I feel new. I don't remember the old face, bullied, alienated, and the new me won't stand for those atrocities any longer. My transformation was complete when I thrust the corpse of my final bully onto the metal railings of an industrial fence in the city, with its head hanging loosely on the remaining remnants of tendons and skin that once made up his neck. The head swung in the wind, the slow drip, drip of blood onto the pavement, followed by a rip and tear, as the skin gave way and the head falls to the floor. Crunch.
They always bullied me for my left cheek, the side of me that is scarred, so to repay the favor I cut off their left cheek completely. I leave the cadaver there on the fence, equaling the skyline with its bleakness of color. I gun the bloody cheek skin to the mask, nails stick through flesh, the plastic and back through. It is finished. Completed. I now wear my aggressor's faces. Push the nails into my already mutilated face; push it harder, sinking through, slowly, painfully. The mask won't come off now. I had taken one last look at my old face. Now I have a new face, and it is mine. Deep breathing, pain, no end, growl in agony, metal through my skin, and pierce my flesh.
Months later. The pain is bearable now. Leave house, walk into the city. This hive of rotten, sodden, disgusting, hateful, illegal and grey makes me want to vomit. What ever happened to morals, I ask myself. I can tell me where morals went. The paper that they were written on was screwed up into a ball and the remains were burned into a pile of emotionless ash. Which was then stamped into the ground.
I can smell the ever growing rot of this city. It smells damp, with no responsibility, no morals, no problem. I wander for several hours, every street with their red lights. The drugs, gangs, prostitutes, murder, rape and guns- yes; remorse- no. Walk past several girls. One at the end approaches me with a seductive smile.
"C'mon mate, ill do anything just for a twenty. Anything you like, promise you I do mate."
I bring out the butchers knife out from my long green coat's pocket. I slash quickly, no time for her to scream. I hate these tramps, the wares that they sell. No decency, accelerating the problems that run deep through the grimy veins of the city.
Grab her hair, now she screams. Cut quickly, forcefully. Head comes off in my hands. The cadaver falls to its knees, blood continuing its journey, into the still beating heart, through the atrium, out the ventricle, moving with growing velocity upwards, to the chest, and then out of her newly severed neck. Spurts to the ground, stains. The other girls scream, run inside, scramble for safety. Smile behind my mask. I stand over her, slash the breast. Comes off in two, hacks. Pulls away in my hands. Blood covers every surface, ground, me. My coat is covered with a brand new coat of red droplets. I pocket the bloody breast, replace my cleaver and continue my journey through this true hell.
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