A Delicate Mind

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
A nameless killer is unaware of the wrong he does when his psychopathic side takes over his mind.

Submitted: July 12, 2016

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Submitted: July 12, 2016

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A Delicate Mind

 

The smell of fresh blood made me tingle, in a good way. I licked the thick, crimson liquid away from my top lip that had dribbled down from my nose and examined the damage from my bathroom mirror. The blood had dripped onto my toes and the cold tiles that surrounded them. Apart from the cut lip and broken nose it was only really the black eye that bothered me. I knew how to fix a broken nose and how to heal a split lip, but a black, swollen eye can take weeks to heal, and there’s not much you can do about it.

I have gotten many cuts bruises and burns in the past from my ‘hobby’, it’s just one of those things you have to risk. Like riding a bike, you always run the risk of falling.

In a time of desperation a person will go to extreme measures to prevent something bad from happening.

I wouldn’t say what I do is neither appealing nor attractive, but everyone has their little ‘things’ if you know what I mean. I wouldn’t say what I do is an addiction either, but when you have a craving to do something it’s like an imperfection on something that should be perfect, it can’t be not dealt with.

The stitches on my knee from last time had started to come loose. Stitches never really have worked out for me. I had been shoved to the floor where glass had broken previously in the rush of the moment, the vase had been hit. Another risk that must be taken is you can never really know what to expect, strength wise, from your target.

Every other weekend or so the little craving in my mind will have grown too much for me to supress and I would have to restart the cycle.

At my office desk about one week and four days away from my last incident I would start to act like I had an extreme case of paranoid schizophrenic, sweat would trickle from my hair, my eyes wouldn’t be able to concentrate on one thing for longer than a minute, I couldn’t be preoccupied with anything, I would always be tense, and everyone, in my mind, would be out to get me.

Committing to these small exercises every other week or so would stop me from going onto doing larger and worse things. That’s how I think of it, others however, don’t.

I am at my desk again. Two days since my last incident, I felt free again. My lips sticky with blood from the cut that my teeth won’t stop biting. The blood eventually makes its way into my mouth, rising up the gaps in between my teeth. At one point in the day I’ll have to give someone a smile and my teeth will be glistening.

I rushed to the bathroom when I realised that I was starting to drink blood

Josh. Josh was the main guy at our office. The one everyone liked. He walked out one of the stalls whistling. As soon as I heard the irritating music notes blowing from his lips I rolled my eyes. He went to wash his hands and the looked up to see blood from my mouth dripping with blood onto my shirt and into the sink. How embarrassing.

“Jeez. What the hell happened to you?” Josh asked.

I had figured out that when you look like you’re the remainder of what looked like a pretty beaten fight, no one asks anything that would relate to something like that. I was the remainder of a violent struggle and when Josh asks “What the hell happened to you?” that interested me.

“I fell off my bike… and hit my face on a curb,” I reply, giving a slight laugh and smile. Those glistening teeth.

In the real world I’m an office worker spitting blood in an office bathroom, trying to conceal the blood on my shirt, whist my boss asks where I am because he needs me to go over some paper work. Gary was my boss. I wanted him to be next. The other side of me only existed when I thought about or did those things. I was on the pinnacle of a grey life, well one side of me.

When I go to a café I sometimes see my waiter as a figure flickering between life and death. Then as he walks away with my order written down on his little notebook I see him crash to the floor, pinned down, grim reaper standing behind him. Snap out of it I have to tell myself.

As I returned to my desk I could count the drying blood drops that were soaking onto the ugly green carpet from the bathroom.

Yes I took pills to supress that dirty conscious, that other side of me that enjoyed the taste of blood. It’s like a lingering scratch at the back of my mind that I can’t itch. But when I do those things I feel powerful and great! It was almost therapeutic to me, it released me from my slow, melancholic life.

I wasn’t living like I was living when I did what I did.

John. He was the new guy in the office. The guy that pushed files around on a trolley delivering them to more important people. Yet he couldn’t remember if you asked for a pen in red or blue. He would go down well.

Usually I feel useless. Sunshine trapped in a dark bag, and the other side of me asks why I can’t be released from my cage all the time.

 Lifeless, the definition for what usual life is. ‘Am I crazy?’ is the question I ask myself, but then I remember it’s all in my head. The voices.

Afterwards the world slows down, doesn’t matter. That’s one of the reasons I do it. Starbucks coffee and a sense of care towards my work no longer matters.

I have watched television programs diving deep into the mind of a person like me, but I could never really comprehend the things they said, I was nothing like these people, and then I feel wasted, lonely, useless.

Then I go off again, I wonder if its depression that sets people up into a violent state of mind, maybe.

A pile of paper work splat down onto my desk, on the top was a paper note saying ‘meet me in my office in five’.

I was told once a man can never be the man he wants to be. So why doesn’t every man fall into corruption? I was then told that the corruption was there, it was just corruption in disguise.

My hand was balled into a fist and tensing as I approached my boss’s office. I licked my thumb and tried to wipe of the blood from my collar. I opened the glass door, which was covered by white, blank glass that you couldn’t see through, and he was sat behind his godly desk.

His round bald head smirked at me causing several wrinkles to appear on his forehead. His small dark eyes spaced out across his face resting under his well-groomed eyebrows. His freshly trimmed fingernails and creased fingers pointed towards the seat on the opposite side of the desk.

“Please take a seat,” He said.

I sat down and made myself comfortable, I stretched out my hands and wrapped them round the seat arms, sweat had already moisturised the arms. “Why am I here Gary?” I asked.

“Hold on,” he said. He stood up and turned to the side of the room where his vinyl record player sat on top of a set of drawers. “Do you like the vinyl player?” he asked me “I believe it be the most revolutionary record player of all time,” he said all this whilst looking for one of the vinyl disks that he kept in his mint condition cases. “It completely changed how we listen to music live in our own homes today,” He had just slipped out a big, black disk with a yellow centre circle in the middle and placed it on the record player. “Enjoy,” he said as he started the drooling classical music.

As he turned round he gave a slight grin, I knew he felt like he was in control. He knew something was up with me. He knew my secret. My mind relapsed. Hello dirty conscious. Two voices in my head were arguing over whether he knew or not.

He sat down and his grin dropped. He interlocked his fingers and leant forward. “I don’t know what your deal is here, but you’re skating on thin ice. You’ve started to come in all beaten up, your re-occurring absence, and your unpresentable appearance,”

“What are you trying to say?” I asked.

“What I’m saying is you’re slipping here. You’re fired.

I laughed “You know what I want to do with you? I want to beat you down to the floor, punch out your teeth and break your skull,” I continued to laugh.

My boss’s small, smug grin dropped “Excuse me!” He yelled “You’re fired! Get the fuck out my office!”

I stood up, smiled, and then turned round to leave his office. Next to the door was a tall set of drawers and a glass ball that sat on top, perfect.

As I got to the door I clenched my hand round the ball and swung it round, flying across the room, it eventually hit its target. The ball smashed in his face, presumably breaking his nose. A stream of sticky, thick blood drooled from his nose. He yelled and hit the floor.

“You stupid bastard!” I screamed. I could tell heads were turning from outside the room.

I ran over to him, climbed on top and repeatedly crashed my fists into his face. Blood spat into my face and all over the carpet. I pounded his face in before he could spray the blood from his mouth to yell “Stop!” but I wasn’t going to. I could never seem to use a gun or something that killed instantly like an axe. When the warm blood cradles between my fingers and sticks them together, making it a pain to release my fist into a hand, that’s when I feel like God.

Blood had covered my suit.

I threw him over into a shelf and then onto the floor again, we were one glass panel away from the see through door. I looked down on him and stomped my heel into his chin. Two teeth along with a splash of gore shot onto the glass door. I heard a scream. Shit.

Quick what do I do? Throw him out the glass and scare everyone out? Yes! That seemed like a good idea at the time. Before I knew it Gary Brookes was flying through a glass door, everyone on my office floor in panic, shattered glass followed him to the ground.

As soon as he hit the floor, blood shimmering on my suit, I wonder what the bloody hell everyone else is thinking.


© Copyright 2017 Tom Smith. All rights reserved.

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