The Quest of Becoming Human

Reads: 148  | Likes: 8  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic

"The Quest of Becoming Human" tells the story of a nameless disturbed and troubled serial killer with a tragic past through first person perspective narration. The character's personality and behavior is inspired by real life serial killers Ed Kemper and Jeffery Dahmer.

Darkness, loneliness, emptiness. All the words which describe my living environment. Drinks, drugs, pills, parties, sex. All the words which swiftly stray away the agonizing affliction which humans call life. Screams, sadness, pain, cries, arguments, happiness, laughs, smiles. All the words which describe human emotions. Unfortunately, that never affected me, nor does it now. Ever since I was a little being I had a strong, and passionate fascination with the concept. I begged for it. I yearned for it. To this day, I am still searching, with no result. Everytime I think I am getting closer, it only furthers itself away from my grasp, so close, yet so far. I just hope I needn’t take anymore drastic measures to find it. I am growing tired of doing so. At a young age, I feel older than the human, Queen Elizabeth herself. I have seen, experienced, and participated in some of the most utterly heinous, violent, and distasteful acts in the history of living humans.

But, I must not stop. I will not let any living creature on this planet, or any from the other millions of planets across the star system get in my way. Tonight, I shall put on my finest wardrobe, my finest hair product, and strive once again because if there is one thing I have learned from humans is that dreams are achieved once we put our blood, sweat, and tears into it, at least that’s how I think the saying goes. On my way to the front door I stop and grab my stunning, carefully handcrafted dagger. It took me days, weeks, months, years to perfect its breathtaking design. With the handle made of mother’s incredibly soft skin, which makes it extremely comfortable to handle, and the blade made of daddy’s shockingly sharp, and mighty teeth, which makes it amazingly effective. My parents were never good to me, they locked me in a cage for years, abused me, raped me. But as a result, they gifted me this ravishing dagger, so I have that to thank them for.

 September twenty seventh, nine forty one at night, nineteen ninety five. A tunnel, filled with nothing but darkness. Strange humanoid cries and screams of agony touch my ears. But, there is hope. A beam of white light appears, blinding my vision. I start to crawl, mesmerized by this act. It felt like ages, with my forelimbs growing progressively more and more fatigued. However, my curiosity kept me going. Finally, I reach the epilogue. A human, dressed all in white grabs me by my cranium and hauls me out. The cries and screams had seemingly hushed down, replaced by sounds of joy and laughter. I see the all white human’s muzzle moving, speaking to my mother. I couldn’t make out the speech, it was like a muttering. I get handed to my mother, expecting some sort of human bond. Praying to God it would materialize. In reality, it was as wintry as Antarctica itself. I felt numb, meaningless. It was as if the devil itself had laid its hands on me. My father of course, didn’t bother to come. Exceedingly common of him, no surprise there. Pathetic, soulless, unpalatable excuses of humans. They received the most preeminent set of disciplining, which they were rightfully justified to.

I open the front door and step out into the living world, let’s see if tonight I can find meaning to this endless stream of misery. I walk through the streets of Manhattan, breathing with life and joy. With magnificent colourful lights flying through the gigantic screens attached to the mountainous buildings. I decide to go to a theatre to observe a film. I sink down into the tremendously pleasant theatre seat, clearing any pessimistic notions off my conscience. I watch Braveheart. A film which I hoped would quench my cavernous thirst for humanity. Towards the resolution, the horde of humans viewing the film tremble, jaws shaking, sniffers stuffed, with tears running down their cheeks as the pronounced hero gets its cranium chopped off savagely by an axe. Still, no meaning. When I proceeded out of the theatre, my heart came to a stop. Through the astronomical crowd of humans my eyes locked onto only one. The most glamorous human I ever had the pleasure of setting my sights upon. Eyes as clear as the ocean blues, skin made of only the most splendiferous materials across the galaxy, and hair made of only the most exquisite set of gold. 

I start to approach her, almost as if my legs have their own mindset. I start to speak, she speaks back. I can’t believe it, I thought to myself. She is really talking to me, I thought to myself. I asked her about her job, her day to day life. Of course I didn’t care for it very much, I just wanted her to speak. Her voice was of an angel, cautiously handpicked by God himself and sent down as a gift to her. It appeased my soul. Pacified it like I was walking alongside a never ending sunny beach with a cold drink in one hand, and ice cream in the other. We had a couple of drinks at Joe’s bar and afterwards took a stroll to my living environment. When we got inside I hit her in the back of the cranium, causing her to temporarily faint. I only had exactly seven minutes before she would awaken, so I acted brisk and tied her to the bed. Right as I was about to run my dagger down her cervix, she awoke. Much sooner than I had previously anticipated. Panicking, screaming, crying, exhorting me not to end her life. Her pleading became 

overwhelming to my ears, something which had never occurred before.

I took a few paces back, leaned against the wall, and fell to the wooden ground beneath me. Some mystifying sentiment clouded my intellect. I realized I did not want to slay her. Therefore I pointed the dagger to my wrist. I carved into my veins and dragged it up to my jostle. Blood started to splash against the white walls like the most alluring piece of art. But I did not stop there. Next I hacked into my feet and came all the way up to my genitals. But I did not stop there. Next I engraved my abdomen aggressively with all my might, in the shape of a circle. I reached in and pulled out all my guts, creating a colossal hole, very similar to a black hole. As I held them in my hand a tsunami of human emotions flowed through me. I felt pain, agony, sadness. I looked up and saw my parents staring me down, with shame and antagonizing motivations. They repeated the same set of words like moronic animals. “You have failed us”. But for once, I didn’t let their malicious saying get the best of me. I screamed like a whale, cried like a puppy, smiled like a monkey, and laughed like a mad man. Finally, I had proved them both wrong.

My eyes slowly bolted. I went into a deep sleep. I woke up, in a pitch black space with nothing but a red door, feeling as if I had slept for centuries. I approached the door. A sign on the door read “Death’s living environment”. I knocked, patiently waiting for an answer. I waited, and waited. Exactly eight hundred and sixty one days passed, and on that final day, the door opened and death walked out in an all black gown. He very kindly asked of me to grab his boney hand, so I did. “Take a deep breath,'' he said. So I did. All of a sudden we were in front of God’s living environment. With the front gates made of the most tear jerking, shiny diamonds not fathomable to any human mind. I felt as if I was the tiniest insect looking up at it. Death and I proceeded inside. God stood there, and I became speechless. What could I possibly say to this beastly being? If I could even call him that. I tried to hold my emotions in, but I had no control over them. I fell onto my knees and broke down, grasping at God's intoxicating will, courage, and might. I told him of my quest for the search of becoming human. He laughed, telling me not to worry anymore. Telling me that I had achieved my goal. “You are in heaven my son, anything you merely wish for is possible in this land.” I was overfilled with joy. My soul had finally been set free of all the tyranny from my past life. Finally, I had found meaning. Finally, I was human.


Submitted: October 29, 2020

© Copyright 2020 Amir Emadian. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:


Marvin Thomas Cox-Flynn

Excruciatingly, titillatingly wonderful in utmost dreary darkness of anticipating this man's past as well as wrongly thinking to predict the outcome of his future ...

Me thinks he always was human ... Just a human who took life in a concerted effort to ease his inner pain in hopes of, one day, understand life and all the misery it can so easily send your way ... And that by those whom you thought to love, and whom you thought loved you ...

Magnificently fine dark writing here!


Thu, October 29th, 2020 11:59pm

More Mystery and Crime Short Stories

Other Content by Amir Emadian

Short Story / Mystery and Crime