The Existence of Something.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

I don't know what I am, or why I am. All I know is I have control. In a world humans only think they rule, yet I have all the power. Or at least I think I do. I just enjoy fucking things up, and the human existence is just meaningless enough to make it fun. Chaos is my drug.

Chapter 1 (v.1) - The Existence of Something.

Submitted: February 13, 2013

Reads: 149

Comments: 1

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Submitted: February 13, 2013




Chapter 1; Let me introduce myself.

Looking at these fucking modern vampire and zombie, and fucking werewolf stories, have made me realise one thing.  Humans have got fucking weird.  Why do they believe these things just fall in love, become a bit more…human.  Why the fuck would anyone want to be fucking human?  It’s shit.  Or at least I assume it would be.  How the fuck would I know?  Human life just looks dull.  It was horrendous.  You go to work, you come home, you look after the kids, you cook, you clean, you sleep, you have some shitty dream how about how your life should be, you wake up and you do all that shit again.  You have your computer games, your game consoles, you have control of something for five seconds and yet it means nothing.  No one recognises what you do, you just work, toil and die.  You worship other humans, because they can do something special, or at least pretend to do something.  Who the fuck cares?  I don’t.  Think about when you are playing those games, controlling a pretend life that means something for a few seconds, and then they die on you, sometimes they age sometimes you kill them.  You want to know who or what I am?  I am the one pulling those fucking strings.

Human kind is nothing more than my toy.  I guess I am an immortal, I don’t really know what I am.  I do the same as you, I go to work, or at least it looks like I do, I live in an apartment, that’s normal, but I enjoy fucking things up.  You humans act like, when you mess something up, it’s the end of the fucking world.  I have seen the end of three worlds and none of them have been anything special.  Once again that probably requires a lot more explanation.  No, I am not an alien, dear reader, or at least I don’t think I am.  The three ends of the world I mentioned before are in fact your human worlds.  You think you are all so special, I have seen all this shit before.  But at least it never gets dull.  I enjoy chaos.  In a way I feed of it, live of it, not to survive, just because I can.  You will never truly understand freedom.

So I am sitting in my office, and this human asshole who thinks he has power starts to shout at me, I stare at him blankly, wondering if he know his wife is at home fucking some fat guy named John, if he knows she plans to take his kids with her, that he will lose his job in three weeks.  No, he knows nothing.  Nor, does he know it is entirely my fault.  See he pissed me off, the humans who amuse me for ten minutes I might do something nice for, those who piss me off… well I fuck shit up.  Oh look, he just tripped on his way out of my office.  The day ends, I walk home.  A woman is being attacked in an alley, I do nothing to stop it.  I could, why should I, I do nothing to stop it.  I don’t think I am evil, I just don’t care, and it does not concern me.

My apartment is rather bare, a never used kitchen, a bedroom and a sofa with a TV in front of it.  There is blood splats staining the carpet anywhere you look, and a faint banging can be heard from the locked bedroom door.  I found her a week ago, and I am not sure what to do with her.  The room is starting to smell though, and the banging s starting to grind on my nerves.  You have to understand I can do anything to any given human I have ever seen in my life, but sometimes it more fun to take the direct approach.  I am watching the news on the battered blue sofa, some natural disaster, bang, girl missing, bang, some guy attacked, bang.  That was it, I have to do something.  At the sound of the lock clicking I hear her move to the other side of the room.  She is by conventional standards, beautiful, blue eyes and dark hair, a C cup, with an average waist, she is wearing a little black dress, it is strapless.  Her makeup has run, but you can see the beauty.  Blood covers one of her shoulders, this was my doing, I wasn’t gentle when I brought her here.“You have made such a mess in here”, it is the second thing I have said to her, when she woke up I said hello, now looking round the room I realise it is true.  She must have thrown my possessions in her rage, as there is broken glass everywhere, from a vase I had in the room.  Everything else seems to be intact, just strewn haphazardly around.  She cries, she pleads, asks me why I am doing this.  I smirk, and pick up a piece of glass.  She tries to make a dash to the door but realises she cannot.I push the glass into her forehead, smiling as the red flows down between those pretty blue eyes.  The smell of fresh blood fills the room, as do the sound of her screams, over powering my senses.  I know her human life will be over soon.I grab her chin, feeling the still warm blood drip from the cut and onto my hand.  She starts to sob, giving up on screaming.  She knows her life will be over soon, as well.  Those blue eyes hold so much pain, regret, confusion, then lifeless.  She did not notice my hand delve into her chest, she dies when I ripped her heart out.  I take one bite, just as one would take a bite out of an apple, and then throw it on top of her now dead body.  With the click of my fingers, her body is gone, the heart has been reduced to ash, and the room is as it once was.  Though, I keep the blood that is now soaking into the carpet.  I like it there.

Her name was Eva, she was nineteen years old.  A drama student, who enjoyed music, time with her friends, white wine, beaches, and painting inside on cold days.  She is dead now.

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