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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
I wrote this myself when I was bored, enjoy. (I hope).
He imagines voices, he dreams that his mum tells him to kill her. Read it..Thanks.

Submitted: November 24, 2010

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Submitted: November 24, 2010

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[Insert clever title here]
I watched as he sat himself carefully in his tattered arm chair. A look of toothless satisfaction appeared upon his unshaven face, as he slouched back into the aged cushions.The television cast his shadow into the corner of the room; the darkness became one with the atmosphere. The can he held in his withering hand shone magnificently in the half light. ‘CARLING’. The frothy golden liquid dribbled merrily onto his fraying vest, then steadily seeped through, onto his greying torso.
His left hand bore the ring of dead love. His face showed this, too. His sunken eyes showed his dying passion. His mouth, an immortal hunger: A hunger not of food, but of a mystical, fantastic life he once led. Time had stolen his very soul. He attempted to laugh as a Yob was trampled by officers within the television. His lager flew from his clutch as he wheezed, and fell onto his carpet. He let out a sigh of utter depression as he watched the cans life slowly pour onto the fabric. A tear, trickled ever so slowly down his cheek, and fell to the ground below. He was nothing more than a hollow, empty shell.
A streetlight flickered above me. I stared, empty of all emotion through his window. He intrigued me. The voices crept soundlessly around me, whispering the same, repeated words: ‘Kill him’. My stance remained unaltered, as it had done since the evening. A lack of blinking dried my eyes completely; they stung as the whistling wind lashed at them.I stood a statue upon the pavement, vacantly taking in each disgusting characteristic of the semi-crippled, helpless old man. The man who’s future was mine to decide. I gripped his death sentence firmly in my hand. The glistening blade appeared saddened in the moonlight, it was pleading to me, telling me how it was not made for this.
I had always wanted to play God. To decide a person’s fate. It’s what I was born to do, what I was made for. They told me I was wrong. They told me I had to go to a safe place, with people to take care of me. To love me. They said I don’t have the right to control death – No one does. But they’re wrong. I’ve spoken to angels…Spoken to demons too. There is no heaven, nor a hell. Just the rock on which our despicable race has settled. The voices told me this. They speak to me every night; they tell me how it’s my duty to send souls to the immortal existence of which we know too little.
Everyone must go. I have to help them. I have to kill them. I have to. Mummy was honoured to be first. She begged me to do it, she forced me to. Within my sleep she would hand me a knife. Tell me how if I didn’t kill her I would never wake up. But I have to wake up. Or else I would die.
I was christened in her blood. I bathed for hours, re-creating my soul. I vowed to obey the voices.
I vowed to help everyone follow mummy, follow her into a greater life. A magnificent existence, a life with order: living under the ruling of the voices of my dreams. Jimmy was next.
He begged me not to. Is he stupid? I was trying to save him, to help him. I didn’t want to help Jimmy…I liked Jimmy. I wanted him to be my friend. The voices said no. They made me kill Jimmy. Jimmy fought back. I wish I could have helped Jimmy faster. Movies lie to me. People don’t suffocate quickly. I hated hearing Jimmy scream. Jimmy is one of the voices now.
I startled as the man stood quickly from his arm chair. A puzzled look, with a scent of fear dominated his face. He stood crooked at his window, the light turned on, squinting at me. The wooden frame of the window opened steadily as he stuck his head through to peer at the darkened figure staring into his house.
My body was made of stone. The voices wouldn’t let me move. I stood silently as he threated to phone the Police.
I tightened my grasp.
I clenched my teeth.
I nodded obediently.
His gravelled path crunched beneath my feet as I took my first stride towards his door. He shut his window and fled further into the house. I fought back tears as I reached for the handle. The voices ushered me forward;
‘Do it for Mummy’.


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