Dark Past

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
Beginning of the story about the crazed and troubled madman that can't seem to stop killing. Trying to rectify his life, he begins to search deep into the roots of why he feels programmed to slaughter whoever comes into his way.

Submitted: July 08, 2015

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Submitted: July 08, 2015







The person you’d least expect to do something like this…but it’s true. It’s not like it was a cold blooded murder; it was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill him. He upset me and before I knew it, I had a fire extinguisher in my right hand, and his arm gripped tightly in my left. Before he had any time to extricate himself from my firm hold, I struck him. I tried to fight my natural instincts of carrying on, but the adrenaline was too much. Unbeknownst to me, my body began working all by itself like a killer machine programmed to mercilessly kill anything in its way. Hit after hit, I could feel his body getting heavier as he gradually lost consciousness.

Blood gushed vigorously from his head, but I wasn’t affected by that at all. The deafening silence made me feel insane and powered me as I kept thumping his head with what was usually used as a tool to save lives.


He didn’t produce any obvious signs of life, but I just had a feeling that he was still hanging on with all he had left.

Suddenly, I stopped for a few moments. It was as if I could feel the presence of somebody else in the dark lit room. Agitated, I spun around, scanning thoroughly for any other anonymous presence in the shadowy corners of the compartment. For a few seconds, I felt weak, as if I was vulnerable. I turned back around, staring him in his black and blue face. His dark red, thick blood not only covered his swollen face, but almost every visible inch of me. Still glaring at his face, I attempted to make out whether his eyes were open or not. Through his slightly hung down head, he showed every sign of exhaustion, when I had actually been doing all the work.

Then it came to me. What had I done? How could I have done something like that? He didn’t even mean to make me snap. He Couldn’t have known something like this would happen to him. I observed his motionless face as his mouth opened very slowly. He tried to whisper something. I leaned in closer. “What is it?” I asked, desperately. “What are you trying to say?”

And with his last breaths, he began to mumble something that I couldn’t quite comprehend. That was the one part of these events that stayed with me forever.

It’s funny, yet somehow puzzling to me. Why was I trying to get him to talk? What came over me to nearly beg to hear the last words of a man I didn’t know? Perhaps it was because I was killing him, and he deserved some sort of respect. Respect- it’s hardly a type of respect if I murdered the guy.

That’s one recollection of heartless events that has stuck in my head. I seem to forget the others as soon as they occur. I can’t fathom why this keeps happening to me.

From what I do remember, however, I would surely be classified as a murderer. -A heartless murderer of the innocent, killing without any rational reasoning behind it.







It took quite some time settling into the life of a murderer. It wasn’t easy at all, especially because it wasn’t a choice. Though I didn’t want to live like this, as a nasty opportunity came by, I took it carelessly, and there was no going back. I’d be locked in that frame of mind for the rest of the act. Act- That’s what it was. Like an act of madness that I regretted almost instantly after its completion. I wondered if it’d stop and if I’d be able to control myself the next time. Then soon enough, the “next time” arrived. Everything I had thought about and convinced myself I would not do had just faded away in the matter of moments. That led to another tragic result: Another body to the list of victims. Another face added to my guilt list. It really was just the face that haunted me because I hardly knew any of the victims, let alone their names. I didn’t want to think about it, but I had to. I didn’t want to be this way, but that’s the way it was. That was life.

After a few more unanticipated crimes, I decided that I had to learn to live with myself; I was a murderer and this was the way I was going to be for the rest of my cursed life. And I was going to have to deal with it.

I began trying to dig up all my history, to hunt and fight everything that may have troubled my mind and altered it to function like a heartless machine. Soon enough, I realised that everything that I was seeking was actually so clear and obvious to me. This bloodshed, in the simplest, must have all began to pent up earlier in my life. I often try to retrace my troubled life to try and make some sense of it.

Throughout my unmemorable years in primary and secondary school, I wasn’t particularly good at anything. In fact, I was pretty shit at anything I did. The teachers had given up on me by the age of fourteen and that’s when I began to rebel.

Having not met my parents at all in my life made me a complete outcast wherever I went. I often got into serious fights at school which no one really asked me about because it was me. No one would’ve cared to even call the police if I had died.

I briefly remember getting kicked out of school when I was fifteen. That’s if you can call it getting “kicked out”; I called it “getting let out of the torture camp”.

The headmaster had seen me walk into school with a black hood covering my bruised black and blue face. Without attempting to ask me if I could remove the hood, he marched up to me and pulled it with all his might. He may have been middle aged, but he definitely had some power left in him. I was not going to just stand for that sort of treatment; if I wasn’t treated with any respect, then I wasn’t about to offer any out.


One thing led to another and I had punched the man unconscious onto the floor. He deserved it.

Soon enough, I received official letters from the school and government regarding my expulsion from school. I appeared in court for the first time in my life because of this and ended up with 6 months of community service. The headmaster used to be high up in the government ladder and was trusted more than me, even though his recollection of events was a load of shit.

Anyway, after I had completed my supervised six months of picking up dog crap and litter from public parks, I decided I had to do something to keep myself busy. I don’t quite remember how I came upon the army and thought that I was somehow going to fit in.






I was an inexperienced, fresh recruit, thought to be ready to face any problems along the way. The Command had put me with the best: the 501st Battalion. They were different than me in the fact that they were experienced. It may seem like that is just a small factor when you’re fighting in the army, but it sure turned out to be crucial. They were all battle hardened with years of training and being out there. I was nothing to them. There was nothing on my records except faked grades and references. Everything I had gained in the short periods on the training fields barely meant anything out there. I had to learn that the hard way.

During the beginning of my services in the army, I did my best to fit in with the well respected veterans. That was the only way I was going to keep myself alive, or at least safe for some time. Trying as hard as they could, the enemy could not do anything to dwindle the spirits and determination of the 501st, and that’s what made them special. Their sheer will to complete their task was greater than any excitement when joining the army. But then again, who is excited? Nothing but pain and death await you on the other side of the door that you’ll eventually have to go through. Maybe psychos like me can only be gladdened by the idea of joining a death zone. I surely wasn’t expecting the army to be as brutal as it was, but in my defence, my mind was clouded and confused. I learnt that once you join the army, it is always going to be a part of you. No matter what you do to forget about the traumatising things that you were forced against your will to see. However that’s what you are agreeing to in the instant you sign the papers to join. Everything that you may have dreamed for: a family, happiness, wealth… It all vanishes into thin air.

Others always have a reason why they had joined the army. Some were simple reasons like because they didn’t do well in school, some quite complex. However, they were all for a seemingly good cause. People would always join to protect their home country and the citizens of, yet to repay them for their loyal service, Command did the most unimaginable thing. They were taking homes away from others, even the soldiers themselves. Every person who had signed up had next to no chance of going back or even seeing their family again, either. It was like handing your soul over to be handled with by the devil. After all, it was all for the right cause. To be truthfully honest, the only way you were getting out of there was escaping, which would put you as a traitor. It was either that or by being dead in a body bag because you asked for permission to leave and it was granted. Their grants were special because once you receive a grant that no one finds out about, your relatives receive a letter confirming that you were MIA (Missing In Action).

Some others joined up because it was like a family tradition; to carry on what their ancestors had started. To them, it does not end when they want it to but when it eventually happens.

Death: Some people fight for it, some against it. Some are undecided yet still get caught up in the fire storm between two other countries, sometimes more.

Yet some others, those who are the very underlings of existence itself join the army because of the sole reason they want to kill. That’s it. Nothing other than watching other people suffer as they bleed to death. Knowing that their families will later worry over the fact that daddy isn’t going to be home Christmas or that their son isn’t going to be home for the homecoming dinner. From the family’s point of view, that’s the most heart retching thing that can happen. The killer doesn’t review the consequences as they take people’s lives.

I don’t remember the incentive I had to recruit but I didn’t give a care in the world at the time. Perhaps I was already becoming insane. Maybe I already was. Perhaps that was my incentive. Perhaps that was my mistake.

Mistakes were punishable by disciplinary actions in the Army, but this mistake was my own demise. I had no idea what life would be like there, so I followed orders, no matter how unfair they were, and did everything to make sure Command was happy enough. No one wanted to get on their bad side. We had no idea what happened to those who did, which probably made it that little bit more frightening. All we knew was that people got sent back. And that’s the worst part. You could be walking the steps to your own grave, but you wouldn’t know it. I guess that was for the best, really. You can’t be scared of something you can’t see, or at least that’s what they say. I was still absolutely petrified, and truthfully, that was the only thing that kept me going.






They say it’s best to keep some company by you on your journey in life. Frankly, I don’t think I ever had any sort of real family. Having not met my parents, it disadvantaged me when I was growing up. A normal child will get taught the difference between right and wrong and what they should and shouldn’t do. I was looked after what was apparently my uncle John. I say that “I was looked after”, when in truth he just left me to lead my life the way I wanted. I would get a warm meal on my birthday and a small present at Christmas. We wouldn’t speak much either. I guess he didn’t really care about what went on in my life. He was happy enough with the child benefits he received.

As soon as I had got home, he’d leave for the pub and wouldn’t return until the next morning, by which time I had to be out of the house. I found that out through the rare couple of words that he shared with me. I never complained about it because I knew that everyone would sign me off as soon as I started talking about my life.

Remnants are the only things stuck in the broken clockwork that is my mind. The only way I was going to save myself was through fixing it, yet I knew medical operations and visits to specialists and therapists were probably going to worsen the situation. This was another thing that I had to accomplish on my own.


Independent -That’s the basic story of my life. I’ve never really relied on anyone else until that point when I joined the hell-hole called the Army. I couldn’t find any good sides to the torment I’ve brought upon myself; maybe except ‘bringing order and peace’ as the army said, but all we had actually caused was the complete opposite. Not only did the enemy suffer, whoever they were, but so did we.

The comrades of the 501st were forever saying how they couldn’t stand the treatment that we got in the army, but could never find the courage to say anything, except one. There’s always one. We didn’t hear anything from Kevin after he had drastically decided that “enough was enough”. I remember how he’d planned everything that he would say to the Command and Chief the night before, and although we had all thought he was going to back out of it all by sunrise, we were wrong.

He got up bright and early, packed all his things and marched down to the main base. That was the last time we saw him.


There have been various rumours about what may have happened to Kevin, ranging from being shot on the spot to simply being dismissed, and everything in between. The real truth was that no one knew. We weren’t in touch with the normal world. We were alone in the army, with nothing but ourselves. We were used to it though. Most of the people in the army were school and family rejects, or orphans that didn’t find any reason to continue life on their own so decided to give their life up to the army. Not many people were in contact with family and friends outside the army, and even if they were, all letters and messages that left and entered the bases had to be reviewed and double checked to make sure that the army was not exposed for their brutal treatments.


Command must have received thousands of complaints about the way they operate, but they didn’t care. They did this for themselves, not for everyone’s likings. Everyone had an incentive to do something about it, yet no one knew what they would say or do. After all, Kevin had thoroughly planned everything he was going to say, yet most people presume he was killed. Everyone wanted someone else to attempt to sway the reluctant minds of the Command as long as it wasn’t them.

They didn’t realise that when they applied for the army, it was the same as giving the Chiefs permission to kill them whenever they wanted.


(To be Continued)



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