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propaganda.net : Skole & Jobb
The past is the pastSkriv ut Utskrift
Satt forsåvidt bare og kjedet meg en kveld, så kom denne ideen opp i hodet mitt.
Engelsk - FortellingForfatter:



You can call me crazy, but I will gladly admit that I enjoyed every second I used to abuse this man. No, not human, a monster it was, not of our world, it was so strange that I could not describe it in words, well that is not living anymore. Know even the titillating sensation of penetrating the meat with the dull knife, I loved the sound of the skin that cracked under the shiny silver blade and the blood that trickled out of every inch I cut, the bright red, fresh, but still sick blood.

I still remember the screams, desperate, wild, hysterical, as if they were from another dimension. It begged for mercy, for forgiveness, but I kept my cool. My only goal was clear, and I did not intend to change my mind about the case, this was out of the world, out of the world now, tonight.

It lies there like a pile of compost putrefied, yes, that was what it was. I knew the smell, the smell of a decomposing beast that lay there in a pool of blood. His face was unrecognizable now; I had been away at it with the knife, fists and feet. Used all the power I had. The gurgling sounds still heard inside my head, as an echo of eternity. The sounds it made when it was about to drown in his own blood, and was initiated. I remember the twitching body of the monster when I was in front of both the nose and mouth to stifle it, to end the damn closet. At the same drilled my blade into the abdomen at the grotesque sight before me, while I turned it slowly round, I would not miss a second of this. As long as the blood pumped by the heart of this monster was to be tortured, pain threshold pushed to the limit, and then to trample over. I grinned with the thought of what I had just done. I had also stuck the knife in a little more strategic locations, to then drill down to the navel knife, and pops up everything, tearing out it’s genitals pedal and the mouth of the pitiful creatures that lay there helpless on the floor, almost dead, probably blind. I spat into the open wound in the stomach, as if spitting my supposed to be acid, I wanted it to suffer, tortured, wish for death, but do not get it quite yet, just wait a little longer, hope for the final blow to the skull before you eventually bleed to death.

 

The thought made me excited. I went inside the house, opened the liquor cabinet, where I picked up a bottle of liquor and a lighter from the mantelpiece. I went back to a time, sat down next to the monster, opened the bottle and took a huge and greedy gulp. I wiped my mouth with the sleeve of the sweater, so I poured half the bottle contents down in the open belly of the monster, twisting in pain. I lit the lighter, and leaning against the hand of the deep wound. Later I went with my body outside the house, in the garden, between two birch trees, covered with a nice thin layer of ice. I put the corpse down on the frozen ground, and lit me a cigarette while I stood and studied the sight that lay before me. As I was going to make the first move, I saw the first snowflakes fall. The winter had come. I stretched out arms and yawned before I went into the heat house, to begin to clean up the mess that lay in the hallway.
 
What hell of a mess, the worst I had ever seen.

The next morning there was a fine layer of snow in the garden, almost like a veil that concealed the secrets of the past. Then again, the past is the past; you have to put it behind you.




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