Monday, August 6, 2012

A Taste Of Madness.

Chapter One

    It happened again today, it had left me alone for a couple of months now, but it finally came again. I fucking hate it so much.

    I woke up completely beat up and in the middle of the woods. My head hurt. It was covered in bruises from what must have been me pulling my own hair. My lips were ruptured and I could taste my own blood. My nails were broken into sharp pointy claws with bits of my skin stuck under them. I was covered with sweat, blood and hair. I really hoped it was all my own. The heels of my feet hurt and so did my throat. I must have been screaming a great deal during this episode. My shoes were nowhere to be found... Walking all the way home barefoot and cold from the woods with all those little twigs poking at my feet was gonna be a fucking pain. I couldn't stand up straight because my back hurt so bad, mostly around the back of my neck. I had no idea where the fuck I was, but there was a very obvious path of destruction (mostly dirt that was kicked away, broken branches, mud and blood) that would probably lead me to a road. I figured I could get home from there.

    Walking about a mile following whatever clues I had left, I found one of my shoes. Around that area there were several very deep footprints that were most likely from me violently stomping my feet against the ground over and over and over. That would explain the bruises I had on my heels. After about 3 hours of walking I ultimately found a highway. Exhausted and dying of thirst, I figured the best thing I could do was wait for someone who would pick up a bloody hitchhiker. After 10 cars passed by without stopping and one asshole throwing a bottle of beer at me, I finally managed to catch a ride from a very older looking woman. When she asked me what had happened I told her I had been robbed and beaten by a bunch of lowlife thugs. She believed me. I felt bad for lying to that nice old lady who was willing to drive me all the way home and wouldn't accept any money for it. She insisted on taking me to the hospital, but I told her I was okay and all I wanted was to go home. She understood. It was an hour drive to my house. She talked about her husband most of the ride home. Something made me suspect him deceased, but she never did mention it and I never dared ask.

    "Thanks for the ride, Miss Juliet. I would have probably died out there without your help." I told her as I got out of the car and waved goodbye.

    "You're very welcome!" she said with her sweet old lady voice that sounded so angelic to me. "By the way, young man, what is your name?"

    "My name is Derek, Derek Allison." I replied with a smile.

    "That is a very lovely name, Derek. It is very nice to formally meet you. I'm very sorry about what happened. You know, my grandson is a lawyer and he'd be more than happy to help you with filling out a police repo-..."

    "That won't be necessary, Miss Juliet," I interrupted her, "but thanks a lot for all your help. I really must be going now, though. Thanks a lot for everything! Really, thank you!"

    "It was really no problem, I'm very glad I could help you out after what occurred. This generation of thugs that do such violent acts for no apparent reason make me very depressed, after all, it was the sons and daughters of our generation that raised them, I'm glad my Grandsons didn't choose such a vile way of life, they're very poli-..."

    "I really must be going now, Ma'am," I interrupted her once more, "I have wounds to tend to." Feeling bad for not wanting to listen to her after all she had done for me, I slowly started to walk away.

    "Of course, of course! Goodbye, Derek, take care!" she said as she drove away and waved her bony little wrinkled hand goodbye.

    "Goodbye!" I managed to babble as she left, doubting that she actually heard me.

    I walked over to my front door and got my key from under bush that was next to my window. I had put a spare key there ever since this fucked up shit started happening to me. I had forgotten it was even there. Opening my door, I was surprised to find my house completely spotless. I continued to investigate, and everything seemed to be in order. I walked over into my bathroom to look at my face and see If It needed any stitches. The mirror was smashed into pieces. What the fuck? That was a first. I walked into my bedroom to look at myself on my dresser mirror but that one was smashed in as well.

    As I stared at the image of my wounded fragmented reflection hiding behind the pieces of that broken  dresser mirror a feeling of helplessness overcame me. I stared long and hard.

    "Why do you do this to me?" I said to my reflection, "Why are you back? What the fuck did I do to you? Huh? I know you can hear me you piece of shit. I know you're there. Why don't you come out and face me? Huh? Hiding behind my own fucking consciousness, you're such a coward. Breaking the mirrors so you don't have to look at yourself. Are you afraid of my face? You are, aren't you? A Fucking coward, that's what you are."

    Only silence followed my words. Fucking empty silence.

    "I'm such a mess..." I whispered to myself. Everything hurt and my clothes were still soaking wet from my sweat and blood, "Shower... I need a shower."

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