Demented Parts 1-3
Bedtime Stories
2. Demented Parts 1-3
Part 1.
Am I the only one who always has the overwhelming urge to kill someone or thing? Yes? Ahhh....maybe that explains why I'm in a sanatarium, wrapped up tight in a straight jacket.....
My desire to eradicate life started at the age of five. My parents used to get me small animals as pets...bad idea.... I used to dismember and 'slaughter' (as my parent s called it) them. To me, do,ing this excited me to no end, I always had the widest grin on my face when I sliced up their little bodies and smashed the small pieces with my mothers meat tenderiser. When the blood spayed my face, I used to like my lips and let out a content sigh; happy I'd just ridded an animal of its life. The older I got the more physical pleasure I got from killing. When my parents finally stopped buying my small animals after finding out what I was doing to them, I went out to find my own. The neighbourhood cats and dogs sufficed. Often my parents would find me in the corner of our small shed, soaked in blood and covered in bits of meat. At times I'm sure I could smell the fear and disgust radiating from their bodies. They had always wondered and prayed to god, asking him why they had sent them such a monster. They had no idea what to do with me, so instead of doing the most sane and rational thing and call an asylum or maybe even the police, they locked me in our shed. I was in there for months, and they occasionally brought me food, water and raw meat..... Needless to say this didn't quench my thirst for felling dead flesh under my hand, the feeling of taking a life, thy wonderful-if not ual thrill I get from watching a creatures life-light leak out its eyes. Anyway, one hot summer night after giving me the oh-so-delicious meal of dog food and water, my mother or father forgot to lock the shed and I got out.....
I think you already figured out what became of my parents, but I'll tell you how they were found.....
Part 2.
My parents are stupid. They left the chainsaw out and the back door unlocked...oh well, more fun for me. I crept through the house dragging the chainsaw behind me, I stopped by the cabinet by the stairs and pulled out my fathers shot gun. So glad he hasn't gotten rid of it yet, but then again, who would? With a daughter like me...
I strolled thought the silent house and climbed up the stairs, shotgun on my shoulder and and chainsaw dragging behind me. I whistled a soft tune as I kicked open the door to my parents room, I smirked and noticed that only my momma was fast asleep in bed, no dadda. I dropped the chainsaw by the bed and stared at my mommas sleeping face, so peaceful...I can make her peaceful too...forever that is.
I shook her awake, lining the shotgun with her head, she woke up with a start and let out an ear piercing scream before I pulled the trigger. Her brains decorated her pillow and headboard, meaty chunks and blood rebounded onto me, I liked my lips. My mommas so much prettier like this. Smiling happily, if not manically, I picked up the chainsaw and uncovered my mothers duvet covered corpse, I stripped her. Such a beautiful body, such a shame to waste really. I pulled the string, making the chainsaw work, the revving sound echoed through the house, imitating a sick, twisted lullaby. Using the chainsaw, I cut her body up into pieces, kinda like breadrolls. Enjoying the bloody spray, and happy that this process was so bloody. Her dismembered body gushed blood as I stopped the chainsaw, I dropped it, creating loud metal clang that echoed through the house. I spread my palm in front of my face and the blood of my hand.
Wonder when's daddy's coming home?...
Part 3.
As I turned off the chainsaw, I heard the front door unlock and a deep voice call out, "Honey, I'm home!" A smile crept it's way across my lips.
Looks like daddy's home.
I wiped my thumb over my bottom lip ans lifted up the chainsaw and rested it on my shoulder.
I need some gasoline...
This short story is currently unfinished.
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