|Ramblings of a Teenage Psychopath or Holden On
Author: Ilsa Immerman PM
See title. Some may find it disturbing.Rated: Fiction T - English - Words: 575 - Reviews: 5 - Published: 05-11-03 - id: 1300535
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Sometimes, I think I'm just a little crazy, not crazy in that way mind you, but crazy nonetheless. Have you ever had the feeling where you see something that's just so adorable, like say a really tiny puppy, and you just feel like squeezing it until its eyes pop out and its tongue sticks in its throat? I have that feeling sometimes; it's becoming increasingly frequent. Kind of morbid isn't it? Does that make me a sadistic bastard? I hope not, I love puppies and kitties. Not all the time mind you. I hate it whenever they throw up or decide to shit on the floor because I'd have to clean it up. I mean I can't just let it fester there now can I? I suppose I shouldn't really care- I mean - we're constantly living in our own filth, wallowing in it. But we don't really notice it, we've grown accustomed to the stench of our waste and I don't just mean the crap we expel from our bowels. Of course there's that too, it is quite disgusting isn't it?
Sometimes I feel trapped, boxed in a drifting meadow. The clouds pass me by and just stare at me with that hollow stare. And I feel like burning them, set them on fire and watch the sky blaze. That would be pretty wouldn't it? So much nicer than any old boring fireworks show. It would be grand, truly grand. But then I can't really do that now can I? No, of course not, it's impossible. So I'd just have to settle with burning the meadow instead. But it wouldn't be very satisfying now, would it? No of course not, what a silly question.
When they stare, their lips are always moving, hushed venom flowing through them ever silent and ever swift. How I'd like to squeeze them, watch their skin turn to that shade of exquisite purple, I'm much rather hear the pleasant gurgling of their crushed throats than the hiss of their silent poisons. But I could never do any of these things. There's a crazy little ax murderer watching behind my eyes. He threatens me, says he'll chop me up to itty bitty pieces if I tried anything funny like a miniature Lizzie Borden. Now that really would be funny wouldn't it?
I think I saw the devil the other day, and you'll never guess what he was wearing? Well, what are you waiting for? Try to guess, go on. Times up. The devil wears pink taffeta! Didn't see that one coming did you? I didn't think so, nyah, nyah! I was quite surprised when I saw it. Quite frankly I thought it all looked rather ridiculous. So I asked the devil, "why are you dressed like that?" And the devil said to me, and yes he does have an English accent, "it makes me look pretty." And you know what? He was absolutely right, he did look pretty. You'd better believe it.
But then sometimes I think I dreamed all of it up, that I never really saw the devil, that I don't have a little ax murderer behind my eyes because whenever I look in the mirror, a teenage psychopath is all that stares back at me.