Ravings of a Madman

Andrew was walking calmly through the forest surrounding his house. It spread out about ten miles in every direction and was quite thick with tall trees. He wouldn't be found. He wouldn't be bothered. He was regretting his decision to kill Wesley and the others. But especially Wesley; I mean come on! Wesley had been his best friend. The only person to have ever even slightly understood who Andrew was. Unfortunately no one would ever know *what* he was. That was to be a mystery forever hidden in the depths of his mind, unreachable by even himself.

Andrew didn't believe that he was a person anymore. He had changed into something else, something that could've been quite possibly grander. Was it biological? He knew that they'd call him a beastly man. They'd call him an animal, and that was essentially what he was. They were all animals weren't they?

No, he was not biologically different. He was mentally different. Had he been able to utilize a larger percentage of his mind that would allow him to receive the pleasure from his murders? Wouldn't that be exotic.

"Chirppity, chirp, chirp, chirp, birds," Andrew muttered to himself. They were the ravings of a madman, which is what he had become. He was a madman. That was what he had changed into… and he loved it. "Chrippity, chirp, chirp, CHIRP!"

The echo of the last 'chirp' flew out and soared over the tree tops, stunning all of the singing birds and all of the other animals around. Andrew didn't mind that his throat now hurt from that last shout. He was a madman after all. Maddy, mad, mad, madman.

"Boom, chick-a, boom-a, chick," Andrew started trying to be-bop. "Boom, chick-a, boom chick-a, boom, boom, boom, chick-a." He was failing miserably. Upon making this discovery he bellowed laughter at the fluffy clouds in the sky.

Madman… he was a madman. That's what he had become. A madman. He had changed into a madman. Maddy, mad, mad, madman.

"MADMAN! MADMAN!" Andrew bellowed, ignoring the pain in his throat because madmen don't feel pain. "BATMAN!"

He laughed again. 'Madman' sounded so much like a super hero's name that he had needed to throw in 'Batman'. Then he presumed to hum the old sixties "Batman" theme music.

The birds were signing again. Chirp, chirp, chirp.

Singing birds.

Chirp, chirp, chirp.

Andrew continued to laugh. Then he started crying. This was what he had become: a madman that was crying. A madman. Maddy, mad, mad, madman.

"No I'm not angry," Andrew said to the mossy ground humorously through his tears. "I'm a madman. Maddy, mad, mad, madman."

The birds seemed to chirp in agreement.

"I'M A MADMAN!" Andrew shouted to the winds. Was Poseidon the god of the wind? Or was he the god of the sea? The god of the sea it must've been. That's right. Poseidon was why Odysseus traveled for twenty years through the "Odyssey". Odysseus had forgotten Poseidon's aid in his conquering of Troy, and Poseidon had gotten pissed. That's right.

A squirrel started up a tree, then stopped half way up it possibly to spy upon this strange beast making such loud noises. Then it continued up and disappeared into the foliage. God knows what happened to it after that. Maybe an owl got it, maybe it died of old age, or maybe it fell out of the tree somehow. Who the hell knows?

"Boom, boom, boom," Andrew started mimicking gunshots like a child. "Boom-boom, ba-boom, boom, boom. Boom, boom."

He laughed again. What the hell was wrong with him? What's wrong with him?

I'M A MADMAN!

He stopped laughing abruptly. Something was happening to him. He was going in-

(madman)

-sane. It was scaring him.

"What's happening to me?" he began sobbing. His hands turned into fists against the ground, tearing up dirt and grass in the process. "What's going on?"

He started having fragmented visions of himself killing Wesley and those others. He could feel the warmth of their flowing blood all over again. But this time he didn't feel glee; he felt dread settling in his stomach. This was irreversible, what he had done. He had killed several police officers in addition to those others, so he would never get away with this. They had his name, and soon they'd be able to gather enough evidence to get the jury to think he was guilty in the court of law.

He could plead insanity, but he wasn't insane. He didn't think he was.

"AAAAHHHH!" He shouted into the sky.

Stuart the plumber, how he had enjoyed pummeling that man's face to a bloody pulp. Blow after bloody fucking blow. His nose broke first. That crunching sound had been a great sound at the time. Then his mouth had started bleeding. Blood had come out of his ears. Soon his face was bruised so much that an observer would be unable to comprehend that the twisted thing on the floor was human. Then he had punched him one more time. Then Stuart the plumber had died. That had been a good time.

Then had come the man in the apartment building with the child. That had been horrible. That had been rotten.

His novel was safely tucked away now in his duffel bag, which he had gotten before setting up the bomb and everything. The novel that so many had died for him to finish. Now he regretted ever killing any of them. He wouldn't get away with it. He was condemned to the death penalty most likely; he had killed a good deal of police officers and wounded a couple others, so that meant a death penalty was almost guaranteed.

Then an answer suddenly reached him: he shouldn't let them kill him, but he should kill himself. At least then he could die painfully; he always wanted to experience a great deal of pain before death. The reason for that was simple: he'd yearn for death before it came. He didn't want to be scared of it, he wanted to accept-- or possible desire-- it.

"Go out with a bang," he whispered to himself. "Go out with a gigantic fucking bang."

Indeed.

He'd need to start soon. He'd need to start preparing. Preparing for what?

Preparing for the bang.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Hey, Morbidman here. I just want to ask you to review this latest chapter. I would like to thank Written in Darkness, Bob'N'Cat, Bleeding-Gemstone, and Katen Vierfu (is that spelled right?) for their reviews so far. And could you all check out my other stories?

"I am the Dragon and you call me insane? … It is in your nature to do one thing correctly: before Me you rightly tremble." - Francis Dolarhyde "Red Dragon"