Thread:Rocketlauncher22/@comment-29711200-20160922031821/@comment-33161724-20161109124705

SON OF A BITCH


 * clears throat

Err..

Haunted. Haunted was the only word that could describe him. It's been so long that he couldn't remember what, though the scars may have suggested a few things. Whether people speak of the scars on his mind, his heart, or his flesh is of no concern at the moment. What mattered was that he had those scars, and they made up his tale.

The voices gnawed away at his being, taunting him, telling him things he should have done, could have done, would have done. But they reminded him that he restricted himself, that he was to blame for these nightmares etched into his being, and that he was entirely responsible for the burden he always carried. With every laden step, the memories crawled with him, sending shivers down his spine and his tormented soul.

There was only one way to stop this, he thought. He has tried suicide, but the hateful creatures that dwell within would hate to see their favorite toy go. They prevented him from taking the final plunge. He has decided that the town would have to put him out. Sure, murder from any of the local killers was fine, but it wasn't resolute. He wanted to die beautifully and without any pain. He wanted to free himself from these demons with the help of the town. He had to trick them. He had to deceive them, seem like he was the bad guy, seem like HE was the one behind their sorrow. It would be a graceful goodbye to this wretched existence. Yes.

Haunted.

Haunted was the only word that could describe them.