I cannot remember how long this has been going on, I can actually tell from what I've gathered with experience over the 25 years or so, is that human beings do not define themselves; or at the bare minimum, consciously. However, what I am able to tell you is that the human brain, no, the brain of anything dictates the outcome of their life. You may think you have full control over your life now, sure. But, do you? It is your subconscious that craves, your subconscious that tells you what you like, what you don't like, who you love, who you hate, how much you care, for even your well being. If right now, you are still skeptical, come with me, saying I have a lot experience with this phenomena would be the understatement of the decade.
It all began one fall evening, I was in my house, all alone, as per usual as my introverted, awkward, anxious self was, tired by social interactions, and dictated to lonely nights with my Border Collie Jewel, and my horror stories; Oh yes, the horror stories. I cannot tell you how much I read this genre, I find it to be the most creative, and thrilling subcategory. Although, the main reason I love this genre, is that it is a true testament that lies within mankind, when we are allowed to delve into the parts of our mind, that we are not allowed to go to under normal circumstances.
As I came to a good closing point in my latest purchase, Unwind, it was called, it was about how if kids misbehaved, they had "Surgery" done to fix their behavioral patterns. I reluctantly closed my book, then continued to my usual nightly routine, take a shower, brush my teeth, shave, so on, and so forth, I'm sure you may be acquainted with the procedures taken for personal hygiene.
*Bang* *Bang* *Bang*
I'm not going to lie, I jumped a little. You would too if you had never had anybody knock on your door, side for rare occasions. Especially if your house was completely dark. I crawled out of bed, half asleep to see who was here. It was a small woman, with blonde hair, and deep blue eyes, that despite the darkness, were shining like sapphires. I was about 5'9, as where she was maybe 5'5. Her breath pushed steam through the air, and my gaze broke from her eyes, and I invited her in.
We got to talking, and her name was Lana, she spoke with a slight Slavic accent, she was from Russia (obviously) and had only lived in the states maybe three years, and the current state we were in (Michigan) about seven months or so. After about thirty or so minutes she told me why she was here. Her husband was a cop, who had died in service about three months ago trying to take down a meth lab. For this, I was grateful, as bad as that may sound. Why, you may ask. Well, she was the most beautiful and kind person I had ever met, and I have a chance with her, or I did anyways.
I let her stay at my house for maybe a week, until I noticed that things were going missing. I hadn't quite jumped to conclusions, although I should have. It would have made my future much, much brighter. One morning I awoke to find her at my book shelf, poking around. I just assumed she looking for reading material.
"Do you need help?" I asked half awake. She jumped a little bit.
"No thank you," she responded feverishly.
The next morning, I awoke to see her packing.
"You're leaving?" My mood went from neutral, to absolute shit.
I decided to help her pack, as I started placing things of hers that lay askew she turned around and screamed at the top of her lungs.
"Get out of there!"
I practically shit my pants, whilst simultaneously dropping the bag. And there I see my MacBook Pro, glimmering like a pearl in the tattered brown bag.
I felt betrayed, angered, and agonized all at once. I looked at her, dead in the eyes with a slightly sadistic glint in my eyes. I could tell she was scared about what I was prepared to do. And from that point on, I don't remember if she tried pleading for forgiveness, and for me not to call the authorities, but what I do remember, is grabbing my computer, and bashing her in the face with it with all the strength I could muster, she fell to the floor, barely conscious. I repeated this process a number of times. When her life was faltering between living and dying, I took a broken piece of glass from my screen, I proceeded to slowly, and carefully slit her throat. And then it hit me. I had murdered another human being, and it was the most euphoric feeling I've ever had. almost like a first kiss, or your first adolescent love.
This went on for some time, eventually, I became creative with my murders, sometimes I would get them drunk, then offer them a ride home, then torture them slowly and painfully. After a while, however, I got addicted to it. I would be constantly in a state mind, that gave a violent nature, and I soon grew to hate myself, more than anybody I had ever encountered, even Lana. One time I even tried suicide, but as I tied the noose around my neck I blacked out before I even jumped. When I regained consciousness there was a couple in my living room, and I knew what I had to do. I offered them both drinks, the man (Zeke) Had a glass of chocolate milk.
His wife (Jana) wanted the same. As I served them their drinks and they took a mighty gulp of their chocolaty beverage I pulled out a knife from my pocket, and slit Zeke's throat. His wife, however, would have a different 'treatment'. I grabbed a lamp, and knocked her out cold, with one mighty blow. I proceeded to torture her by whipping here, Chinese water torture, burning her, I realized, my brain wasn't reacting positively to the sheer and absolute suffering of others
I repeated this process with seven more people, and then it hit me like a bus. I overloaded my brain so much, that my dopamine respondents in my brain weren't working... just like a drug. Except, I never recovered from this, quite the opposite in fact. I fell into a state of dementia, due to the fact that I could feel nothing but sorrow and remorse. I had to do it, I had to tell somebody. This resulted in a four month trial, in the end, I got sentenced to prison for life, no matter how much I begged for the death sentence because it was 'Immoral'.
I've been here for about 17 years now, doing nothing but reading, reading those same old horror stories. Being an outcast, and having nobody I know, nobody that respects me, everyone was scared of me. I truly believe that this serves as a testament to the fact that we do not control our lives, in fact, that we do what we do, strive for what we strive for, because our subconscious is constantly seeking that, euphoria from what it likes, and is using you as a puppet. This is evident, because every so often, a prisoner will get on my nerves, and I will deeply contemplate murdering them, because I know, that I couldn't be in any deeper.