The Monster Inside Me
The world was burning.
And so was my thirst for human blood.
No, I'm not a vampire. No, I'm not a werewolf. In fact, I'm not any sort of mythical creature. It's just that killing runs through my blood, surging deep within me, through my veins and into my cold, black heart.
I am capable of murder.
A blow to the head. A shot to the chest. A knife to the stomach.
See, I'm just a simple teenage girl, who has an obsession with death.
My entire idea of perfection. The simple realm where I listen to no one but myself. In today's world, absolute silence is hard to come by. There's always someone chattering away with friends, or a cellphone ringing, or a bird chirping.
But not today.
Today I can relax in this absolute bliss, in the darkness of my mind. Everything is so comfortable here, in my own tiny world. There's no one to bother me here. No one telling me what to do or how to do it.
And I love that. I really, really love that. My entire life has been controlled by other voices, constantly telling me what to do. No one understands how I feel when this happens. They simply tell me, "Stop doing that," Or command me to do something else, instead.
And I hate that. I really, really hate that.
'Stop,' I tell myself. 'No more hating. That part of your life is over.'
So I continue to float in the silent darkness, where I can't even hear the sound of my own breath. Even if I tried to scream, I wouldn't be able to hear it.
But that's okay. It's all worth it in the end. Because the voices, who take on no physical form, can't reach me here.