Trapped In Vietnam

Decent Essays
I woke up to muffled screaming. A sound I’m all too familiar with. She keeps at it from the closet while trying, but failing, to bang against the door. Oh my poor guest is feisty today. I guess I should greet her and say good morning. I get up from the comfort of my bed and look into the mirror. Blonde messy hair attached to a ghostly pale human. Almost other worldly beauty. Some victims have said I am the Archangelo himself. Others say I’m so horrifyingly bad even Lucifer doesn’t want me. After staring at my reflection for so long I walk away. The screaming is a bit quieter. She must be getting tired. I open the door to greet my guest. “Good morning Vietnam!” I scream as she falls over. “Oh did you hurt yourself?” I ask in an almost fake…show more content…
I’m currently in my garage. A good ol’ fashioned way of killing is what I do. Quick, easy, and relatively painless. Well, most of the time anyways. I found my supplies. I put on the old clothes and take out my weapon. When I go back in the house she is still in a semi-comatose state. I walk up behind her and as I cut her throat I yell, “Heres Johnny! Well actually it's Damon, but right now it's Johnny!.” After a few moments she bleeds to death. I untie all the ropes and start the cleaning process. I spend hours draining her of blood by cutting open quite a few veins. Then I start to remove the head, hands, feet, and the nasty insides. I then plan out what I want to keep from…show more content…
It’s 4:46 am. The pounding in my head is starting to be painful already. I get up and walk towards the bathroom. “I failed you again father.” I repeat this over and over. “Why doesn’t he love me? Why can’t I do anything right?” I start to cry. “No! There is one thing I know I can do correctly,” I say while still crying. A shotgun to the head? No, that's messy. Slitting my wrist? Maybe if I mix it with drugs so that I bleed out while I’m passed out. I go with it. A bit dramatic but it will be the most effective way I have. I open up my medicine cabinet and take out the back of my cabinet to reveal a stash. I pull out morphine, cocaine, gin, and thorazine. I take my stash to the kitchen and pull out the largest glass I own. I mix everything together. It smells horrid like rotten milk. I hold my breath and chug. It taste rancid. I feel tipsy. I can’t figure out if I’m happy or depressed. The uppers say your fine while the downs say go
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