Love Is Deadly(Inspired by "My Life As A High School Killer")

^Chapter 1^

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                                                  This story will be switching pov between 2 people.

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ANDY'S POV

     *Crying* "Oh, he's so beautiful. He has your eyes.", Andy's mother says, seeing her newborn child for the first time. "He has your smile.", his father says as the child stops crying and slowly begins to grin to his mother's loving touch.

SEVEN YEARS LATER

     "You get your ass to your room you little shit, or I'll whip you till you can't sit!", My father spits at me. "Don't come out!", his mother adds. I enter my bedroom and lay on my bed. I begin to sob due to the emotional pain my parents cause me every day. I may only be seven, but I am smart, confident, and strong. I'm not being very strong right now, I know. My parents won't stop. They keep on and keep on. I never get a break. My only freedom is at school. I don't have any friends though. Nobody wants to even come near me because of my bruises, scars, and mysteriousness. My parents are evil.

     "Andy!", my father screams from the living room. "Yeah, dad?!", I yell back, trying my best to not sound even the tiniest bit like I have an attitude. "Don't you yell at me boy! Get your scrawny ass in here!", he yells back. I had failed to sound innocent. I tried, now I'll probably get slapped, or punched or something. It doesn't hurt much anymore. I have gotten used to it. I have gotten used to being punished for nothing. Getting punished for trying my best. I tell them that I try, but they just push me to the ground and yell in my face, "You don't try hard enough!", the memories of my parents words haunt my mind. Those words run through my mind in a continuous strip of horror, until my thoughts are broken. "Andy Nathaniel Brensing!", my father screams, "Get your ass in this living room and give me my cigarettes!" "Coming dad.", I yell back.

     I walk into the living room with my head down and the sound of the television so loud it seems as if it were trying to bust my eardrums. I look at my feet in the kitchen light, but stop walking when I see a shadow drown the light with it's evil darkness. I knew it was my father. My evil, cold-hearted, child abusing father. "Look up at me boy.", he says with an evil smirk on his face. "Look up at me!", he yells once again, demanding my attention towards him. "I told you to get in here, and you didn't listen. I told you twice, but you were taking your sweet little time weren't you?", he says. "Weren't you!", he snaps, making me flinch. "Y-yes sir.", I say hoping he will calm his harsh voice. "Don't you wuss up to me.", he says, obviously angry.

     "You are a disgrace to this earth! A devil child, that's what you are! You'll listen to me after a punishment, won't you, boy.", my father spits at me without even a hint of sarcastic remark. He grabs my wrist and squeezes. I scream in pain. My hand turned purple, lost it's circulation. Then, he grabbed my neck the same way. I was struggling to breathe. My face was blue. I couldn't breathe. Then he grabbed a knife, he clutched the weapon in his left hand. "Tsk tsk tsk, you child are lucky I don't end you.", he says as he eases his grip on my neck, then lets go. My feet touch the floor, but I drop. I could breathe. I wasn't going to die.

3 YEARS LATER

     I come home from another lonely day at school. As I walk through the front door my father comes up to me. "Andy.", he says bitterly. "What.", I say with an attitude. I'm fed up with this. I can't hardly handle it all. "What did you say to me boy?", my father spits at me. "You know what I'm gonna go to my room.", I say, not caring about my fathers reaction to the words that flew from my lips. I went to my room and slammed the door shut. It opened back up. "Come here boy.", my father says angrily. "No.", I say under my breath. "What was that, boy? I didn't catch it.", my father says surprised, but his expression changed. "I said no!", I yelled and ran past him into the kitchen, but as I slipped between him and the doorway I reached in his pocked and stole his pocket knife. "You're gonna get punished, boy!", my father says. Good, he doesn't know I stole his knife. "No I won't.", I say. My father stopped in his tracks. "What?", he says. "You will though. You'll get punished for all the years of abuse. All the years I have suffered just because you think your life is bad. Ever think that you could be ruining someone else's life while trying to feel like you have control over everything. So you will get punished, not in time. Right now.", I say, and I take out the knife and flip it open. "What are you doing? Andy what are you gonna do with that??!!", my father says in fear.

     "You know exactly what I'm gonna do with it, dad. I'm gonna kill you. Oh, and I'm going to enjoy it.", I say, not just to say it. I meant those words. As I walked towards my father clutching the knife, my hands shaking wild, he backed away and begged, and pleaded. I already was enjoying this. As my father hit a wall with his back I could finally get close enough. Finally finish the job. I am incredibly close to him now. "Goodbye,", I say, "daddy." "No, son I'm sorry.", my father pleads, begging for his life at this point. I hear my fathers last breath leave his body after stabbing him in the heart. My mother enters the room, stopping as my dead father and I come into her vision. "Wha-", she didn't have enough time to finish her reaction before I ran at her. I put the knife through her skull. She died instantly. I packed my things and left the house where I have been held. I was finally free.

      I enjoyed that very much. A little too much? I didn't care. I loved the rush, I need that feeling. I have to feel that feeling again. I was never happy before, but now, now I found what makes me happy. The suffering, then death. That's what makes my happy. "I wanna keep killing.", I say to myself. I went to my old summer home. My parents were pretty rich. I entered the home. It was still in perfect condition. The food was in date. Well in date, yesterday we came and restocked I guess you could call it. The basement, I can use that. I just have to take out all the furniture. I can use it as a torture room. The summer home, after all, was in the middle of nowhere pretty much.

FOUR WEEKS LATER

     "Now that is what I call a torture chamber.", I say in delight to my remodeling. I have finally completed my basement. I was ready to lure in my victims. My first victim awaits me. Well, technically third victim because of my dead parents. I was finally set for killing.