The Angel Genocide

The Angel Genocide Chapter One

[The Angel Genocide]

 

 

No matter how loud Joseph Moreau screamed, the familiar voices that drummed quietly in his mind refused to cease. Such horrid voices that crackled like the burning pits of hell and could only belong to the most monstrous demon-like creatures in existence.

They could easily drive one to complete insanity. It's as if they knew everything about him. What would make him cry, what would make him scream, what would make him begin to resent every moment he was alive. It's only suiting they know so much about the screaming boy, they have been around longer than his memory can reach (which is not very long.) If he couldn't hide it so well he would be in a straitjacket, spending his days in an asylum.

Sanity is over rated anyway.

A loud knocking noise sent his mind back to retrieve. A man from a neighbouring apartment was banging on his door in desperate pleas to shut him up. For his feelings of Joseph (only known as the screaming boy next door,) has quickly changed from pity to anger and a deep resentment.

Of course the man resents Joseph; his own adoptive mother Annabella resents him. For his seventeenth birthday she had moved him to this apartment. She had told him the apartment was so he could have more privacy. But he knew it was simply to escape from his constant screams of terror. Naturally she bought him the best penthouse apartment available, with thick fluffy carpets that made you feel as if you were sinking into it and large rooms with excessively expensive furniture. But Joseph never preferred anything fancy, he'd much rather live somewhere simple with nothing more than a bed and milk crates as furnishing. Anything more just gets trashed.

It doesn't matter anyway he will get thrown out of this apartment if these night... and day terrors continue. Terrors that leave him hunched over, trembeling with fear.. 

 They think he’s insane, which he must be, he never really felt insane. He always thought insanity would be different. This is like someone is following him, always finds him and gets personal pleasure out of causing him inner pain.

--

Releasing himself from the vice like hold of his tangled sheet, Joseph rose from the large bed. Evidence of the nightmares was apparent around him, nightstands tipped over, bottles of various sleeping aids spilling across the floor, blankets and pillows thrown around from an entire night of tossing and turning.

Slowly Joseph began to gingerly step through the mess towards the en-suite bathroom. 

Turning the brass knob a cool stream of water instantly began to flow, filling the small sink then quickly fleeting down the drain. Drinking straight from the tap Joseph attempted to wash the taste of terror from his mouth. He straightened up, his gaze landing on the boy standing in the mirror before him.

His ravaged state was apparent in his reflection. His black hair, in desperate need of a cut, hung in thick strips framing his wide tired blue eyes.  He has lost quite a bit of weight; he noticed distantly, he was becoming very scrawny and gawky. He wasn’t remotely muscular or even healthy looking. But still, the girls he had met on the bus or around his school seem to always finding excuses to touch him or play with his hair. He has never cared they're pretty, but like a painting..

Besides if he ever does get close to someone they will just learn resent him, just like everyone else. He will never be loved, and maybe it is better that way.. The only people Joseph has ever really loved and has been loved by was his mother and father, but they-

"BRING, BRING, BRING!" The piercing scream of a telephone interrupted his thoughts.

"Who could be calling at this hour?" Joseph mumbled running to the retro red rotary dial phone in the hall. "Hello?"