To live in the world that doesn't exist, in the bustling forest of death, I wait, to welcome you home but my very presence is nothing but a hindrance in your eyes, you look the other way when I am near, it is pure torture to me.
And yet...
I was a weird kid growing up. When I was three I would fantasize animals as humans, being poured boiling water, screamed at, beaten down, butchered, killed and caged in the heat of the sun or in the cold stormy night. One night when I was five, the boy in the mirror began taunting me, lowering my self-worth, filling me with anxiety, I could hear him all around the house I tried to tell my parents but they just said that it's my reflection. On my eighth birthday, my mother and father bought me a box of dolls and helped me put them on my closet, the dolls have such big eyes that I feel like I'm being watched, sometimes their eyes would change colour, they would disappear and appear again in a different place, this happened for a long time until I just snapped, I took all the dolls put them in a metal container, drown them in gasoline and burned them,all, when my parents found out they took me to therapy for six weeks. At the age of ten, I would imagine a serial killer watching me, he have a decomposed face filled with stitches and leathery skin, I couldn't see any eyelids and lips, I could see his teeth beneath the holes of his cheeks, he was wearing a dirty ragged jumpsuit. He'll just stare at me, for, hours, tilting his head and standing at the deepest darkest corners of my room.
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I'm used to it, but as time passed by it became an annoyance and things turned out for the worst, I was playing cooking on my desk, when mother suddenly crawled to my room, her face was covered in blood and her left eye was dangling to her cheek, my desk was in front of my opened door.
"RUN!!!"
She screamed but I was nailed to the chair I couldn't move, I can only look in horror.
Mother's face wasn't the thing that scared me it was what's behind her. The serial killer that I made in my head, is swinging my father's head hitting mother's face to the floor, was echoing in my ear.
The serial killer turned to me, with his hand stretching to touch me, but before he could, everything turned black.
I woke up in my room like it was all a dream, I tried to find mother and father but there was no trace of blood or them anywhere, all I could find was a letter that was on the fridge.
"Dear we are going somewhere far away and we want you to take care of the house while we're gone.
Lots of love xxxxxxx
From: mom and dad"
I guess I leave by myself, for now, it's weird, mother and father hates it when I call them mom and dad, they would say it's uncomfortable to call them that, so I just call them mother and father.
Serial killer's POV
That boy is mine, it's only right to throw the things that are not needed, let's just hope he doesn't find most of them.
Deep Sigh............
I can hear his cute footsteps above me, I would do anything for him even if I have to stay in this cold dark dusty basement. It's only a matter of time till he finds but till then I'll see you in your dreams, crawling under your skin, whispering in your ears and watching you under your feet, I will always be there, by your side, hunting you, till you die.
