“The red color had been the most fascinating thing for me!”
It was the winter of 2002. I was there, lying. Pricking myself with the needle because of that color red. My fascination towards that liquid had left freckles all over my arms, my feet, my legs, and my face. They called me ‘Ugly psycho’ and people restricted their wards from coming near me. And I get that. They were afraid if I would harm their kids. But none trusted me. I love kids. I love them. I never killed a kid. That was an accident.
3 years ago.
It was 4.30 am. Everyone in the neighborhood was asleep, but I was dying. I had not seen that in a while and that was driving me crazy. I needed that like addicts need drugs. I pricked myself. But nothing worked. Blood wasn’t enough. Why was this happening? Even my blood betrayed me. My girlfriend left me after I almost stabbed her hand with the sharpest knife. She called me a Psycho, a Killer and what not. But none knew that I just wanted to touch that blood. Just a little blood every day.
NO! I AM NOT A VAMPIRE. I DON’T DRINK BLOOD. BUT JUST HAVE A FASCINATION FOR IT.
It had been weeks. I had not been able to do anything. No blood, no happiness. I had no other option but to use and kill that creature in my house. I had chalked out everything. Like, every single step was planned. One knife. One person and I would get what I want.
One hour after my family went to sleep. I tiptoed and went to the kitchen to find the sharpest knife. I sneaked into my sister’s room. She was there, lying, silently, peacefully, without any sign of tension. My hands were shivering. But I had no resort left. I had to do this for my own satisfaction.
I went to her bed. Slowly and steadily. Kissed her forehead, for the one last time. Held her hands, to and cried, because she believed me to be her protector and that night, her protector took the form of a criminal to kill her.
10 minutes later, I stabbed her. I stabbed her until she was dead. The blood was everywhere. On my face, my body, I was smiling, yet crying, because I lost my family to my crazy desire. Her eyes were wide, she had that fear of me. But she laid there silent, without any sign of tension.
It’s been so many years, I live with my family, but they all are just mere skeletons. I serve them food. Oh yes! I killed them all. Their blood is preserved into the containers like you preserve the ashes as a remembrance? I did the same with blood. They called me a psycho, but am I one? I will lead my life with the dead souls now, hovering around my house and I would lead a life now, which is called the ‘Ugly Psycho of the neighborhood’.