Night, for me is a cloak. It wraps me up in the warmth of the darkness, shielding me from the icy bite of the day.
I wasn't always this way, oh no. Before the accident I was a perfectly normal person. Then, as I was driving, the sun blinded me. I crashed. Shards of glass ripped at my flesh, whilst metal crushed the bone. The sun's happy rays ripped and shredded my soul and the results of injuries crushed my spirit. Now, my soul is no more than a shredded black curtain, concealing the shattered remnants of my life.
Some people pick up the scattered pieces of their lives and move on. I chose not to. I liked too much the feeling of darkness, the evil seeping through my veins like venom.
And the night, ah the night. Her dark, caressing touch fills me with a feeling so marvelous it is unmatched by any form of joy. It is the needle that inject the venom.
People think I am insane. Why does it matter? They do not know the over-powering feeling of evil, nor the nameless feeling you get after a murder.
I have preformed countless murders. My friends, family, and anonymous people. And the feeling is unmatched by any.
I do not wonder if I am insane, I know
And it's a beautiful thing.
(c) Twist 2001
