Oh shit you guys I wrote about Walter. D8 He scares me. so much.
But apparently not enough to take the topic "Because I dream of her too often" and switch it around so it isn't a horribly cliche love fling. Thank you for being insane, Walter!
Reasonings of the Cradle
Why, they asked him, would he do such things?
That was a simple question with a very simple answer. Why had he taken the hearts of ten "innocent" people?
Because he dreamed of her.
It was all going to be such a glorious release once he was finished. He would finally have what everyone else had, and no one would be able to treat him wrongly because of it. Not even the insane man that chased him down with a gun at the apartments.
He was in a cell now, because he dreamed of her. Every now and then they'd take him to a small room and claw at him for answers. Why would he do such things?
Wasn't it obvious? Did not everyone know and understand his eternal yearning? He was doing this for his mother. Mother was calling for him, and if he did not answer, he'd be more of a wretch than he ever was. These people standing in his way surely must know what it's like, they've just simply forgotten what a mother was. They were sad individuals. They didn't even deserve to know the reasons why he had collected the hearts of ten people.
He missed those hearts. He longed to feel the warmth of them passing into his hands as he cradled them. Perhaps his favorite aspect was the pounding of the muscle, which he fondly remembered pulsating against his wrist. They pulsated with the love of a mother, a message to him from her. With each new victim the hearts were stronger; his mother was gaining new strength in preparation to meet him. In that way, it gave him strength too.
He was excited. In a way he was already halfway there, and with the next sacrament there could be nothing standing between him and his mother. There would be no fear, nothing to regret. No screaming children to muffle and hesitate killing, no policemen taking him into custody to lock him away from the world, no nosy reporters peeking about his "criminal" files.
After this, there could only be his mother, because he would dream of her.
Crouched over on his meager bed, he brought his feet close to him and took his soup spoon in hand. On his feet he used the spoon to carve the numbers for her, because he dreamed of her. 11/21. Coincidentally that was the same date as his birthday. Mother must've planned it so.
Grinning against the grime on his face, he watched the blood slide down his feet to soak the mattress. Mother was so clever. That was why he could succeed with the Ten Hearts, wasn't it?
Mother, you're almost too clever.
Licking the blood off of the spoon, he made sure that the edge was still sharp. He smiled at the spoon grimly, tenderly, as if he was staring into the face of his mother herself. Such joy she will bring him, and he to her.
Without a breath or any means of preparation, he plunged the spoon into his throat because he dreamed of her. No more questions. No more grief or struggles. Just the final ten steps to be unified with his mother once again.
