Every person I've trusted in my pathetic sixteen years of life assumes I'm over exaggerating my problems. They've always thought of my as the cheerful, easily-manipulated Melvin. Never stopping to try to understand. They thought I was happy, the town symbol of innocence, if you will. But every smile I managed was fake. I've come to realization that I have no real reason to be living. To hell with the oh-so-innocent person they think I am. To hell with all of them, the ones that made me a miserable, homocidal FREAK.

I realized a long time ago I'd never fit in. It's a dog-eat-dog world, and I don't have what it takes to compete.

But if I'm going down, I'm bringing those assholes down with me.

I slowly walk over to the computer desk, pushing the power button as the seemingly-antique computer powered on. Pacing my room, the oh-so-bittersweet thoughts enter my head once more. I stop dead in my tracks as my brain begins to pulse and my heart rate soars. There's nothing better than the rush of adrenaline I feel when I realize that I'll be the ones to finish them off.. I'll be the one to show them they aren't invincible, and that they're just a bunch of phonys.

I've been acting very strange lately. There's no doubt my thoughts have been crazy... enough to make me have the creepy-crawlies. Many times I've awaken in the night, covered in sweat and dazed from the morbid thoughts in my head. Yet, somehow, the thoughts are exhilirating. I feel a weight is lifted when I think of the disgusting fates I can make people face. It's the one thing that I can do to get my sweet revenge. The one thing that I can actually make happen, and make their pathetic little lives miserable. No, no.. scratch that. Their lives would be over, and there would be absolutely nothing they could do to stop me. They'd be sorry they doubted me, and it would be the last thought they ever had. I have to act soon. I have to get rid of all of the traitors. I think of myself as heartless; I used to be overwhelmed with compassion for all of the pathetic people I now despise. And now, the only thing on my mind is slaughtering them, without remorse. This is something I've longed to do for so long...

Nov. 21, 2010

No one had ever cared enough about me to try to befriend me, no one even tried to comfort me. Not even my own parents. Now, you're probably thinking that I'm being too harsh. But the truth of the situation is, I'm one-hundred percent serious. Every single time I make one wrong move, even if I'm trying to do good, I come home to the words, "Butters, you're grounded." I guess you could say this was the first thing that started this chain reaction. If my parents would have stopped before things got out of hands, I wouldn't be in this situation. They expected me to be perfect. Every single thing I did had to be just the way they wanted it to.. I don't think they've ever appreciated the things I've done. I mean, I'm human. I'm going to make mistakes, but they could never accept it. They were TOO hard on me, and they may have meant it for the best, but they've created a monster. Oh, hamburgers.. I sound insane. I should probably be in a wacky-house for thinking like this. If my parents knew, there's no doubt I'd be grounded.

My parents had always sheltered me. They seem like they care, but it seemed like they used their only child as their personal rag doll. Well, I suppose I miss the feeling of them sheltering me. It's better than feeling discarded, the way I do now. Ever since my little sister was born a little over two years ago, it's like they don't care at all. It is a relief to be out of their trap. Although I still get grounded for nearly every thing that goes wrong, they show no pity. They show no grief towards me. And drawing these conclusions, I do believe I've found my first victims.

After about twenty minutes, I come out of my dazed state. I don't recall typing what is on the screen, and I surely don't remember sitting down at my desk. That's when I snap. I jump out of the chair so fast you'd think my life was about to end. Hehe.. Mine was not, but someone elses is. I sneak down the stairs, quietly. I'm in no mood to be grounded. It's almost midnight, and I'm ready to become ungroundable once more. This time, the results will be undoable; however, there are still no second thoughts in my mind. I'm feeling no pang of guilt as I see my parents on the couch together, watching a night time game show. I don't feel any remorse as I find my choice weapon: a long, sharp butcher's knife. I look at the person shining through the reflection of the knife. That person looks so calm, so serene; so at peace that you'd never think in about five minutes, he'd be a double murderer.

I begin to approach my parents, from behind, of course. Oh, hamburgers. How am I going to do this? I've always been a bit of a clutz, how will an 'innocent' clutz like myself be able to pull something like this off? Oh, Jesus. I'm starting to sound like freaking Tweek. Calm yourself, Butters. You can do it.

'Hey. Mom..can I talk to you?" Real smooth, Butters.

"Sure, hold on honey. HEY! What are you doing out of bed, mister? It's after your bedtime!"

"Follow me, mother. This has to be private." Oh, boy. I probably sound like a total creep.

Judging by the fact she follows me with an angry expression on her face, I'm guessing she doesn't suspect me, and that if these weren't her last minutes, I'd be grounded for about a week.

Once we reach the laundry room, I begin interrogating my confused and very pissed off mother.

"Why is it that you ground me almost EVERY DAY? Can you not let me live a little? You've been ruining my life this whole time, whether you realize it or not. You've taken me for granted, and you've treated me wrong. You watched me grow up and haven't caught on at all that I'm miserable. And, can you tell me why that is, Linda Stotch? Can you?"

"Well, Butters. You are being ridiculous! I'd never do such a thing! You don't understand half of what your father and I do for you!"

"What have you done except ground me and make me do all of the dirty work you didn't want to do? You give yourself more credit than you deserve." Walking to the door, I slowly close it and turn the lock. A slightly panicked look spreads over her face as I begin to walk circles around her, asking her questions she clearly had no answers to. I'd say I did an estimated ten circles around my mother; slowly, dramatically, to add a little bit of terror to the moment. To emphasize what I'm about to do.

I come to a stop at the front of the obviously worried woman. Piveting so that I am facing her, I slowly draw the knife out of my jacket pocket. Oh, the look on her face. She would probably be screaming right now if I didn't have my hand placed firmly over her cherry-red lips. The knife was pressed ever-so-lightly to her throat. She's whimpering, her eyes welling with tears. If my memory is correct, this is the first time in quite a while I've seen any emotion from her. And the fact that it is me causing this pain and suffering makes me feel so powerful.

"Mother, you never showed me the compassion I deserved. You are the first person to feel the wrath of the monster you've created."

At that, I looked into her eyes. Directly into her pleading, tear-filled eyes. I looked right into her eyes, and I pushed the knife deep into her throat. Our eyes remained locked the whole time she was suffering. The plea in her eyes had changed to something that looked like pure sorrow and for the first time in her life, she actually looked apologetic. My God, this feeling is the best I've ever felt. As soon as I drew the knife from her throat, I turned on my heels and walked away. And I swear, the sight of the bloody corpse on the floor made a slight smile appear on my face.

Now, it's my father's turn to pay.

I walk directly into the front room, where he is watching some stupid-looking movie. Sliding the knife back into the pocket from which I'd drawn it, I come from behind the couch and sit on the armchair directly across from my father.

"Oh. Hello, Butters. Where is your mother?"

"That isn't important," I say with a slight laugh, "You'll see her in hell."

"Butters, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, father. You silly goose. Have you never realized that you've treated me poorly my whole life, and that you've seemingly forgotten your own son? All you do is worry about yourself, never stopping to think once about me. Never stopping to think that your cruelty might be corrupting me. You really are clueless, aren't you?"

"What do you mean, son? I've never-"

"OF COURSE NOT! You're sooo perfect, with your so perfect family. With the exception of your menace son Butters, right? Goodbye, dad."

"Wha-" I think it was then he realized something was wrong. And as soon as he saw, I drew the knife and pounced across the coffee table, not taking the time to think twice. He glanced from the knife to me, and back again. Looking back and forth with a look that was so seemingly innocent that even Eric Cartman probably would have stopped right in his tracks. But before I even realized I was doing it, I was stabbing my father. Stabbing him in the heart, in the stomach, wherever the blade landed. I don't know what made me do it, but I erupted in maniacal laughter. Watching him cringe and twitch, once more the feeling of being in control gave me a total adrenoline rush. My heart rate seemed dangerously high, and my eyes were opened so wide that it seemed that they were going to fall right out of their sockets. Bloody and battered, my father ceased movement. As fast as it had happened, I was gone.

I may be a known as a 'melvin' to my classmates, but I'm not stupid. I have more common sense than most of the people in this dead-end town. I'm not going to let anyone know that I'm responsible for this. Walking to the back yard, I dig up some ground and drop the knife into the soil. I'd say the hole was about a foot and a half deep. Then I proceeded to take a garden glove to protect my hand, and smashed a hole through the glass back door. When I do this, the house alarm goes off. They'll think someone had broken in. They won't even suspect me. Leaving the door cracked behind me, I put on my best worried act. Double checking my clothes for blood, I pick up the phone and dial the police station.

"South Park 911, what is your emergency?"

"My parents are fucking dead! BOTH OF THEM! Some son-of-a-bitch busted through the back door and stabbed them both!"

"Sir, calm down. We are sending assistance."

"CALM DOWN? MY PARENTS HAVE JUST BEEN MURDERED, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!" Thank God I'd taken drama class.

"Sir, please try to calm down."

"Oh, hamburgers. Oh, God."

The police arrived sooner than I thought they would. They asked me for any information I had. I simply told them I was in my room, trying to sleep, when the alarm started to ring. Hiding in my stairwell, I watched as my father was stabbed. I'm so glad I can fake-cry at demand. At this point, I was hysterical.

The policemen drive away, saying they will do some more investigations and that they will look for arrangements for my younger sister and I.

Success.

I'm Butters Stotch, and today, I realized that I have no heart, and no compassion.