The scars that I wear have always been much more than just scars. They take root in my very soul, tainting me until the day I die. If I don't take my own life eventually, as I know I just might one day. You see, I am horrifically insane, my psyche being like an image in a shattered mirror. I wasn't always this way, no. Crazy people usually need to have had their breaking point. And my breaking point was a man.
The man wouldn't listen to anything I had to say. I tried to tell him that I was simply the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time. I even tried to show him my face. But, it was at that point that I fell. Into what, I still don't know. I remember my body burning all over, like cigar lighters being held up to my skin. My eyes stung, and I could taste something like salt on my lips. I woke up in a puddle, the hood I was forced to where on my head now gone and my entire body shivering. I looked down into that puddle for some water to my eyes. I then saw what I had become. It is what I am forced to look at in the mirror every day, what makes me famous aside from what it is I have done. My lips were as red as blood, my hair a pale green, my eyes yellowed and their vessels cracked. But it was my skin that scared me the most: the pale whiteness like of a dead person. I died that night, and a monster was born.
Am I a monster? Of course I am. I must be, otherwise I wouldn't be here. To my right, is a former district attorney, strikingly handsome and know for being incorruptible. Now, he wears his new face like a trophy; an ugly, red and black distortion of flesh like he had gone to Hell and came back with only half of his skin. He's now one of the most evil men in this town. To my left, is a famous scientist whose whole life was shattered when his wife became host of a deadly virus. He threw his whole life away to save her, but instead he decided that his wife was worth more than the lives of other human beings. Across from me is another scientist, a college professor who studied the concept of fear, and out of pure obsession, sought to subject it upon others. This was a man who drove another to put a bullet in his head simply by talking to him. The list is endless: a crocodile man, a billionaire with a curious appearance like that of a waddling bird, a woman who uses sexual charisma to seduce to men into doing her bidding, a former actor who takes on a new appearance every day, and even a man whose killed so many people the tally marks on his body cover up every inch. It goes on and on. But, for some reason, they fear me the most. Perhaps it's my smile, smile not unlike Satan's, as one might say.
But there are other monsters in this city. Not just the ones that reside in here, no. The real monster is the one who put me here countless times. The one that evil feeds off of, is drawn to, and ultimately suffers defeat at the hands of. Like the others here in the madhouse, he has a passion for the theatrical. Every tool in his kit, every vehicle at his disposal is of the same design, and he uses them to strike fear into the hearts of men. He never stopped scaring me, even though I never show it. But as I sit here in my padded room, with my straightjacket and my knife hidden in the folds, I learn that this is the only man I fear.
I fear he will abandon me like everyone else did. I fear he will stop caring about me, about my work. And I know that every time I kill someone or blow something up, he will be there. But the day he isn't? I wish never to think of it. It will be the day I finally destroy this city, and I know he would never allow it. He must always make time for little ol' me. Oh, we do have so much fun together, him and I. Everything I do, I do for him. I just want him to really look me in the eyes, and listen to what I have to say. I want him to say he's sorry for letting be become this monster. Then I want him to kill me. That would be the ultimate victory against him. I would finally have peace, and he would know that he had to put me down like the sick dog I am.
And it's almost time to get back to work.
I think I'm going to sleep a little while, and dream about strangling a kitten to death on national TV. Then I'm going to slip the knife out of the straight jacket, and call for a medic.
And then I will cut his throat.