From a mind so twisted, it's actually sprained.
The Sadists
I once dreamed of a lover so perfect in every aspect and yet they knew nothing of this perfection of theirs. I had dreams about falling into emerald eyes because I have always loved the color of green. And what color better than black to suit my personality for his hair? Black hair looks good with green eyes. And as I dreamed of my lover I gave him a personality and hobbies and a job and eventually a name. Unfortunately I could never remember what they all were and it seemed as if he never wanted me to remember him.
And I loved him dearly and spent most of my time sleeping as much as possible. Outside of school and work I had no life. I slept. And I dreamt. I slept and I dreamt of the boy with charcoal hair and intoxicating poisonous eyes. He was there every night, and every waking moment I thought of him. I longed for him to be real and perhaps allow me to remember what hobbies and personality and job and, most importantly, what name I had given him.
Then finally one night I fell asleep and I remembered everything. His name and his personality and his job and his hobbies. He spoke to me that night asking me to stop coming to him in his dreams. He was a real person and he pleaded with me to stop haunting him in his sleep. It seemed so odd. "But I too am a real person!" I cried. "I have dreamt of you for so long, my love."
Yet he did not believe me. He thought I was simply in denial of my existence (or lack of). We had never spoken before that night and I knew that something important was coming up. Then, four day later that something big finally came.
There he was. At my job after school. He was walking around in the store searching for something, walking down one aisle and up the next. I followed him for a good seven minutes before walking up to him. "Can I help you, sir?" I asked pleasantly.
He looked up and those poison eyes of his that sparkled with life stared deeply into my plain brown ones. There was shock written upon his face. "You are real?"
I shrugged. "I was telling the truth." It seemed so unreal that I had an urge to reach out and pinch him just to see if he was real, just to watch that smile that was still plastered on his face and seemed so fake fade away. I wanted to see the pain he'd feel if I actually did reach out and grasp his flesh pinching it cruelly. And the smile was still there.
After ten minutes of speaking to him I couldn't help but feel disappointed at the man that stood in front of me. This was not my love. I could tell it was not. He was too unlike the personality that I had given him. All smiles and pleasantries, nothing at all like me. I realized I couldn't stand him. His personality was too forced, too fake, and a total mask. Yet I couldn't bring myself to telling him so.
He, for some reason, seemed to be so in love with me. He couldn't be though. Not him. He was too pure, and perfect and unflawed. I was a sadistic creature and I wanted nothing more than to hurt him just then. It was my greatest flaw. I had the problem of maliciously hurting those that I loved. I knew that if I spent anymore time with him I would give in to those urges and mutilate his porcelain skin. I would cut him and I would ruin him and I would eventually kill him if I was not careful.
When we parted I knew then that I could never see him again. He would die if I did. And yet it never occurred to me that this 'mask' of his was covering up something more. Yet at closing time, when I felt the cold blade slide into my back and slip between my ribs, I knew who it was. It was him and I didn't even have to turn around to see.
"So this is what your mask hides?" I asked knowing the answer. "Perhaps we are more alike than I thought." I was not alarmed when I turned to see the glowing flame of murder in his eyes. Instead I was more turned on by this and I fell in love more by this new side of him.
"Sorry, sweetie it's time to die," he said in a voice so altered from his other that the sound sent shivers up my spine. These shivers however were not from fear, but from a greater emotion, that were the pain not so great and the breaths harder to take I would've tried to put a name to it.
He pulled the knife from my back and stabbed it into my chest. Pain blossomed forth and I calmly tugged the blade free even as my last breath was approaching. The handle seemed slippery in my grasp and I was having trouble seeing him in front of me. In a return gesture I stabbed the knife almost blindly into his chest aiming for the heart, and before I collapsed I whispered to him with my last breath.
"I'd love to be killed by you, my dear darling."
The Sadists
I once dreamed of a lover so perfect in every aspect and yet they knew nothing of this perfection of theirs. I had dreams about falling into emerald eyes because I have always loved the color of green. And what color better than black to suit my personality for his hair? Black hair looks good with green eyes. And as I dreamed of my lover I gave him a personality and hobbies and a job and eventually a name. Unfortunately I could never remember what they all were and it seemed as if he never wanted me to remember him.
And I loved him dearly and spent most of my time sleeping as much as possible. Outside of school and work I had no life. I slept. And I dreamt. I slept and I dreamt of the boy with charcoal hair and intoxicating poisonous eyes. He was there every night, and every waking moment I thought of him. I longed for him to be real and perhaps allow me to remember what hobbies and personality and job and, most importantly, what name I had given him.
Then finally one night I fell asleep and I remembered everything. His name and his personality and his job and his hobbies. He spoke to me that night asking me to stop coming to him in his dreams. He was a real person and he pleaded with me to stop haunting him in his sleep. It seemed so odd. "But I too am a real person!" I cried. "I have dreamt of you for so long, my love."
Yet he did not believe me. He thought I was simply in denial of my existence (or lack of). We had never spoken before that night and I knew that something important was coming up. Then, four day later that something big finally came.
There he was. At my job after school. He was walking around in the store searching for something, walking down one aisle and up the next. I followed him for a good seven minutes before walking up to him. "Can I help you, sir?" I asked pleasantly.
He looked up and those poison eyes of his that sparkled with life stared deeply into my plain brown ones. There was shock written upon his face. "You are real?"
I shrugged. "I was telling the truth." It seemed so unreal that I had an urge to reach out and pinch him just to see if he was real, just to watch that smile that was still plastered on his face and seemed so fake fade away. I wanted to see the pain he'd feel if I actually did reach out and grasp his flesh pinching it cruelly. And the smile was still there.
After ten minutes of speaking to him I couldn't help but feel disappointed at the man that stood in front of me. This was not my love. I could tell it was not. He was too unlike the personality that I had given him. All smiles and pleasantries, nothing at all like me. I realized I couldn't stand him. His personality was too forced, too fake, and a total mask. Yet I couldn't bring myself to telling him so.
He, for some reason, seemed to be so in love with me. He couldn't be though. Not him. He was too pure, and perfect and unflawed. I was a sadistic creature and I wanted nothing more than to hurt him just then. It was my greatest flaw. I had the problem of maliciously hurting those that I loved. I knew that if I spent anymore time with him I would give in to those urges and mutilate his porcelain skin. I would cut him and I would ruin him and I would eventually kill him if I was not careful.
When we parted I knew then that I could never see him again. He would die if I did. And yet it never occurred to me that this 'mask' of his was covering up something more. Yet at closing time, when I felt the cold blade slide into my back and slip between my ribs, I knew who it was. It was him and I didn't even have to turn around to see.
"So this is what your mask hides?" I asked knowing the answer. "Perhaps we are more alike than I thought." I was not alarmed when I turned to see the glowing flame of murder in his eyes. Instead I was more turned on by this and I fell in love more by this new side of him.
"Sorry, sweetie it's time to die," he said in a voice so altered from his other that the sound sent shivers up my spine. These shivers however were not from fear, but from a greater emotion, that were the pain not so great and the breaths harder to take I would've tried to put a name to it.
He pulled the knife from my back and stabbed it into my chest. Pain blossomed forth and I calmly tugged the blade free even as my last breath was approaching. The handle seemed slippery in my grasp and I was having trouble seeing him in front of me. In a return gesture I stabbed the knife almost blindly into his chest aiming for the heart, and before I collapsed I whispered to him with my last breath.
"I'd love to be killed by you, my dear darling."