Hey guys, just a quick note. I know my other stories have always been "dark" which they are, but I'm experimenting with new things so this story is different than other stories I've written. Please give me feedback, thanks. I'll also answer reviews.
Disclaimer: I don't own CoD ( though I wish I did), or anyone characters besides my own creations
I guess you could call me a sadist.
I've always enjoyed pain. Whether it be my own, or someone else's it's always sent a shiver down my spine. The very idea of causing someone to suffer and scream makes my heart pound. Ever since I was little, I've enjoyed inflicting pain. I started with animals. First insects I would find in my home, and then chipmunks, squirrels, and even stray cats. By the time I reached the 7th grade, I had moved on to people. People being myself.
I would cut myself, deep. Knock my head against my bedroom walls. Smash our furniture onto my feet. I felt the pain, badly, but I knew I loved it. On some level, I always knew that what I was doing was awful. Terrible, or disgusting if you will. But I didn't care. I couldn't care, because if I did, I would make myself stop. And I couldn't ever stop.
When my brother found out what I was doing, he was horrified. I guess if I wasn't the one hurting myself, I would have been horrified too. But I wasn't. I made him swear not to breathe a word to anyone, and I continued my little game. I was still torturing the animals in the basement, which I called it my "dungeon", but I was my main priority. My brother must have thought I hated myself or something, or that I was depressed. Oh how wrong he was. What was wrong with me was far worse. When my parents would ask me why my wrist was swollen, or what were those cuts on my arms, I would tell them the dog attacked me, or I fell down the stairs. I knew it was eating my brother away to keep my secrets, but I didn't care! I had to keep inflicting the pain.
The reason I had been hurting myself, instead of other people, was security. I knew that the second I laid a hand on any pretty little creature at my high school, they'd have me in handcuffs. The only way I knew I wouldn't get caught, was to keep this a secret between me, myself, and I. And my brother. My parents were clueless to my sick secrets, as was my older sister, and my brother knew to keep quiet. I guess on some level he knew that more harm would be done in revealing me.
I kept this up for 8 years, if you believe it. Killing these little animals and torturing myself. I'll never lie to myself. It felt great. I felt like I was high on drugs whenever I snapped the neck of a bird, or dropped a lamp on my foot. Of course it hurt. A lot. But it was worth it to feel that rush of adrenaline, like I was flying!
I guess I'm telling you this, diary, because it's been far too long. Seeing it written on paper just brings me back to that wonderful feeling. They just started letting me hold pencils again, under constant supervision. Oh, please. If they won't let me torture things, I'll have to relive the glory days through you. I just hope dear brother Mal doesn't pay me a visit anytime soon.
Love,
Mercedes Fallon