I do not own Glee. AU .
Prologue.
You know when you search for it there is no name for it. it's a simple thing, yet it has no name. The only relatable thing is coulrophobia. Which if your are about to Google , which no doubt you will. It is a phobia of clowns. Yet there is no name for the fear of a circus, only the place in which these pitiful phoneys call home. You are now wondering why I refereed to them as phoneys. Well they are fake, they are a fake as the smiles on there dead faces. I bet your wondering why I am preaching to you about circuses. Well, when every night you are haunted my the lifeless cackles of those pasty faced fakes, you will understand. The hours I spent at the mercy of those faces. The faces which showed the real cracks of society. What horrors are out there. They are the real monsters, not the imaginary one which frolic under your bed.
I wake up in the same state every night. I wake up after a few measly hours of sleep. A sleep which consisted of twist and turns. Dreaming of the sneering face of those who have wronged you. Sometimes you see those who you have wronged yourself.
You see the faces of those you have looked in there eyes and seen them at there realist basic form. You see the life fade away. Pouring out of there body, like a river in to the ocean. Or like a thorned rose losing its petals, before its hazy death.
I know its wrong. I know its wrong. I am a psychopath. I know it is wrong. But I can not resist the idea of seeing the life leave the eyes of someone. There is something about seeing them at there last seconds on earth. Something about seeing the real side of somebody. The side they can hide from everyone but them selves and I. I see the things they hide from even themselves. You find out more then, than someone would know in a life time. You see who are the cowards, who beg and plead. You see those who hold there heads high. You see those who cry them selves in to a cruel and everlasting sleep.
You probably think I am some loner who lives out on there own. Hides in a cave with the rest of the monsters. Alas you are wrong. Highly wrong. I am in a relationship, I have a apartment. I have a job. I could be the person next to you on thee bus or even the train. I fit in to the society in which your are so free.
I am a regular person, well on the outside. I appear to be perfection personified. But beauty and perfection is skin deep. I am a monster. I am the thing which you lock out your life in hopes of hiding from the dark. I am the creature which is under your bed. Underneath I am an animal. But then again am I? are we not all the same. We are all the same underneath, all the skin. Within the organs. We all have organs. We all have skin. We all have blood.
Are we all the same?
Would you say that I am the same as you ?
Would you say I am abnormal?
Or am I just doing what we all wish to do?
I am I just seeking vengeance or am I just an animal?
I bet you are still wondering about the whole circus idea. Well, maybe if we shall meet I shall tell you the vicious tale, which brick by brick built me up to be the demon I am now. I never regret a thing I do. I know that I do it. I know its wrong, well I know it should be wrong.
What build me to be this thing I am now? … Well lets hope you never find out. Lets hope you are never hearing this tale as I reach for my scalpel .
