Me? I’m the Honorable Kid Killian, speaking to a prison psychiatrist. A mental defective. Sorry. I mean a mental detective but still another dunce who thinks he’s come to save me, or understand me, or use me for research. A funny business playing with someone’s mind.
“If I have a nightmare that it’s raining and some unknown force is dragging me from a slimy cave towards a dim light, would that be a dream about my birth, or a memory of my birth?
“What if once out of the cave I look far ahead and see another cave, one that looks as if it’s a great distance away and will take years to reach, though I can feel a compulsion to live long enough to reach it. The cave entrance looks black and fuzzy. Then a half-dozen tentacles burst out grasping and gnashing their tentacle mouths with starving, piranha teeth. From where I am they look like worms with open mouths, but distance makes large things look small.
“Is that a prescient thought of my future life? Are the barbed, grasping tentacles and piranha-like teeth and indication of what my future holds for me, as it patiently waits for my arrival?
“But, you see, Doc, I’m simply a newborn baby, and I will forget these fateful moments as newborn babies normally do. But is that darkly, ominous thought stored in a brain crevice, under a hidden fold, waiting to reveal itself? Could this view be an accurate depiction of my future? Time will tell, but at this moment of my birth all memory will fade away, waiting for my adult version to create a situation or circumstance that will force those disguised and hidden thoughts to erupt with compulsive, uncontrollable and harmful thoughts and actions.
“But, right now, I’m simply a cute, innocent, newborn baby, the darling of pure innocence even when I pee and shit whenever I want. So why would any of those thoughts come true?
“ Sorry. Gotta go to mommy’s breast, although, as I suckle on her luscious nipple, I wonder about my unknown future. Suddenly, all is forgotten. I don’t care. Why should I? I’m only a cute, cuddly newborn baby, and at this stage of life urinating and defecating is totally acceptable compared to doing it as an adult.”
*******
“How about these handcuffs? With my hands behind my back, it’s painfully uncomfortable sitting in this hard couch. My wrists aren’t connected to my spine, you know, but that’s what’ll happen. After a time, my wrists will fuse into my backbone. That’s cruel and unusual, right? Plus, if the pain increases, I won’t be able to talk much while I focus on the pain. What say you, my mental defective…detective? Can the guard handcuff my wrists in front of me?”
Doctor: “No. Against regulations, but you can sit on the couch. The cushions should help ease your discomfort.” He pointed to his left at a most comfortable looking couch.”
“Ahh, yes. That’s much better. What if I need to pee or take a crap?”
“The guard’s job.” (a smile)
“Fuck that. The Faggot guard isn’t going to hold my dick while I pee, but he can wipe my ass for me. That’s funny, Doc. Haa, I see the twinge of a smile. Gottcha. OK. I see you want me to continue.
“So if a baby is lucky, it will reach the adult stage. Right now, that’s me. But, in general, the unrecognized void that exists in all our brains lurks a hidden evil feeding on the blackness of our subconscious and conscious thoughts. Evil relishes that dark tomb as sinister thoughts accumulate but lie dormant, waiting in their dungeon, a place where pleasure, happiness and what is called ‘normal’ do not exist. Only the exceptional strong minds can control this juggernaut of sinister intent, yet even strong minds know it’s there and recognize the constant malice breathing within their depths, waiting for perfect situations to occur, devastating situations that forces immense evil out into the open air, like a cloud of tar with frightening appendages, to surface from the depths of the mind, to breathe, to be free, to be alive, to be energized into becoming a robustly active malevolence that dictates unbearable, screaming nightmares, and horrible, but unstoppable inhumane deeds.
“Human sanity depends on the strength of a formidable denial of the fact that we are its host. Wasn’t it the psychologist, B.F. Skinner, who said, “The object of life is to gratify yourself without getting arrested?”
I got the first part. Had if for a long time. That second part is where I fucked up. No big deal though. I won’t be executed due to my mental instability or insanity, or whatever the law says. Got you on my side for that. Must make you feel good to actually, for real, save a life. My life. Thanks for the help, Doc
Doctor: “I believe you are correct. Skinner thought that all our actions are predetermined by all our previous experiences, mainly, and also influenced by our heritage. However, in this more modern and much more criminal world, I believe he would have drastically modified that quote to mean the average, normal, mentally stable citizen.”
“You think you are one of those? Look at your desk. You see how orderly it is. Pencils and pen in separate cups, standing together like siblings. You see how the pencils are all at the same level? Do you use them? If you do, how do you keep them all he same size? I see several books all lined up on the right side of your desk. You must be right-handed. The books are neatly stacked, largest on the bottom, smallest at the top. You have paper-sized baskets, one for incoming and one for outgoing papers. You are incredibly organized, even your couch is neatly pushed into its space under the desk, instead of sticking out when you stand up. No wife and kids pictures? Diplomas skillfully placed on the wall in back of your desk so people sitting down, facing you, can see all your honors simply by looking over your shoulders. So obviously vain and, perhaps, seriously OCD. Did I come close to your personality, Doc?”
Doctor: “Yes, I know that some of my organizational skills are the result of OCD, but it’s mild and actually helpful. It’s not incapacitating extreme, nor outside the normal realm of everyday life. It’s not a mental illness. It doesn’t make me act violently.”
“Your profession is such an avalanche of bullshit? But I like you for it, anyway, Doc. My life in prison won’t be too bad. Who knows, I may escape, or the laws regarding me might change to included parole. The future is unknown, Doc. I’m patient. I’ll wait. If I do get out I’d very much like to visit you. I enjoy talking to you, and I’d get to meet your family, too. That would be a delight.
“I need to stand up and stretch my legs. Any problem with that?”
Doctor: “No. There’s a water cooler in the corner if you need a drink.”
“Wow. Nice office. Colors are good, coordinated. I bet the rug was expensive. Your desk is longer than usual, not old either. I like the nature pictures. And what a great view you got here. A whole wall of windows. No bird shit on them either. Must have been recently cleaned. Would be extremely entertaining to sit here and watch the window washer clean the bird shit off the windows with his tongue. I’d be waiting for the classic shit eating grin. I see the guard through the window on your door. Look at that. I give him my best smile and all he can do is grimace with his lips and hate with his eyes. Faggot.
“Well, philosophy is not my thing so listen to this. Soon after a few failed episodes of denial I realized that denial is a worthless strategy. I build mental walls around the darkest and most insane of those evils to prevent their escape into my real world or, at least, my perceived reality. We all age, and with age those walls get weaker, they need constant attention to repair work. The wall needs constant reinforcement. But also with age comes weakness, both mental and physical, plus a careless and dangerous forgetfulness appears concerning those sanity-preserving barriers. With unattended wall inspections and repairs mental illness and disease leak out like pus from an infection, like lazy, slow-moving creek water which will pollute every area it touches.
“Frightening dreams and uglier nightmares occur due to the escaped evil changing the structure of our brain. A new normal spreads new thinking, new actions, new compulsions, new sadistic behaviors that new thoughts easily justify. Then raven blackness allows evil to take flight, rise and soar over those unattended, sanity-saving barriers. The darkness ends, then an all-encompassing flash of brightness comes alive like an exploding volcano, its molten lava shoots into the air in all directions, like an enormous shotgun blast that bursts open your personal version of hell, giving freedom for evil to reign in what was once a normal, average brain with common thoughts and desires.
“Somehow, that has all happened to me. That dormant evil grasped me by the throat one day. It choked me, then whispered in my ear with its freezing breath, my ear close to getting frost bite. I tried not to hear as I also tried to breath. I failed. It whispered horrible things. Things I did not want to hear, things I have yet to learn and fear, things that normally would never have occurred to me, things dominated by inhumanity, sadism, insanity, all involving the blood of those who are innocent. And it’s pleasure that I feel, plus a need for more pleasure.
“That whisper, always seductive in the beginning, is an effort to control my thoughts and actions, then it vibrates painfully in my ears and to stop it I must compulsively follow commands that beat on my eardrums. There is no thoughts of resistance now, but if there were, it would not be long before I ended up as a permanent resident in a psychiatric ward. But once I knew that my reward would be pleasing, I submitted to evil.
“At some point I came to realize that I am empty from head to heel, making me feel hopeless, helpless and hollow. Not a shred of resistance remains, not even a wayward or vague thought. So, what was once me is only a black storm cloud, in a windowless room, and not knowing why I’m there, but having the feeling that I have become a beast who gets pleasure from pain, disguised as a human.
“After many years I reached that second cave. The newborn baby memories intrude on my thoughts like a bully’s punch to the nose. I am there. I am lost. I am evil. My jobs is enjoying pleasure by causing pain.”
*******
“You paying attention? Doc?”
“I’d prefer he term ‘doctor,’ please.”
“What a shame, Doc. Unfortunately, your wish is not my command. Was it your father who built the swing set too close to the brick wall? Bad mistake, Doc. You should know not to tell someone of my caliber about any weakness or sensitivities you have. You do know that, right?”
“Please continue, if you choose to do that.”
“Of course, Doc. These talks are as mandatory for you as they are for me. So. . .on with the show. OK, so the massive stone gate to hell opened with air rushing out that was hot enough to toast bread. My skin bubbled, but I felt nothing. I had fun popping the blisters and watching the thick, slow-flowing pus spread into another burst pocket of pus. If you’ve never tasted pus, you should try it, Doc. Not nearly as good as pussy. Strange to think of pussy when talking about pus, isn’t it? One is so vile, the other so delicious.
“So, as I was saying, the gates of hell opened to greet me. What an honor. The devil in me is going home. As I looked beyond the gate and stared beyond it I saw a mixture of red, yellow, and orange flames were dancing in sky-high flames. I wanted to ride them like a horse. A horse from hell, exhaling and farting fire. You know that hot farts are the very worst stinkers, right, Doc? Of course you do. A juicy, hot fart in bed is pure delight especially when you cover your wife’s head with the blankets. You ever do that? No response, huh, Doc? Yeah, I know. I talk. You listen.
“That’s fine. Now I saw my fiery doppelganger walking toward the gate, towards me, a smiling brother Satan. Allow me a little segue here. Have you ever wondered why Satan and Santa use the same letters? Coincidence? Maybe?
“Back to my doppelganger. He was walking quickly toward me, so quickly I thought he wouldn’t stop. He knocked me down if he didn’t slow down. I felt the bump making me take one step back. The sharp pain was like a dagger plunging into but not through my body. The pain made itself at home within my balls, then metastasized as it became not simply a full-time resident, it became me. I experienced euphoria forcing me to happily accept a much different me, a mean, cruel, dangerous, form of me. Soon I felt as if it was normal to feel pain, then to feel euphoria whenever I accomplished something horrible. Horrible only in the human world, but a delight in mine.
“In my prior life, I had often thought how unsuccessful and hopeless my life had been. Criminal behaviors, jail time, couldn’t keep a job, drugs, alcohol, divorce, two kids who hated me, a wife I abused, and much more. But now that I’ve traveled down the glowing, ember-filled road to hell I felt as if I would be transformed into a euphoria seeking, unholy being which would be a much better fit for me.”
*******
“Enough of your vast ego and satanic talk. Please tell me about what happened at the school.”
“Unholy shit! That’s the most you’ve said so far. Better watch yourself, or you’ll be talking non-stop, and I’ll be the one listening. What’s the word for non-talkers…uhm? It’s on the tip of my tongue… Reticent! Isn’t that it? Yeah. You’re Mr. Reticent, master of silence.
“As I remember, the school kids were yelling, screaming with fun and laughter on their playground, enjoying the clear sky and gentle breeze. All was well except in hell where goodness cannot prevail. The fun and laughter was outrageous. Happiness cannot prevail, so I thought of the worst pain that a normal human family can feel. Sadistic thoughts and the beginnings of euphoria appeared so vividly, and the fire burned so hot and bright that I could, once again, feel the burn blisters bubbling to the surface of my skin, but you know what? Each one that I popped filled me with such pleasure that I actually envied humans capable of multiply orgasms. As I watched those children, I got my answer. What would cause the most pain for a family? The death of a child. Yes, certainly, the death of a child. But why just one child and one family? Why not multiple children from multiple families? Can you imagine the feeling of a series of euphoric orgasms that would provide?
“You ready for this, Doc? It’s a wonderful bedtime story. You can tell it to your kids. I won’t mind the plagiarism at all. No response, Doc? Really? Do I have to do all the talking? Fuck. If I were still a real human, I’d want your job. Just listen to interesting people and their interesting stories all day and get rich. Shit, man, you don’t even need to talk. You take infrequent notes—you’re probably drawing phallic symbols—make sure the recording machine is working and stare at me. You got the stare down perfectly, like a robot. You make me bored and tired. I need to stretch my legs again. Some water will help, too. Give me a second.
“OK. My ass is once again planted in this couch. You need to put a cushion in this couch. My ass is getting sore. I planned the kids’ playground adventure quickly, though I thought it was a good plan. I asked myself, ‘Why not execute the plan ASAP?’. You notice the word execute, Doc? It hints at what’s coming. An ominous foreboding for the immediate future of the story and those angelic children. The suspense must be killing you, huh? Yeah it is. I see it in your eyes. There was a twitch in your robotically neutral lips. Hey, is that moisture forming over your eyes. That’s funny, Doc. Your lower lip isn’t starting to protrude, is it? Gotcha! Didn’t I? Penetrated your shield. Am I entertaining enough for you? Yeah, yeah, no response, but I gotcha. Caught you having feelings. A proud victory for me.
“Anyway, a sliver-shaped moon was due on the coming Sunday night. Perfect, I thought, though I’d have done it with any moon, except a full moon, maybe.
“Hey, Doc? You know how easy it is to get poison? It’s as easy as scratching an itch on your ball sack. Hell! Wow, that’s a relevant word. I could even easily get poison that is absorbed through the skin. Can you believe that? Christ…damn, my lips burn when I use that word. You simply go to Amazon’s Home and Garden department, read carefully and choose your poison. ‘Choose your poison.’ That was sneaky, clever, too, right? Remember that for your notes, and reports, or whatever.
“So let this circus proceed. Life is a three-ring circus and I’m in the center ring, right, Doc? Damn right. All the attention is on me. What will I say, what will I do; what will I think? That last part is for you. Think big, Doc. Think big.
“Guess what? Rat poison containing Thallium is easily purchased on the Internet. More research on the dark web will teach you to add a quart of water for every sixteen ounces rat poison containing Thallium. You want the mixture liquid enough to spray it, not so thick that it’ll clog the sprayer. The rat poison normally come in pellets or little chunks. Crush them into powder. If the rat poison pellets are green, then the water should be a translucent green. But a little too much is better than too little. I made four gallons and put half of it into a two-gallon Chapin 20002, translucent spray container from Amazon. Gotta love those people. Now to guarantee success by enhancing the toxicity and make the mixture even more lethal add a half cup of Boric Acid powder which is also toxic but mixed with Thallium the resulting mixture will now be twice as deadly. All the ingredients and supplies are cheap. Cheap is good. Then I can buy alcohol and drugs, live high on the hog (No I’m not talking about my girlfriend, Doc). Good story, so far, right, and it’ll get even better. Stay tuned to this channel. This was all just too fuckin’ easy. Ironic, huh? But you humans are all poisoning yourselves anyway. Poisoning the air, the water, the soil and yourselves. So no big deal.
“So on the next Sunday night, that I referred to earlier, I dressed in all black clothes and footwear, plus a Navy-blue balaclava covering my head and neck so that only my eyes were visible. I got a bit warm, but the coolness of the night and the cool fall weather made me semi-comfortable, especially when I thought of the rewards coming from my pleasurable, nasty, dastardly, upcoming, black-hearted deed.
“Fucken’-A, man. Something nagged at me. This is right up your alley, Doc. My plan and putting it into action was exciting, but something nudged at me. You married? Well then you know what nagging does to you. See, Doc, I had a strange and unwanted thought of goodness, as if I were a good person in a previous life. Good? Me? Why would I think of being good? Human happiness and fun are so tightly constrained by their fucked-up morality or is it ethics. Maybe both. Maybe you can tell me when you break out of your moronic, mute phase. Well, I quickly blocked that goodness bullshit. Gone like a the ’65 Mustang.
“As soon as I blocked that nonsense of goodness, I started hearing a whisper, a breath of warm air on my ear. It calmed me, made me focus on my mission and gave me back the feeling of pleasure.
“Sorry to go astray. I’ll focus better now. I sprayed all the metal parts on the playground. I sprayed them three times after allowing each layer to dry. As I waited for the last spraying to dry, one of those intrusive thoughts jabbed its way into my brain, when I should have been enjoying my devilish accomplishment. It angered me, plus that frigid whisper became like icicles stabbed into my ears canals. No longer a seductive whisper, but an icy rage. When it subsided, I picked up all of the supplies that I had brought.”
Doctor: “Do you think you could ever stop killing? Do you even know or care about the number of children you killed or injured?”
“Well I’ll be fucked in the butt. It speaks. Would you keep having sex if there was no full-blown, filet-minon orgasm? or even the hamburger type orgasm you get after a vasectomy? I don’t know, nor do I care about those kids. How well did I accomplish my task? You got some numbers for me? Back to being mute, huh? Well, that should have answered your ridiculous questions?
“You led me astray, but no problem. I remember where I was in the story about my mission. My stolen car was parked a quarter of a mile away in the driveway of an empty house that was FOR SALE. Naturally, I had already driven by it several times to check on its habitation. No one home.
“When I entered the car I congratulated myself as I stripped all my dark clothes off and placed every item in a mesh bag with a large rock in it. I had a fresh set of clothes waiting for me. I left quickly as a black cloud hovered in my brain suddenly split open revealing the sun and its warm rays. Those thoughts of a prior, good life haunted me again. I grimaced and gritted my teeth, banging on the steering wheel in a fiery rage as visions of my kindness to children, my fondness for teaching children and my preference for enjoying the company of children more than most adults. The cloud closed harshly, the black sky once again dominated and loud flashes of lightning lit the darkness like brilliant, jagged, and broken fiery spears. The vague goodness burned completely, and I was left with the comfort of ashes.
“On the way back I crossed a river where I opened the window and cast the bag into the river. Then I returned the car to where I’d stolen it hoping the owners would never even know I had taken it. But if someone saw a partial license number and reported it to the police, they would be led to innocent owners with no way to trace it to me.
“Doc, have you ever noticed a smile that’s really a pseudo-smile that’s really a strained grin, that’s really a stressed, anxiety-ridden facial tic that slightly, nearly imperceptibly deforms a corner of someone’s lips, and yet you can sense a tortured scream waiting to explode from those trembling lips? Have you? As you watch, you become aware of the misery, agony that so fills that person. You can see the leakage of pain hidden behind a façade or normality, and you notice that the leakage is a puss-like saliva slowly dripping from their lips, then moisture seeps from their eyes, nose, and ears. I’ve witnessed that, but when I look around me, no one else seems to notice it, then when I refocus on that person, they are smiling at me. I concentrate and place all my energy into a laser-like focus. Then comes a shock as my thoughts brighten like an exploding star—I must close my eyes due to the intense brightness of the light—as I experience a glorious epiphany of that person’s future, although exact details can’t be known. The epiphany is more like a confident, educated guess. I wonder what your educated guess is toward me. Care to share, Doc? Mute, silent, wordless, tight-lipped, unspeaking, voiceless, but not dumb, I assume. ‘Assume.’ Sure, some assholes make ‘assume’ become ‘make an ass out of you and me’. Pathetic. But you must agree that obvious signs of begging for help mostly go unnoticed in the general population. It takes tragedy for it to be recognized.
“You may even not notice it. That would be a crime worth an execution for a doctor of the mind, like you. Yeah, I believe you and others like you should get the death needle. Hell, I’d kill you myself and it wouldn’t be murder at all. It would be a kindness to all those who are suffering, drooling even, that are being ignored. How about first-degree murder if you overlook someone that’s in desperate need of help but don’t get it so they’re driven to kill someone? I’d take the job as the assassin.
“Hey, Doc. Your facial expression hasn’t changed one bit since I came in here. I’m sitting face to face with you, and you look dead. No response. No smile, no contempt, no brow wrinkle, no eye movement, no blinking. Shit! What did I just say? No eye movement, no blinking? Huh? What happened to you? Oh, fuck. I remember now. Now I see it. Hey Doc. There’s a pencil sticking out of your chest. You know, where your heart is. Ahh, and a pencil driven almost to the eraser through each eye and deeply into your brain. What the fuck, Doc. I been taking to myself this whole time. You asshole. You know better than to play with pencils, especially newly sharpened ones. A waste of a good pencil. Shame on you, you fucking idiot. Can’t erase that lethal mistake, Doc. Human misery dominates this world. Oh, for anti-Christ’s sake. Stop drooling blood. It’s rude. Still don’t feel like talking, huh, Doc? No problem.”
*******
The guard came rushing into the room. I sat in my couch, quietly, smiling at him. He looked blurry to me, maybe he was simply a blurry person. I started to stand but he roughly shoved me back into the couch. He checked the doctor. Dead of course. I knew that. He didn’t have to check. He could have just asked me.”
“You stupid bastard!” he screamed. “You could have had life in prison. Now you’ll get the death penalty. Why the fuck would you kill him? I watched. I didn’t see you do it. How could that happen? I didn’t see you get up from the couch. How could you have done that? And how the fuck did your handcuffed wrists get in front of you?”
“I have to die to go to hell, asshole. Don’t you understand anything. When I get to hell, I’ll be rewarded by being one of Satan’s brothers. There’s a door wedge over there. Just say I had wedged the door shut. I certainly won’t say anything different. After all, I wanted the death penalty more than life in prison. I just pretended that I didn’t want it. I want to be where the action is, and that’s in hell. I’ll be going home.”
Guard: “You really are a lunatic, a madman, a devil in human disguise.”
I stared at him, smiled and thought, I really like this guy. “So let’s get the ball rolling. But first you’ll probably need to pull the pencil out of his head and resharpen them. Points may be dulled or broken. Now I have a date with Satan.”
The guard felt the heat and stepped away from the couch. He saw a short blast of flame, then all he saw was a scorched cushion on the couch, still smoldering. He and the dead doctor were the only ones in the room as the smell of sulfur became overwhelming and choked him enough for him to run out of the room and shut the door. He dialed 911 as his eyes burned enough for tears to flow abnormally.
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