The Bloody Valentine

Reflections

The lights had been out for days, I did not bother turning them on at that point; the darkness had a welcoming that I could not see in the light anymore. My face had been tainted with the tone of a killer, I could not stand to look at myself anymore, I could not longer recognize the person I saw staring back at me in the mirror. I had ruined the rest of my life, everything I do will remind me of what I had done; I was no longer John the person, but I was John the killer, an empty shell with no aspirations. I should have laid in bed until I starved myself to death, at least then I would have had redemption.

The funeral was nice; the cemetery was full of people I have never seen in my entire life. It just goes to show you what happens when you try to please everybody, they ignore you until you die. However, after you, oh that is when they feel the need to remember you, the need to give you the respect you deserve; they feel guilty if they do nothing! It makes them feel better knowing they shed those fake tears for you, in their minds they made a difference for your family but in reality all they did was remind you of how pathetic human beings are. Hell, if you asked them to describe one thing about yourself before you poked the goose, they would have draw a blank, but when you die, that is when they all come out of hiding and tell your family what a “nice” person you were. I hate them.

I had not had an urge since the murder, was my father the cause of the urges? Could it have been something bigger? It could not be father; I have had urges for other people too; except those urges were short and weak. Was it that nobody had said anything honest to me since the murder? That had to be it. I knew I would never act on another urge again, so why was I still thinking of them? I mean, after the feeling of devastation I felt after acting one of them out, I knew I could control them; the fear I felt then outweighed the feeling of pleasure I had received, I was in complete control; I decided whether a person lived or died; you could not buy that kind of power, it was natural power.

Nevertheless, what if I could not control and became a serial killer or something frightening like that? That scared me; I could not allow anybody to ask it.
There was a knock at the door, how long has the person been knocking on the door? I better get it, I thought. I struggled to get out of my bed, a part of me wanted to continue lying there; I landed my feet onto the soft carpet. I passed my parents’ room on my way; I looked in the opposite direction, I could not stand the thought of my life without my father, even though at that time I was living that life. I slowly walked down the stairs and approached the door, I could see a figure on the other side of the door; well at least whoever it was had not left yet! I opened the door only to be greeted by Detective Marshall, he gracefully entered the house and proceeded past the kitchen and into the dining room, I followed him like a groupie. He turned around and looked at me. “Something on your mind detective? I don’t imagine you’re here to look at me,” I said arrogantly. He said, “You’re good. Oh you’re good. You almost had me convinced; but, you see, there’s one flaw in your story. You claim the perp hit you from behind and knocked you out, yet you gave us a description of him.”
“What are you getting at?” I asked.

“I know you did it,” he paused, “Look here. You can either co-operate with us and get a few years max, or you can do this the hard way and get life. The ball’s in your court.”
“My father’s been murdered and you come at me with these, these accusations? Get the fuck out of my house!” I cried.
He left, but his presence lingered on, his words came crashing down on me, like a skyscraper after the demolition begins. They were going to find out the truth. Shit! What could I do? There was nothing I could have done, I was going to spend the rest of my short, meaningless life in prison; that is, unless I confess: but then they all would have known the truth. Nobody was to learn the truth, especially Mary. I walked over to the sofa and crashed, there I laid until I dozed off into a tranquil sleep, the only peace I had felt in years.

The peace quickly vanished, replaced by fear. I was having that nightmare again; the one I had every night since the incident. His words ripped through my dormant body like a hammer on glass, “I mean, Jesus John, you’re just wasting away and you don’t care.” I could hear myself breathing, but it was amplified as if I was listening to it through a megaphone. I walked up behind him as if in a trance, the colours were meshing. I hit him: CLANK! I awoke full of sweat as the doorbell rang. I swear if it is another casserole, I would kill the deliverer; I thought. I got up to answer the door, but stopped as I passed by the television, I looked into it and saw the reflection in the screen but my reflection was nowhere to be seen, my image had been replaced by that of my mutilated father. I realized that I had been torturing myself, but why? I could get myself out of that situation, it just required a little bit of imagination; luckily, I had plenty to spare. I decided to devise a plan when I was not occupied, but now I had to continue towards the door.

Before I answered the door I put on my sad face, I did not want anybody to know what was actually on my mind. I opened the door only to see Ashlee standing in the doorway with a sweet and innocent look of sorrow on her face, her hands were empty, that meant she could live. Then it hit my like a brick, I had never told her where I lived, “How do you know where I live?” I asked before she could get a word out, which was quite an accomplishment I must say. “Oh uh, Mary told me,” she paused, “can I come in?” She asked. I did not want to make her suspicious, there is nothing worse than a suspicious female; at least that is what I gathered from all the movies I watched. “Sure” I said. She entered and I led her past the soaked sofa and into the dining room which also served as a kitchen, we sat down at the table in chairs next to each other. I attempted to be funny, “If you’re here for the sex orgy you’re late,” I said as I feigned a smirk but she was not impressed. “Can we be serious for a minute?” She asked.

Our eyes met and her deep blue eyes put me in trance; I could not hear a single word that floated gracefully off her lips, at that moment I could only think of how beautiful she was. She had long, blonde hair; deep blue eyes; and the most flawless face I had ever seen, except for Mary. I snapped out of the trance just as she noticed I was not listening, “John? Hello? Are you even listening to me?” My mind was still blank so I pronounced my only thoughts, “My God, you’re so beautiful.” She squirmed and let a quick smile loose before covering it up then she turned red as blood. “I…I…I have to go. You’re…uhhh, you’re making me feel uncom-fortable.” She said before she got up and started towards the door. I grabbed her arm as she passed. “What if I don’t want you to go?” I asked boldly as I stared coldly into her eyes. She looked like I had a gun pointed to her head. “You’re scaring me,” she said timidly. I let go of her arm then followed her to the door, as we approached the door she turned around, paused then turned back around and left. I was making a mistake, I thought to myself; if I close the deal, Mary will be just that much further from me.

I tried to ignore the abruptness of her de-parture, but I could not do it. That was easy, maybe a little too easy, that was a talent which came all too naturally to my father when he was in his prime. I remember watching him deliver speeches as a child. No matter how controversial the topic, he was always greeted with such a positive response. I had no clue how he managed to pull it off time after time.
That was when it hit me: I had become my father. I tried so hard not to become a worka-holic like my mother than I had been rear-ended by my father’s charisma. It was not such a bad thing for me, the charisma, with the murder still looming over my head. I could talk my way out of it, I had hopes of that anyways.

I had become very dizzy, I did not know if it was from finally realizing that I could go to prison for a long time or that I had become scum like my father. I sat back down on a chair. My head felt like it was being hit by a hammer repeatedly. I fell off the chair onto the cold floor and held my head. I opened my mouth to and tried to unleash a scream but was greeted with silence. Then, as sudden as it began, it stopped. I felt fine. What was wrong with me? I did not know. Was I becoming something, something grand? As I tried to figure it out, I feel asleep.

I awoke to the deafening sound of a door slamming shut. My mother had finally emerged from her isolation booth I liked to call her bedroom. How long had I been asleep? I looked down and saw that a spider had taken the liberty of using my right leg as a base for its web. I jumped up and wiped my leg and the spider falls upon the floor. It hurried towards the wall, had I scared it? Do spiders know fear? I liked to think that they feed off fear and do not hold any emotional attachments. If I could be any creature I would be a spider. Spiders can do almost anything they want, they can even kill, and they never have to worry about petty things like detectives and mothers.

My mother entered the kitchen, where I had conveniently collapsed. “Oh great you’re up!” She said with a hostile tone. She was either angry or drunk, maybe both; either way I was going to get an earful. “Who the fuck is Ashlee?” She asked, clearly drunk; but before I could get an answer out she continued. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to, uh, know. Just do me a favour, avoid her. Any girl that comes aroun’ here so soon after your father dies is no good. Especially when they look like that!” I was waiting for the big finish but it never came. Anytime she saw a girl that was even remotely pretty, she would use that line: the “she’s no good” line. “But—“ I blurted out before being cut off. “Oh so it was you? You selfish bastard! Have you no respect for your father?” She said. She wanted me to be depressed over this for the rest of my life, I was not going to let to try to control in this fashion. “So I’m supposed to just stop living because he did? I’m going to live my life the way that I want to and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

I stormed off. She tried to say something but I tuned her out, there is no reasoning with a self-righteous drunk. She was not thinking straight, due to the alcohol. She always tried to tell me how to live my life, as if it would kill me if I thought for myself for once. Well, it did not kill me; it killed my father. She was to blame, if she had let me live I would have never had those urges. Perhaps I killed the wrong parent. Dwelling on this solved nothing for me; it was not helping.

I entered my bedroom and automatically began taking down all of the pictures of Mary from my wall and placed them in a drawer. It’s funny how we never listen to people when they’re alive but when they die we do whatever they asked of us. I never used to think much of it but now that I have experienced it, it just seems odd. I would have never thought of taking those pictures down before, but I suddenly felt no need for them. They reminded me of a more innocent time I suppose, so taking them down would make me feel better, or at least I thought. Not seeing Mary staring back at the monster I had become would be depressing at first but I would get used to it.

I stared at the wall and felt a bag of mixed emotions. A part of me felt as empty as before, but a part of me felt at ease. I was at ease knowing that I will get away with murder and that things seemed to be going great for me at that moment. Nothing could faze me, I was happy; I was invincible. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I was happy. All it took to before happy was a simple act of murder and a confession, but I was happy. I had forgotten what happiness felt like and I never wanted to let it go, even if I had to do it again to keep the feeling.