escritura "A Valentine to Remember"

Liquidz-Flamez posted on Feb 21, 2016 at 07:02PM

"Love you!"

"Oh yes, i'll be your valentine!"

Smooch....smooch....smooch. Ugh, so disgusting. It comes once a year on the Fourteenth of February. Valentines day.....I fucking...hate it. Oh so "what's to hate about a holiday about love?" Oh screw you people. All of you self centered, mindless, face biting zombies. A day for loving, HAH! Yeah right. More like the day I'm reminded every...single...year...that i'll forever be alone with no one to cling to like a lover puppy right? Every single year I get to watch you people gnaw at each other's faces---women, with your cheap red lip-bomb occupying your lips, expecting giant teddy bears and chocolates and all that other mushy brain-dead shit. It makes me sick to the pit of my stomach. Every "I love you" nothing but a lie made to buy someone's good graces into spending money for your pathetic wants, and it's covered up with the excuse of "love", much like a corpse being buried under the weight of dirt. Every smile nothing but a deceitful facade--a veil--of lies that'll continue until that fake love turns to ashes and shame at the feet of the one who actually loved you. So pathetic. So unbelievably almost makes me want to vomit. I've seen the hurt...the pain...that it causes people. I've seen the look of betrayal many times over and over. And I.....I've felt it myself. Every year I've felt it, and i'm reminded of all that I had to suffer. Everything had seemed to be going so very well. For the first time in the paradox of bullshit called my life, everything had seemed to be going so right. I had a decent paying job, a decent little house at the end of the street, and someone that I had loved with all of my heart. Her name was Joyce Parker. I loved her with every particle of my well being....until everything I've ever worked to build....was torn apart. Set ablaze....reduced to dust. Now let me ask you, readers, listeners....if this day is so much about all of this "love", then why I did I have to walk in my own house, in MY OWN ROOM, to find the person I've dedicated myself to so much, having sex with another guy!? Fucking my best friend!? My BEST FRIEND!? Was it not enough? The things that I had done out of sheer "love", despite breaking myself down to every last thought in order to meet her expectations and wants? Heh, I guess not. When I asked her why, her response was that I was too picky. Too demanding. To clingy. I had NEVER demanded anything...I wasn't picky. And I AM NOT, and WAS NOT clingy, only passionate about what I thought was real. But I was deceived...I was deprived....I was....left with my heart in my hands, shattered. Every thought...and I thought about what I did wrong. Where did I go wrong? I eventually lost my job. Where did I go wrong? I lost my house, though only temporarily, and had to sleep out in my car with no way to take a shower or anything. Where did I go wrong? I was in a state of weakness and depression for weeks, which transitioned to months. And those months, into a year. I began to think that everything was my fault, and that I couldn't do enough to keep her. That was...until last week, a week A week before the day I had my feelings and emotions tore from my chest. If I must recall, it was on a Saturday. I saw her out with Brian, my former best friend. I'd known him since middle school, and we had went to college together. Both of them, laughing and holding each other close as if they had been together forever. That's when I realized that...I hadn't been wrong. I HADN'T BEEN WRONG! It wasn't my fault. It never was. And that's when I also realized how much I truly hated them. How much I despised them both. How much I hated today, and each and every last person that decided to tear away something that someone else had valued. Everyone who put's the veil over the eyes of someone else. But today...all of it ended. This year, I returned the favor. That saying..."eye for an eye" was "heart for a heart."---

You see...over the past year of my sulking sorrow and misinterpretations of what could have been, I've had time to work. To contemplate. To contrive. I've had time to watch and devise. Despite my pain, I found it unbearably difficult to stay away. Not without figuring out what Brian had that I did not. What could he do that I couldn't? What could he provide her with that I COULDN'T!!?? *sigh*--In order to find out this information, I of course, did a few observations. I NEEDED this to be cleared up in my head. So I watched them when they went out to public places such as restaurants and clothing stores. I followed them around into jewelry stores where they were oblivious to my presence anywhere near them. It was easy enough that I continued this for the following few weeks, give or take a day or so, before I decided that I needed to get closer. I needed to enter a more personal level in order for me to understand. At the time, that's all I had wanted to do. Understand. Because that knock-off of an answer was so cruel that it started to sound like a bullsh*t excuse. And excuse just to....get rid of me. I ended up finding that it was a bit tougher to get into a place like their home when she was almost always there, and I couldn't keep an eye out all the time because, well, I DID have a little life left to tend to. But at any and all cost, I had to get her out of that house. So I devised a plan for a first step. Something that was more, i humbly admit,....out of spite than curiosity for a clearer answer. I decided that if it would be hard for me to get inside the house, then I would just have to make her leave. I had to use what I already knew. I knew that she had a grandmother that stayed in the next town over, and oh how sweet it had been to pay her a visit. I waited three weeks prior to gather a few materials that I needed to set things in motion. When the time came to finally get things done, if there was anything that I kept in mind during on my drive there was that I would be offered a cup of sweet tea. Her grandmother, even at the age of 83, could move around as if she were only 50, so you could see how making tea wouldn't be a problem for her right? Well, along with me, I had brought along a small pouch that I was sure was going to be a death dealer. During the prior three weeks, I had managed to get my hands on a fairly decent amount of Zylon B on the deep-web, in which, if you happen to know your stuff like I do, contains diatomite, in the form of granules the size of fine peas, saturated with prussic acid. You know, the stuff the Nazis used on the Jews in the gas chambers? Yeah...that stuff. But instead of being pea sized, I had crushed it down to the form of dust. Before I even thought about entering the home of her grandmother on arrival, I slid the pouch into my back pocket just to be on the safe side. As I predicted, after a few minutes of talking with her, I was offered some tea. It seemed that she didn't have knowledge of the unfortunate breakup of me and her granddaughter. Figures.....she always saw the best in me. It was sad that she had to be a statistic in my revenge really. I followed her into the kitchen where there was already a pot of tea reaching its finishing point, so when she was busy filling up the cups, she had asked if I could fetch the sugar. Bad move on grandmas behalf. While she had her attention elsewhere, I got a few spoons of sugar for myself before mixing the rest with the entire pouch of Zylon, and playing it off as me just looking through my wallet to reassure myself that my credit card was still there. Cautious and smooth. I had the liberty of scooping the spited sugar into her tea mug before we sat in the living room chatting and listening to the radio. It took about 12 minutes before the poison actually kicked in and took effect. I had the privilege of watching as she began to sway, and another two to three minutes later, was foaming a little from the corners of her mouth before she fell forward and her head struck the dangerously sharp edge of the coffee table, leaving a gash on the side of her head as well as rendering her dead. And in a way, i felt the relief of something I hadn't really experienced. The relief of....thrill. I actually enjoyed watching the elderly woman crash and burn, because I pictured it as only a piece to Joyce's world, crumbling. It was great, but I knew that I needed to move. But before I left, I retraced my steps back to any and everything I had touched, though I wore gloves because of the temperature outside, and wiped them off with the dish rag that was hung over the neck of the faucet before leaving. I took a clean cup of tea as well because, well, why not? There was no longer anyone of the residence to tell me that I could not as far as I was concerned. She was visited once a month, and at the time, it was just getting close to the end of January. Perfect. That was the first step out of the way, and now it was to the next. That bastard Brian. The person who I had thought to be my best friend, but was really just a selfish pricker fuck. I had actually thought about letting him off the hook because I thought that we had some pretty good memories, but I decided that I would be even better to beat every last one out of that petty mind of his. So I waited a few days after I KNEW that they had notified Joyce about the death of her grandmother, and the funeral was held on a Tuesday on the 9th of this month. She had left her home early that morning to go get together with her mother and would be gone for five days, leaving Brian home alone. I watched from closer than she could ever imagine from the spare bedroom window. Funny thing about that was that I had found numerous ways to get inside her home during my few days of waiting, also finding that they had a basement. That would come in handy. And besides that, I knew that Brian was one of those heavy sleepers that needed an extra oomph to get him up. I had gotten in through window, and since the room was on the further side of the house, I didn't have to really bother with extra caution, though I still did so just for the sake of it. My tools for the job were a pair of pliers, some tape, two large nails, a tranquilizer, 10 smaller nails, and a hammer. It sounds like a lot to carry when you're breaking and entering, however it was actually extremely light. After I had watched Joyce pull off, I turned from the window and inched over to the door, turning the knob slowly and carefully so that it wouldn't make to much of a noise when it was opened. The only thing that came from it was a small, low creaking, but that was just about it. I was still in the safe zone of the moment. I crept down the discolored tan hallways and allowed myself to look at some of the pictures of the two. At the beach, at the clubs. Hell, there was even one at the 2014 Ball Drop in New York back when we......still were together. They were holding hands. Smiling. This had taken off guard the first time that I was able to have a look around. But the second time just pissed , me off. And he had known all this time...yet had the dignity and indecency to look me in the face and smile and laugh with me, as if nothing were to be happening behind my back. That prick...--
As I got further down the hallway, I could hear the light snoring coming from the heavy sleeper. By the sounds of it, he was sleeping well. And it was about time he awoke to the nightmare that reality had to offer. I took slow steps towards the room door and saw that it was opened a little, which made it easier for me to get inside and see that son of a bitch sleeping like the angel sh*t he was. My purpose was to make the first part quick. But i wanted him to see me....I wanted him to see the face of his betrayal. And then in those moments of swirling rage and bitter satisfaction, I took four large steps, slamming my foot down hard with the last, causing him to jump up into a sitting position, his eyes wide with both sleep and shock at the sight of me. Guess he wasn't as deep in sleep as I had thought, but didn't matter. As soon as he sat up, he was put right back down by the tranquilizer that stabbed into the side of his neck, and was laid to rest. It took me a while, but I achieved the goal of getting him tied up to a chair and dragging him down into the basement where I used to the big nails to nail his feet to the floor. All I did was sit there and wait until he woke up, silent for a moment, but then he started to scream. I shut him up, and for the next two days, I beat the living sh*t out of him. I ate their food. I pissed in their toilet, and at times, on him. Right on the holes in his feet where the nails were. By the third day, I wasn't yet sick of his screaming, but of his pleading for me to stop and his apologies. Those empty apologies people give when they know their own hide is on the line. So I tied some rope around his throat and forced his mouth open where I used the pliers to violently rip out his teeth. I mean, the ones closest to his wisdom teeth were rotten anyways, so f*** his teeth. I was enjoying myself. I used that same rope to hoist him in the air by the new pipes they had installed for the drain pipes and toilets so that his feet was barely touching the ground at all thanks to the larger nails. The smaller ones I nailed under his toenails and peeled each and every one of them off. He screamed until he fell unconscious, but a bucket of ice water brought him back. By this time, blood puddled the floor, and it was reaching the finale. I taped his mouth shut while I worked on a little something for Joyce. After all, Valentine's day was just around the corner right? The fourth day of her absence was when I just sat and watched Brian fir the majority of the day. By then, he had pissed and shitted on himself, which only served as humor for me. At the end of the day, I looked him in his half dead, tortured eyes. He could barely speak, much less breath. The only word he could utter.....was please. I had nothing to say to him. I smashed his skull in with the hammer and let that be the end of it. After spitting on his corpse and disgracing his name, I cleaned up a bit and put signs and arrows around the house, starting from the bedroom, that led to basement. I put cheesy messages that someone like Brian would have wrote to ensure that she would follow them without a clue of what would await her. And here I am now....smiling. This has been quite pleasurable. It is now the 5th day, and in only a few minutes, she will arrive. And I want you all to know that....I WILL have her the least metaphorical way possible. I'll tear it from her chest.....

..........Oh, and one more thing. Happy Valentines Day.
 Hi!" "Love you!" "Oh yes, i'll be your valentine!" Smooch....smooch....smooch. Ugh, so disgu

escritura No respuestas