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Submitted on
May 13, 2004
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They call me crazy. I beg to differ.  Iím sentenced to die only for their lack of understanding.  So, here I sit day after day in this cold, lonely, dark jail-cell.  Fed once daily, Iím slowly thinning away, still filled with the lust of my chosen delicacy and the hatred that was bred upon me.  I donít know how long Iíve been here or how long Iíll stay.  No windows to the outside world are present to accompany me, only one diminutive hole near the top of the door shining in a small beam of light through from the prison corridor.  Iíve grown somewhat accustomed to this new lifestyle of mine however bleak it may be in comparison to the stirring existence of my past.  
     I was born on August 13, 1974, putting me now at slightly over fifty years old.  My mother unfortunately died during labor, leaving my single father to raise me alone.  My unstable father was traumatized by the death of his wife and inherently blamed me.
     My childhood was a macabre thing to live through.  Even when I was but a mere child, my father would abuse me.  Two times a day these beatings would occur, usually first thing in the morning and once again before bedtime, all the while my father yelling ďItís all cause of you!!! You stole away the only thing that mattered to me!Ē  Of course, I, being a little kid, was brainwashed to believe these things, believing I was at fault of killing my mother, and would hence cry nightly while praying for her forgiveness.
     Unlike the other children I had at times seen riding bicycles in the street, I was not allowed to visit school.  Rather, my father locked me in my room during the day, letting me out only for the privilege of eating dinner with him, and for the occasional beating outside my bedroom.  I believed this was the way children were supposed to be raised; itís all I knew.
     One day when I was around the age of 16, my father came into my room furious like usual, pushed me onto the floor, and began madly swinging his booted feet into my ribs.  I suddenly had a strange urge to fight back, something which had never even crossed my mind before.  Instantly I grabbed my fatherís leg, twisted it, and hurled him to the ground.  Without thinking, I jumped to my feet and kicked my father as hard as I could in the back of his head.  Not only once did I do this, but instead continued on for near twenty minutes, kicking with all my might.  
     Suddenly, I awoke.  I was on the wooden floor of my bedroom, my father lying motionless next to me.  I jumped to my feet only to discover my fatherís head had been cracked wide: the contents of his skull distributed several feet across the floor and onto the nearby wall.  I immediately remembered fighting and feeling quite dizzy just before the notion of waking up.  I looked upon my departed father with a slight feeling of sadness, but nevertheless grinned at the gratification his death had instilled within me.  

~Fulfillment through Depravity~

A short story I started awhile back, but never finished.

It was, however, the basis for my artwork entitled Asylum, which is shown above and can be found here available as a print:
The two works weren't meant to be shown as a pair, seeing as how the image does differ in a few aspects from the story thus far. I hope you don't mind.

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darkwing91 Featured By Owner Nov 3, 2011
:) awesome work . . Edgar Allan Poe Jr.
MistaBobby Featured By Owner Nov 3, 2011   Digital Artist
haha thanks. :P
damien-thorn Featured By Owner Jun 3, 2006
The true horrors are all always to be found in the gruesome path of human nature...
ragdoll26 Featured By Owner May 22, 2005
your writing style is like Edgar Allen Poe's, short, getting right to the point. i really like this story. can't wait to read more.
catatonicvoid Featured By Owner May 4, 2005
reading the last line in particular felt good...
MistaBobby Featured By Owner May 4, 2005   Digital Artist
Thank you for the comment. Glad you liked it. :)
morbid-drummer Featured By Owner Feb 13, 2005
that was really good, you used good detail which is always a good thing

:clap: good job
MistaBobby Featured By Owner Feb 15, 2005   Digital Artist
tommyboy283 Featured By Owner Oct 11, 2004
Wow, this was great for such a small story. Left me with a chilling feeling =)
stardreamer Featured By Owner Sep 13, 2004
yeah...parents are the reason we live in a fucked up world.

they ruined everything, didn't they?
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