Writings in Carnage

[ Many thanks to the life-saving Beta, Soffi. o.o -huggles-]

Warnings: Description of murder. Doesn't go that much into detail though. Homosexual relationships. [ Intended to stay rated R, though that might change. ]

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It's a very, very
Mad World
Mad world

- "Mad World" by Tears For Fears



They said I was insane, but can they truly say that? This disease hadn't dulled my senses, the disease stimulated them and brought forth the best of me. I didn't break, I wasn't insane, you can judge it yourself, wasn't my work of arts marvelous? Could an insane man have done that with his dull sense and weak mind? No, he couldn't have. So I ask you, how can you dare say that I am mad? I haven't-nor will I ever be mad, don't give me that look. Oh, I'm sure you have read about my great works of art with those blondes. You mean you haven't? Well that certainly raises a brow - let me tell you the story and then you can tell me if I'm mad.

It started on a Christmas morning. Once again, I woke up to a cold bed and a lonely apartment. Ever since his death it had been cold, devastatingly cold. Oh, no no we won't go into that detail. We won't go into the detail of my hair having been brown at the time either, though I'm sure the readers would like to know that. As I was saying, it was a cold Christmas and for once I had found myself down at a bar. Cancer bombarded the air. Those crazy somkers, don't they know what they were doing to their bodies? But no getting through to them, and yet you dare to call me crazy? Yeah right.

I was just enjoying a few drinks, honestly. A nice glass or two of nothing that would had impaired my vision. That's when she walked in, a lustful woman. Her curves were in the right places and her thighs layered with fishnets. A floozy, no a harlot. That's what you guys call those street workers now a days, isn't it? That's exactly what she was at that. A pretty one though, nice blond hair fell to her shoulders, it was well kept and glistened against the snow that clung to her silky strands. It was the hair that attached my attention, but I should mention quite a few guys loved those ample bosoms and baby blue eyes. Their hearts sunk as her eyes rested on each one of them and then she took a stool next to me. She would be the first masterpiece, maybe even my favorite.

"What's a cutie like yourself doing here and not at home with a lover?," her voice melted the bartender's heart. Apparently when she spoke angels would sing. Yes, she did have this effect on the lonely men. Who me? Ah, it was the lips. They were plump, juicy, rosy lips that simply melted in my brown eyes. Perfect-the best set of lips I ever seen on a woman, because of that I didn't mind her playful touches and flirting.

Excuse me? Did I do what, oh miss please just listen to the story. I still have quite enough to say without silly questions.

"Oh well, heh I live alone actually. My love committed a sinful act and took their life." And with that reply there was a laugh. Check please, bartender, I had more than enough of my fill.She looked sad at the response, a look that told me she was used to the same thing. A harlot that had feelings? Well that was news to me. We chatted and exchanged random nonsense, about our loves and their deaths, what we did after that and how she became a street worker.

It was a long night, and yes she did come back to the apartment.I think she had grown fond of my appearance. The bed? Oh, I suppose a harlot such as yourself would like to know everything about that. Yes, it did happen. But the sweat just wasn't the same and the glisten of the candles just didn't flow with my mood. It was always much easier being the bottom person, oh dear, I do believe she could figure that out. Oh well, it didn't make a difference either way. Yes, it was late that night, she had to go home. We exchanged our goodbyes and she thought she left on her own. Something kindled in my mind, lets just say it was the perfect art.

How did I do it? Oh mon cher, we need not go into such small details. Simply said, I ended up following her and she ended up in a nice picture. Oh yes, the unknown weapon? It was a potato peeler.

"What?!" A potato peeler you say? Oh, just listen.

When I saw my work in the picture I jumped with glee, it amused me. She was hanging by the fence in the angel custom. The feathery wings had been dipped into her own blood in fact. The wall directly behind her held a pentacle with her blood, written with her tongue I might add. Yes, yes, of course I wore gloves. I told you I'm not mad. I heard they had to place some of the parts in jars. Yeah, I say eyes and lips look neat preserved in a jar. Why didn't I think of it? Oh wait, I didn't want it traced back to me. She was dressed in white, just like an angel. She was still her pretty little self, her hair still shone with the snow radiance.

They did question me, time after time. I didn't laugh, I didn't crack, no. All I told them was I spent a night with a nice lady. I didn't see the problem and then I kindly shooed them away.

What about the boy? Ah, patience now. I'm getting to that.

Yes, the boy. He was my next masterpiece right? Sandy strands tumbled into his sea green eyes. Why, he reminded me of myself when I was younger. Carefree and talking to anyone who would listen. I suppose that's how we met, I simply listened.

It was a morning, I do believe, in February and needless to say they were still looking for the harlot's murderer. Armed and extremely dangerous that's what they dubbed my profile. This kid wasn't the type to listen, oh how I liked that. He had been skipping school and went off to the park instead. He found me, yes I don't stalk people my dear, in the chess area. He wanted a game, I accepted. In the end the winner was to be treated to an ice cream.

I lost.

He liked vanilla ice cream, on a cone, not in a cup. And like the first woman we talked and learned about our childhood. A few laughs exchanged and - excuse me? He was a child, oh please, I do hold some standards. No I didn't take anything precious away from him he had just became another masterpiece.

They had found him that night under a full moon. In the park, his lips pulled into a soft smile. His hair perfectly shaggy and blonde. No, it wasn't a potato peeler this time, but instead manicure scissors. Oh please, don't get me started on how useful those were. It looked like acne at first, they stated in the papers, but these acne did more than keep him dateless. Oh yes, it drained him of his blood. The crimson became a lovely, lunar flower. I have to change something, THIS was my favorite. It didn't have body parts missing or the scent of Satan, no, it carried flowers.

What was the point of these deaths? Now my love, I still have one last one to state first.

It was the fourth of July. The one that I got caught on. I thought it was perfect. Another blond, clumsy in my clasp and yes, even then my hair was still brown. Need I stress to say this? You say I have a grudge against blondes? That's a travesty, and shame, it was a travshamesty. What do you mean I can't make up words?! Godzooka-lollie.

Yes, yes, anyway he was a blond. A boy freshly out of college with a smile gingerly clinging to his face. He was intrigued that I was alone much like the harlot. Ah, this one, yes, I'm surprised you haven't asked yet. We did share a moment of sweat and fond memories in the dark. You say I wanted to get caught? Oh maybe, or maybe I had a craving for the dead by then. Please lets just finish the story!

Yes, the police had me...as you say....bugged. Took them a while, but the dimwits were finally able to make the connection. So they had a camera planted in the window in front of the apartment, and as I've heard that two cops were always watching. They were waiting for me to strike and oh did I give them the show of their lives.

He was young and inexperienced and after that harlot, well, I've gained a few new tricks. Artistic tricks, mind you. He enjoyed it and I think I did as well. A little fun never killed any one right? But oh how boring his death was. While he had fallen asleep on my bed I took the liberty to bond his wrists and ankles. I'm sure the cops just thought it was some sadistic game otherwise they would had been there a lot sooner.

Tell me, what is your fear? Oh how common.

This boy's wasn't common at all, oh no. Why you fear stuff like spiders, and death by cars. He was fearing the attack of a cute cuddly little hamster. Hamsters, you know I think they were my brother's favorite animal.

Now we all know they can't attack, well yeah, they can't. Fabulous treat however if you can show me how. I didn't want to kill that hamster in the house either or perhaps I'd let it have a handful of involvement. So instead I had to use a butcher knife. He didn't cry, I'll let you know. He never woke up, it was the perfect way to die. I really didn't want to hear him scream. I wasn't able to complete that masterpiece, as soon as the knife was done; those pesky policemen were on my case. Sigh, oh how hard it is to find those doughnut loving simpletons.

Yes, they found me guilty on an insanity plead, but as I must state. I was NOT insane, no, I knew what I was doing. They wanted it deep down. The harlot? Oh she was tired of her life but didn't know who to turn to. The little boy? His father used him you know, he was used as much as the harlot you could say. And the college boy? He had doubts that failed in becoming a business man. And all that they had in common? They shared their problems with me and told me I had it easy. You lost a love, no I had lost more than that you fools. I lost a brother, a love, a friend, a shadow, half of myself. But why did I kill them? It was a fail safe in case I couldn't kill the beautiful face you see before. And for what? To see that selfish brother. Even so I can still honestly say that he was who I loved, second person I loved and the one I cared for most.

These were the words of a madman, nah, a man simply assured by the theory of death and sins. And as much fun as padded walls were he grew tired of it and thus planned his escape. An escape used in those movies where the man hides under a pile of clothing and has a stroll out the door.

The guards were by far the most idiotic people he had seen. Ever.

And after that he found himself needing clothes, and with the simple heart he stole. Worn clothes that had basked in the sun for far too long and called out to be turned into rags. If anything, these people could think he was a homeless bum at best. The red fabric became friends with patches of other clothing and the jeans became an source of showing off the ivory legs. And for once he had seen his hair as being far too long, tangled blonde strands that reminded him of a sheep dog. The shaggy pale locks falling into the brown hues with the classic looks of the aforementioned dog, or at least for the bangs. The rest of the mousy locks were hidden under the faded fabrics to be lost by human eye. It's grown so much since he last saw a mirror, but he'd spared himself from the humiliation of a mirror's face. Old glasses framed the pale face with cracked lenses and bent frames. Oh how he was in the need for money so that left him one thing to do.

Cough.

"Money! I will leave you a lone for money-nah I'll give you a nice back rub? No? How about I clean your car? Oh, you obstinate little punks."

Don't say a word.

His voice was dim and a lopsided smile accompanied the plea as the brown eyes took the time to stare at the city before him. It had a robust amount of people that was for show. They crossed and danced past each other with their busy lives never touching. Many people he saw told him of romantic beginnings and sweet ends as they drank their coffee and went off to work. His plea was going to be heard by very few in a city where the car horns were beeping in and out.

There was one feature, without a doubt, that lead people to stray away from him--or at least more so then the homeless look--and that was the stuffed toy torn from hems and buttons to expose the cotton center. This stuffed toy went by the name of Snuggles--by his mind-- and the animal form it held? A tanned bunny with a crimson coat.. A childhood toy lost in the firm grip and loosing the cotton from the protrude ears--it's age showed dramatically

Busy cars continued to whiz by, along with the people that muttered about jobs and the people these days. The normal stuff one would hear from stuck-up snobs who worked in cubicals and believed that the world surrounded their work. If the work was for the best, they expected everyone to be happy, if it was tiresome and lost, then they expected gray skies and gloomy peers.

Peers. Was that what they still called them in the business world? Funny, how things didn't change much from the school years. He was still well found in it, broke and looked down upon. He wasn't that bad during those years, really. Perhaps even a sweetheart among his class. A lopsided smile that'd always accustomed his face and the clumsy walk that landed him on the ground more times than he had fingers.

A lot of people never changed--


In some ways neither did he. He was still the blonde that carried the red shirt, older than himself he could add proudly. (So what if the hem was coming loose and there was a hole under an arm.Fuck you. ) The blonde hair wasn't exactly to his standards anymore, freckled with the wisedom that men carried, sadly he was only in the late twenties. Stress was the cause, it was one factor in life he could never escape. Of course he couldn't forget the glasses, and the impaired right eye. The milk silk lingered and dulled the once raidient color that matched the honey eye--the one not quite as a mirror image now a days.

Sometimes he wondered if life was really worth it. To sit on the same curb everyday with a hand extended in a false hope, and a few pleads. Sometimes they were met by a few coins, enough to get his Little Debbie lunch and other times he went without food. Oh well, that was the life of a padhandler.--

The sound of a tin can broke him out of his thoughts on the world. A brow raised while he adjusted his head to look up and see a boy. Young and tender, were the first words to enter his mind. The too big shirt reminded him of his own years ago--when it had draped over his knees and hid the lanky figure, no it was a cozy fit, still with slack but not as much as he would have loved it to be. Oh, how the years were cruel to some and blessings to others.

He wasn't sure what it was for him.

Aramaic de Buer. He never believed in taking interest of the people around him anymore. Unless of course they seemed like an easy target in money, or he was very bored. In short he just didn't want his hair to age any *less* gracefully than it did now with the freckles of gray mixed with the pale locks. Ah, simple sweet bliss of being a street bum--

Maybe he should get into a person's lap sooner than he planned. How hard should it be? It was Valentines day after all. Plenty of people out there desperate for some lovin', yes, even from a smelly old bum.




Authors Note: Like it? Dislike it? Should I continue? ^^;;; Drop a review if you have time please. Have something to criticize me about? Please do. I've written many stories before, but this is the only one I decided to actually post. Hopefully with this one I can get past the first two chapters. >.>