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Who Am I?

A Creative Writing Piece

By EmEl ElPublished 7 years ago 4 min read
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Fear, an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain or a threat.

It's a simple word, but it can mean so much. Especially to the ones who thrive off of it.

I have seen fear so many times. I've seen it in the way hands shake and voices tremble. I’ve seen it when presumably strong men get on their knees, their minds gone completely hysterical. I've seen it in so many eyes, at this point I've lost count.

The unmistakable glint in someone's eyes that send chills of excitement through my veins, especially when they're scared of me. It's like a game of predator and prey, and everyone knows how this game ends. Despite the repeatedly similar results, the game never gets old to me. The chase sends a thrill through these veins, pumping it through this body, giving me a purpose.

I guess you can call me a sadist, but it goes deeper than that. My need to plant fear in the hearts and minds of my unsuspecting victims goes deeper than temporary gratification from violating others.

What I do stays with me and my victims forever, it stains their hands and mind. The dark blaze gives me more than sexual gratification. I don't just inflict pain or humiliate those I consider to be less than me, I end their lives.

Tonight, I was at work again, getting my thrill. The hard golf stick was held firmly in my hands as I bashed in the head of my former employer, Veronica Martin.

I know that the police will be after me soon, but right now I couldn't care less. The waves of adrenaline and excitement of watching the life leave her eyes were all I could feel.

Besides, this was the third murder in this body, it was time to move on.

Thwack,

Thwack,

Thwack.

Even though she was dead, I urged my hands to strike her again and again. At this point, her head was practically bashed in.

The once pearly whites were bloody and completely knocked out of her mouth. Her green eyes were swollen shut and her face was unrecognizable.

With each blow, a new spray of blood would either decorate my body, ruining my expensive work suit or splatter across her white office desk. Blood soaked the carpet under my feet and pooled around my shiny, black shoes.

I'm quite meticulous when it comes to my victims. Who I kill is half the fun after all.

I don't murder people with sparkless souls that are already dull and dying, their sad eyes full of despair. They aren't worth my time. They're already dead or dying — I'm just speeding it up. In my malicious mind, that isn't murder.

No, I like them radiant, content. It's more satisfying when my victims have it all. A bright future, people they love, people who love them. Like my dear boss Veronica. Their prosperous personalities outshine my darkness, they outshine the darkness that hides in the corners of this world. That just isn't right. This world isn't good in any sense of the word, it's down right filthy. They don't fit into my despicable picture.

I know I'm pathetic, I know I'm pitiful. But your pity won't stop me. I don't want your fundamental definition of happiness.

I want the thrill, the thrill of a hunt. The thrill I get from a freshly fired gun, the powder still on my finger tips, incriminating me.

The thrill of pushing an unsuspecting person off the rocks, into the waves below and watching their head hit a rock and explode before landing with a splash. Like my cheating ex, Mariam.

The thrill of strangling someone with my own hands. Feeling their pulse hammer away, then stop completely.

The victims aren't always the ones on the receiving end of these sinful actions. The real victims are the owners of the heads I decide to infest.

Lifetime after lifetime, I've been reincarnated into different people with the same sad souls. The Zodiac Killer, Jack the Ripper, Charles Edmund Cullen. All these people have the same essence, the same fuel in their psyche.

What notorious name will I be given this time?

As of right now, my host body is Michael Ramirez, by day, he's a secretary working at Veronica's law firm, by night, he's a beast. My beast to be specific, created at the hands of evil. I am in a sad soul once again.

I'm not a person, I'm an entity.

A dark matter that feeds off the misfortune of others. I never stay in the same mind for long. I'm in more places than one, always roaming, always lurking. Waiting for the opportunity to take over another mind, corrupting it. Turning the sparks of dark energy already present into a raging fire.

I'm in almost every mind — my work just reflects more deeply on others.

Who am I? That's a good question, one that maybe even I can't answer. I'm beyond human comprehension.

Call me fear, call me death, it doesn't make a difference. The only thing that matters is that I'm here. My sinister presence is everywhere, it's around you, it's in you. I'm just waiting… waiting for the perfect moment to jump, right when you're vulnerable.

After I leave your body, I'll leave you yearning for more. Just like a drug addict itching for a fix — you'll be itching for my presence. I'll leave you tainted with wickedness.

You'll be lost because you'll never know who I am.

fiction
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