I like to hurt things.
Especially things weaker than me.
I can not tell you why.
There is simply a great pull of force on my emotions when something bleeds out.
When something can not stop its own demise.
When I was younger, or perhaps when I was born, that's when it all began.
I was always different. I always liked violent things, like fighting, blood, and seeing things struggle.
At 8 years old, I accidentally hurt a hamster. My own sister's hamster. Yet I wasn't sad, and nor did I grieve with her. I simply smiled and went on my day.
But as time went on, and I got older, I realized I wasn't normal. Socializing felt like a drag, and pretending to be someone I wasn't wore me down.
I faked smiles, I used false names, and I blended into friend groups where I didn't belong.
I hurt animals often. I wasn't the type to keep corpses around me, so when I killed something, I just threw it to rot and waste.
Ever since I was young, a void had filled me. After the day I killed my sister's hamster and smiled in the face of a grieving little girl, that void was never replaced.
It wasn't a void of depression.
It was a void of the lack thereof.
It only worsened with age. By the time I was a fully grown teenager in a developed body, hurting things smaller than me brought me no sense of joy. It appeased my curiosity, but that's all.
By the time I was twenty years old, I had no more outlets. My void only expanded, and my deathly eyes grew darker in incompletion. There I was, playing violent games, trying my hardest to stimulate something, anything.
Yet to no avail.
I found myself looking in a mirror often.
I smiled a lot.
Yet it never reached my eyes.
I wasn't genuine for a single day of my life.
I grew apart from my family. You could even say they disowned me.
At 26 years old, the void was greater and deeper than one could imagine.
I felt dread.
It was like a hunger that wasn't satisfied.
A itch that wasn't scratched.
What would you have done?
I went as long as I could.
I withheld.
I became "normal".
Nothing worked.
At 27, a single night changed my life.
..
"You look shit, kid. Have you been getting any sleep?"
"I try to," I replied.
Standing before me was a man, an older man, more meat on his bones than muscle. He had grey hairs forming, but he acted like he was my age.
He was my coworker. He treated me pretty well.
Yet every time he turned his back, my hands would reach out, they would shake ruthlessly, all while I imagined strangling him.
I withheld.
The rain poured. The two of us are working a shift for the holidays. I was too miserable to give a damn, and he was angry over not spending his holidays like everyone else.
"Damn manager... calling me in over this bullshit. I should be partying with hookers, dancing to Christmas music, not spending my time here. With you."
"We can still have fun. Why don't you turn on some Christmas music? I'm fine with that."
"No way," The older man replied, "That's too romantic for 2 men alone. Besides, what about you? Don't you have some girl you wanna be with tonight?"
I simply shook my head.
"Not that I know of."
The older man raised an eyebrow, "The hell does that even mean?"
He chuckled, coming over to put his arm over my shoulder.
"You're a funny kid, for someone with such dead eyes."
I wanted to hurt him.
Not out of a personal vendetta, or anger, or anything along the lines of revenge.
But out of pure feeling.
For fun.
"What do you like about saturday's. Mister."
He turned to look at me, curious, "What do you mean? That's a specific question."
"I'm curious. It's the best day of the week, as people say, so what about you? What do you find so appealing about it?"
The older man smiled, "You're a good kid! Haha, you really wanna hear this old man yap?"
He walked around now, hand on his chin, "Well, what can I say? You get a day off from a shit hole like this. I get to spend my check on whatever the hell I want. And I get to order me some hookers! That's a damn good day."
It sounded boring.
"That sounds so fun!" I said.
"What about you, kid? Anything you do on your Saturdays?"
"Ah. I often play gore games."
"Gore... games? A-Ah, well, I guess that's... fun too."
I could tell he was very awkward.
The older man then turned from me. He checked his phone that had chimed just a moment ago.
That feeling came to me.
The void called out.
I needed to scratch the itch.
My arms shot out, latching around the older man's meaty neck.
"W-What the!"
He choked and gasped.
I fell, yet my arms remained tight and compact around his neck.
He clawed at my arms; he did it so much he eventually broke skin, yet I felt no pain.
As the light slowly but surely was removed from the man's eyes, I smiled, smiled so genuinely and wide that I looked like a maniac.
That void was satisfied.
For the first time in years, since that day with the hamster, I felt at peace.
I felt happy.
***
It's been years since. I ran away from that place and have been hiding away from athe uthorities.
I'm now thirty years old.
Taking the life of that man did me some good.
But it was starting to wear off. I wanted to taste it again. I wanted to satisfy that growing void inside of me.
So I went out, ready to fulfill my desires.
I spent 2 weeks working in a cafe.
There was a pretty woman who was brunette. She was nice and spoke to me often.
"You look tired, Kuro. I thought you promised to get to bed earlier?" She spoke in a sweet tone.
Yet as I looked in her eyes, all I wanted to do was hurt her.
"Sorry. I guess the video games have been holding me back."
She giggled, "I forgot you loved to play those things. What games do you like most?"
"Slasher games. Horror games. Games where you have the power."
"Oh... that's nice, I guess." She smiled, though I could tell it wasn't genuine, at least not like her other smiles.
Tonight. I had to finish things tonight.
The night came. We were closing up shop. The girl was wiping down the counters and sweeping the floors.
She had her back turned, headphones on, as she smiled.
I went toward the back and grabbed a knife.
I felt no remorse.
Each step grew shorter and shorter as I approached.
I raised my arm, knife in hand, and was ready to bring it down.
"FREEZE!"
Both of us were rigid in posture now.
Police officers, a squad of them at that, pointed guns at me.
"What... what is this?" I said below my breath.
"AHHH!" She screamed, pushing me away.
I gritted my teeth, trying to close the distance, trying to scratch that itch by taking her life.
Bang!
I froze.
A real bullet grazed my cheek.
"You must be out of your mind. These are real guns. Live rounds! Take one more step toward her, and I'm blowing you back to Tuesday."
An older man stepped forward, badge on his chest beneath his coat.
"We've been looking for you. Clearly, you fled after committing murder back in the city. You've had your fun. Now, face justice for your actions!"
I couldn't go to prison.
And there was no way I would allow them to willingly put me in cuffs.
So, I fled.
My feet moved quickly as I jumped over the counter and headed for the back exit.
"Stop moving! Freeze!"
They chased after me, yet I didn't look back, I didn't stop my feet.
Busting through the back entrance, I was stopped.
There stood 2 more officers, guns pointed directly at me.
"There is no way out of this, you sick bastard! Give up."
I balanced the odds.
Prison, or death.
If it came down to it, I might even be put to death, who knows?
My feet moved anyway; I was running directly at one of the officers.
I tried to get past them.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
3 shots struck my chest.
I now lay on my back, blood forming a puddle around me, as the crimson seeped from between my lips.
It hurt.
But I was angrier than anything.
So, this is what death is like?
Why do they complain over this...
It's warm.
Oh... now it's cold.
What a boring place.
If only... things were different.
I smiled now.
A world where I can express myself. That would be nice.