Blood Sanity

"Everything seemed like a dream, but the knife felt so real." He thinks he knows about sanity.


1. 1/1

A dark alley. He was just standing there, panting his lungs out. His throat felt frozen from gasping for air and from fear. He could feel the blood slowly getting dry on his hands. The ally surrounding him was dark, only dimly lit by the lights from the street. He heard sirens calling far in the distance.

He kept telling himself;

“I didn’t do this. They made me do it. I didn’t do this!”

But the voices in his head whispered right back.

“You did it. You wanted it.”
“You did it.”
“You did it.”

He turned his head towards the midnight sky, bending and trembling in frustration. A shaky sight escaped his lips.

“I didn’t do this!” he yelled inside his mind.

The voices kept replying. They kept growing stronger and stronger. He groaned, his fingers tightening around the handle of the knife. He still couldn’t comprehend what had just happened or he was still trying to deny that it happened. He lightly tipped the knife up and down. Everything seemed like a dream, but the knife felt so real. The adrenalin was rushing through his veins. The sound of the sirens got louder by the second. He had to do something, soon.


He was staring into his own eyes. They were still stricken with fear and disbelief. He had just sneaked his way upstairs and into the bathroom, making sure not to wake up his parents.

The dirty mirror was blurring his view. He looked like something the cat dragged in. His dark hair was a mess, dirt and dust marks on his jeans, blood staining his shirt, arms and hands. He slowly moved his fingers, seeing that they were still obeying his every wish.

He stared at himself. The voices inside his head did in no way match up to what he was looking at. Everything about his situation seemed so out of place. He had stopped fighting against the voices. He had given in to them.

He slowly reached his free hand up to turn the tap, allowing the water to fuss out. Shakily he raised his other hand as well. The one holding the knife. His entire body trembled at the sight of his hand and knife smeared in blood. It has really happened. His hand moved further, finally pushing the metal blade underneath the water stream. He watched as the blood colored the water red, before it disappeared down the drain. The evidence of what had happened that night slowly erased.


“Good job. You did the right thing” the voices whispered to him.

He was feeling oddly calm, sitting there in the pitch dark with the pen and paper in front of him. His room was only illuminated by the little lamp above his desk. He mindlessly tapped the pen against the paper as he stared at the words he had scribbled down. His crow feet implying casual vulgarity.

“It was right. She deserved it”

He had given in. He had listened to what the voices inside his head told him. And it provided him a strangely comfortable sense. They justified his sin. He tapped the pen harder. His eyes flamed with cruel satisfaction. Thoughts of the letters last words were brewing in his mind. He quickly turned the pen over and put it to the paper, writing furiously with a smug smirk forming across his lips.

“May she rest in peace with a smile on her face. With happy memories of what she did”.
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