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2. Story1:

The sound of sirens rang in my ears, blood clouded my eyes, and the feel of my mothers shaky hand stroking through my blonde locks that were stained with blood. All I could see was red. And somewhere in the back of my mind, behind all the fear and adrenaline, I loved every second of it. The thick feel of the warm blood that coated my clothes and skin, the adrenaline that pumped threw my veins, the aura of shock and fear that oozed from my mothers body. I loved it all. I even loved the control I'd felt when I'd plunged the knife in my fathers chest, stabbing him to death, I even loved the way my father eyes became empty, and his mouth hung ajar limply with death. I loved every bit of this moment, and I swear it was one of the best of my life. But I knew in a couple of minutes I'd be taken away, and this moment will be gone. It'll be nothing more than a memory and the shadows of the darkest place in my mind, and in time I might forget it. So I began to do what any master criminal would, and began to create a back story, a large lie, that I would continue to tell until I too believed it to be true. 

 

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