A dark story, part four.

life, Uncategorized, writing

If you saw me on the street, you wouldn’t guess at my illness. Well, some consider it an illness. I consider it an awakening. Brought to me by the lies and failures of lesser beings.
Perverts.
Rapists.
Liars.
Your next door neighbor.
Luckily for me, I am a very good actor. No one has ever suspected my dark passenger, my inner demon. My best friend.
You would walk by me on the street, you might glance at me if you were a young girl. I know they enjoy my looks. But otherwise, you would never know.
I walk among you. I order coffee from your cafe. I say thank you when you hold the door open for me at the grocery store. I bring my car in for tune ups at your shop.
But at night, after I’ve run my errands. After I get off work at my mundane job, I take to the streets. To plots. To schemes. Which all end up in the same place. In the woods. The mossy smell surrounding me. My blade sliding into flesh.
No. You would never guess at my illness.
But I can guess at yours.
I live for your illness.

-Turner

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