Trummy
08-11-2014, 06:54 AM
So, I dont have much experience writing, but I'd love some criticism. Thanks for reading in advance. :)
That's it, that's the last ****ing straw. I've done whatever I could. I complimented her, bought her things, made her laugh, and did all that I could to cheer her up. For what, exactly? Apparently not a god damn thing. I told her my feelings, she didn't accept. She wanted to "Just be friends." I'm ****ing sick of it. She doesn't realizehow much I want her. It hurts.
That's why I'm here, outside of her date's house. It's five o'clock in the morning, and I have my baseball bat beside me, ready for the dreadful crime that I'm about to commit. Half an hour passes, the dim sunlight growing brighter, and brighter with every hour-long minute as I wait in anticipation. Another twelve minutes, and his parents leave for work. I dont know what they do, I dont really care, either.
Less than fifteen minutes until he wakes up, I sneak into his house. I quickly find his room, and carefully open the door, like a baby is inside. A baby is so young, so fresh into this world, oblivious to the things that happen. Free from worries, other than ****ting himself, and eating. I get closer to the bed, carefully, as to avoid anything that could generate noise and wake him up before the deed is done. I arrive, at the right of the bed, looking down at him. What does he have that I don't?
What is so much better? Thinking about those things, just reinforce the dep anger I have toward him, and I start to raise the bat up, and wait. The time is now five fifty-nine.
I wait for the alarm to go off. I count down the seconds on the digital clock that he has by his bedside. Three, two, one.
The alarm goes off. I move the bat with such a force that it hits his stomach, and he immediately opens his eyes in both shock and pain. I pick it up, and bring it
down again. This time, on his right arm. I hear a crack. I assume it's broken, so I go to the left arm, so as he has no way of defending himself. Two more on the legs, they are taken care of. at this point, I'm just wailing into his body, enjoying the screams, and pain that he's feeling. I look at his face. He's looking at me, I'm looking back at him. He cannot speak. He is in shock. The blows were just too much pain. I look into his eyes, and I think back to when we were just kids in elementary.
He had life, he had youth, and spirit. But now, he had blood soaked bed sheets, and a thread of spirit left. I raise my bat up one last time, and bring it down on his head. Not just once, but several times, to the point where it's just a bloody, brainy mess.
That's it, that's the last ****ing straw. I've done whatever I could. I complimented her, bought her things, made her laugh, and did all that I could to cheer her up. For what, exactly? Apparently not a god damn thing. I told her my feelings, she didn't accept. She wanted to "Just be friends." I'm ****ing sick of it. She doesn't realizehow much I want her. It hurts.
That's why I'm here, outside of her date's house. It's five o'clock in the morning, and I have my baseball bat beside me, ready for the dreadful crime that I'm about to commit. Half an hour passes, the dim sunlight growing brighter, and brighter with every hour-long minute as I wait in anticipation. Another twelve minutes, and his parents leave for work. I dont know what they do, I dont really care, either.
Less than fifteen minutes until he wakes up, I sneak into his house. I quickly find his room, and carefully open the door, like a baby is inside. A baby is so young, so fresh into this world, oblivious to the things that happen. Free from worries, other than ****ting himself, and eating. I get closer to the bed, carefully, as to avoid anything that could generate noise and wake him up before the deed is done. I arrive, at the right of the bed, looking down at him. What does he have that I don't?
What is so much better? Thinking about those things, just reinforce the dep anger I have toward him, and I start to raise the bat up, and wait. The time is now five fifty-nine.
I wait for the alarm to go off. I count down the seconds on the digital clock that he has by his bedside. Three, two, one.
The alarm goes off. I move the bat with such a force that it hits his stomach, and he immediately opens his eyes in both shock and pain. I pick it up, and bring it
down again. This time, on his right arm. I hear a crack. I assume it's broken, so I go to the left arm, so as he has no way of defending himself. Two more on the legs, they are taken care of. at this point, I'm just wailing into his body, enjoying the screams, and pain that he's feeling. I look at his face. He's looking at me, I'm looking back at him. He cannot speak. He is in shock. The blows were just too much pain. I look into his eyes, and I think back to when we were just kids in elementary.
He had life, he had youth, and spirit. But now, he had blood soaked bed sheets, and a thread of spirit left. I raise my bat up one last time, and bring it down on his head. Not just once, but several times, to the point where it's just a bloody, brainy mess.