Black ocean, icy and dark
I am the hungry shark
fast and merciless
But the only girl who could talk to him
I just didn't know how to swim
tell me what's worse than that
The echoes in the halls
They dance through the walls
The memories of your ghost
You were the one I used to love
and I still love
But you weren't the one I loved the most
Lydia – Highly Suspect
beatrice
What's the point of starting all this, if not, to relieve my mind of all the shackles that bound me? To be able to find Giacomo's forgiveness, to forgive myself for ever having believed I could be truly happy.
A true chess game formed inside the mind ready to act at every choice and in every possible curve.
A dangerous game, since human chess generates deaths.
Listening to the song over and over in a maddening loop only makes me more awake as my mind tries to get lost in the meaning of the words. Maybe that's the difference, I accepted the monster that inhabits me as a second layer, like the air I breathe.
With each pain of each bite, with each beating, thoughts were forming inside, taking a space that I once believed was good.
The space trained from birth to be condescending, patient, loving and obedient is now just a hollow and dark space, the suicidal desires I had been taken over by the insane desire to consume every scream and every groan of pain.
With fire and blood and the madness intrinsic to soul loners, my mind gripped by all the ideas flowing in a perfect scheme, the chess pieces moving every time I lifted the bat to hit the bastard again and again.
I resolved to cover her mouth as the words began to hit the open scars inside her soul, her accusations of being a bad wife, of being a whore from a bad family. The indignity of bearing a Sartori heir.
An infamous prank where every move brings a smile amid the chaos of blood splattered across the small room that used to be my cell.
My right ear asked for rest from the incessant sound and even with the pain I let the music penetrate, when you lose your mind do you feel free or alive?!
This wasn't the time to hold back the pain, not when my demon needs to sing, when my mind needs to feel the blood heat up. I watched her eyes trembling, her breathing out of step and the sweat on her forehead instigating the worst in me, something I never imagined would be possible like a distant dream coming true, right now.
I lifted the ax, severing his ankle leaving only a stump in place, his growls reverberating through the room with isolation mingling with the music. I dropped the ax on the table listening to a brief sigh of relief, what he doesn't know is that hell is here, he's the one who taught me that. I grabbed a rag and walked to his small closet, found the acid I needed, and came back pressing the acid rag to what was left of his ankle.
I am your executioner, your owner, your hell.
My troubled mind brought back the unhappy words, memory is a disgusting bitch.
I used the same red ball I was forced to wear, the sight bringing such a twisted pleasure. Is that what I am now? A version of it?
An executioner like Stefano has been all these years.
I got up looking at the work as a whole, it would have been more difficult without my brother's help to hold him on this butcher's rod, convincing him was complicated, but it was worth it the taste of repaying all his love is mine alone.
And this is going to be my most pleasant memory.
Each 'I love you' being returned in its own way, using the moment to avenge every child he raped in front of me and every child he took from me.
I took the metal stick swinging from one foot to the other feeling the music command my movements, when the bass reached the apex I rotated my hips and hit him in the ribs listening to the sound of bones breaking, like a soft melody.
I shook my head watching what the next point would be and suddenly it didn't make sense anymore, nothing made sense, nothing but a piece of meat reduced to nothing. Despite the seeping pleasure, the sensation of finally sating that voracious little bloodlust, being consumed by the desire to see him in pieces, like all the pieces he'd made of me.
With a cleaver I began the cuts, his eyes rolling with pain, the moans filling the space and the drool running down the red ball, blood splattering all over the room, I released the cleaver and grabbed a knife, hitting his abdomen and opening it all over the place. end to end the viscera falling to the floor the pleasure of killing becoming a part of my soul, your eyes losing their life.
I started with them, that part that one day eluded the little fantasy world making me believe that I could be happy inside the mafia, I stuck the knife in each of their eyes, put each one in a small box, walked to the other side of the room pulling the metal drum positioned just for that, his feet thrown across the room were thrown like a basketball, I caught the viscera playing inside the drum.
Not a shred of compassion or pity for the dead.
“With the cleaver it will take a long time,” I blurted out aloud to the corpse in front of me.
I took the knife and cleaver to the table picking up the axe, doing the throwing prep and there goes a thigh about to be ripped apart.
And in this ritual to disembowel every part of the body, I expelled every painful memory, every bruise, not even if everything goes wrong, this little moment will always be my victory.
I took the gallon of gasoline throwing into the drum, climbed on a stool and untied my trapped hands adding to the small barbecue, his eyeless head at the bottom coming towards me drew a laugh. I backed up far enough to lean my tired body against the door, grabbing his cigarette pack and lighter.