- Books, Literature, and Writing»
- Commercial & Creative Writing
Memoirs of a Madman: Chapter 1.
Let the madness begin.
This here is a book I am beginning to write, if you like it please enjoy and comment below.
Funny isn't it? People go about their days distracted with their daily rituals, their constant distractions that most are oblivious to the fact that all is not what it seems to be. Take me for example: I am a collector of sorts. I like smooth stones, fine wine, sharp blades and the smell of fresh blood. Some might say my tastes are a little unusual, but I love to collect and observe the unusual. Perhaps it all started when I was a child..
I was about five when my family began to notice I wasn't like the usual babbling children that were born. Most of the time I was rather quiet and secluded, I preferred the solitude. The other kids were loud to say the least, cried at the slightest thing and whined constantly. My father Yuri Sokolov was actually the first to notice anything.
"That boy is too quiet." I used to hear him say, at times he would even give me looks when I would just read books unfit for my age. I liked to read mystery novels even at the young age of seven, but even though all of the strange looks my family gave me I was still treated with love. It was funny, as I sat in the cold snow in my country of Mother Russia I would sharpen pieces of metal I found with a stone while the other children built snowmen and chased each other. It came to a time where I didn't even notice the stares, the whispers however still bugged me. "Look its that weirdo Viktor, I hear he hasn't spoken a word since coming here." They would say, oh all the things I could hear them speak as the time of play continued on. There was always a rumor going on here or there, even the walls spoke. Writings on the walls spoke lies of me, saying I was mental or handicapped in the mind. It began to make me frustrated, every day hearing the same things over and over again. Being treated as a sideshow to the circus, a freak to be shown on display. It came to a time where I could not handle it anymore, I will admit my temper got the best of me. During one of the few recesses we were given a week I followed one of the boys, his name was Vladimir Artyom. I walked a few feet behind him, my hands in my pockets and my right hand clenching onto the piece of metal I had sharpened a few days ago. Many would think such a young child would not think of harming another in such a way, but I did.
Even as a young child I was smart for my age, able to read high school level books with relative ease. I remember my mother smiling as she ran her hand through my soft black colored hair. Well back to the story.
I walked behind young Vladimir with what people would call a 'Devilish Look' inside of my eyes. Lucky for me that he decided to walk alone past a few trees, perhaps I forgot to mention that he was a rather bad child? Maybe that’s why I didn't get in so much trouble for what I did. I walked behind him with a small smile, all of the murder mysteries I read had given me a very scary knowledge of how to kill someone. I placed my left hand over Vladimir's mouth, he was a little bigger then me so I had a somewhat problem with trying to hold him still. I took the sharpened shard of steel out of my pocket with my right hand and placed the sharpened tip against the man’s belly. A few thrusts of the wrists and I soon felt hot blood running over my hand, the muffled sounds of Vladimir's pain filled me with such emotion. I released him from my grip and the taller boy fell to the snow, his blood slowly beginning to stain the once pure white frozen water. My gaze went down to the blood stained hand, my heart was beating so fast inside of my chest that it was a little hard to stand up.
My head felt so light while my feet felt so heavy, a small smile curved up against my frost bitten lips, the smell of blood began to makes its way into my nose. I brought my hand closer and took a deep breath of the warm blood, the scent smelt so good. Better than any fresh baked pastry, better than any smell of flowers or fresh laundry. My gaze however returned back down to dear Vladimir, the boys face twisted with pain and fear. Even at the young age I was at it made me smile, the feeling of one’s life in my hands made me feel so powerful, so strong and happy. But this new feeling however was quickly diminished as the sounds of the teacher calling are names began to echo around me, I could hear the footsteps beginning to come closer and closer. I began to think of what to do, there was no time to hide Vladimir all I could do was play a charade. Walking out from the spot I was it with both hands in my pockets I emerged from the tree line, "I am sorry miss, I thought I saw one of the toys fly over here." I said doing my best to play the innocent child, luckily for me the teacher believed me. I was sent back to the main playground for the rest of the time, the body of Vladimir wasn't found but I wouldn't let the body hide out in the open forever. It was bound to be found unless I disposed of it.