Chapter 1-Halle Holster
Surprisingly, my life isn’t as picturesque as it may seem. My family is incredibly supportive, this is probably a direct result of their total lack of knowledge concerning the being that continues to demolish my sanity.
It’s almost as if my fear is scared to be contained, scared to be suppressed into the far corner of my subconscious. It’s only a matter of time before it claws my whole state of mind into pieces, into small unintelligible fragments as it tries to escape from the deep dark stretches that it now may regret creating. It’s only fair that a being as evil as 'It' has regret or guilt...right?
Is my fear a he or a she? I feel wrong calling it an it or just a ‘being’ inside my head, we’ve been companions for most of my life, it deserves more recognition than to be called it.
In order to answer this question, I must first answer whether or not my fear is me. If this was in fact true, then the jury will clearly concede to the obvious choice considering I am in fact a male.
I'd like to believe that I’m not like him. That I’m not as evil as to cause someone so much pain in order to feel even an ounce of success or maybe even joy, but that’s exactly who I am. Among the feelings I wouldn’t care to admit that I or he has is commonly known as jealousy.
The only reason my parents pay any attention to me is because I’m now their only child. My sister Halle killed herself years before today, years before you’re reading this, and I could have stopped her, but what did I do? I urged her on- no...he...he urged her on, although I can’t help but believe that it was partly me who is at fault. Surely my jealousy of all the love my parents gave her and not me had nothing to do with his interest in her death...right?
He told her to do it, dared her to. He wanted nothing more than to see her blood spill onto the cold tile floor like a watercolor spreading over a blank canvas. He wanted her pain, he fed off of it like a parasite, enjoying every second of both her physical and psychological agony.
He lived in these moments, and recently he had taken a backseat in my head having already fed off my last remaining agony.
I hope he feels accomplished.
Is is logical to believe that he feels anything? Does he even have thoughts?
When I talk to him, maybe it’s just him talking to himself, like he doesn’t know I even exist inside of his head. Better yet it’s just me talking to myself, creating a fake being to stick the blame on for all the terrible things I’ve done in my life. Maybe all of this is just to protect myself from my own savagery that should still be considered human nature, because like it or not, we are all savages underneath our masks of ‘human’ deception.
But don’t they say that a crazy person never believes that they are crazy? If I am in fact talking to myself inside of my head, I call that crazy, actually I would call that crazier than a bear attacking his own foot because it was causing him pain.
When you talk about cruel people, the evils of our world and the advantage it has over the fragile lives that want nothing but peace, you never think of yourself as the enemy. You never see the cruelty that tries to gain control of your hands everytime you hold your small, fragile puppy who wants nothing more than to love and be loved in return.
What a kind and peaceful life that little puppy must live, to believe that his family would never be capable of a terrible thing as to take a life away.
You never see it, because cruelty can’t be seen, it can only be shown. Beauty can be seen, more than anything else. Beauty is used to distract us from the brutality, from the evil, all to force us to see the pretty things and ignore what’s behind our beautiful faces.
Savagery can only truly be on the inside, but beauty is not on the inside at all, it’s on the outside for all the world to see.
Maybe that’s why every single one of us is a self-serving egotistical hypocrite that cares more about the ugliness on the outside rather than on the inside.
This is most likely the reason behind why our world is bound to crumble, nothing and no one can withstand the misplaced judgement of a whole species, especially when their sitting ducks in hunting season.
Don’t be the idiot who dies before the audience learns their seemingly unimportant name. Avoid the parasite that can only be seen by its host, for he has nothing to shame if no one can blame him for his doings.
Let’s face it, you’re always a better person when you’re being held accountable.