Nameless
Entry I
I live in Hopeville. One can’t even begin to explain the irony of that name. If someone told you of a town called Hopeville, you would probably say “wow, it must be a bright, nice, sunny atmosphere, with salt of the earth people, and just an overall pleasantness”. Before you think that, I will tell you right now, Hell. Fucking. No. Hopeville is pretty fucking far from that sort of ideal. I mean, it would be far more appropriate to call it “Doomville”, which I do, in my head. I mean one would imagine Doomville as a dark, and gloomy place, with a scumbag population, and just an overall shitty place to live. Well, that’s Hopeville. Well I guess, overall that’s the whole world, but there’s definitely a strong concentration of shittiness and dark energy in this nice little town of Hopeville. There is no hope here. The “good” and “honest” suffer and perish, and the assholes prosper. I’ve seen things in recent times that are beyond my fears as a child. That’s just the way it is here. If you want to stay relatively sane and safe here, you’re gonna have to kick a few dogs and bite your tongue at blatant oppression. I’m disgusted by this place, the people here, and this whole atmosphere. This environment is definitely a product of the people, or to be precise, specific people. I’ve reached my maximum tolerance of being idle in this place. I’ve given this alot thought, and I’ve decided that there’s a few people I’m gonna kill. I’m full of bitterness and rage. The source is people, so logically, once those people are gone, it will recede a little. I know life is not perfect, when I kill them, there will always be something else to deal with, something else to drive me fucking crazy, but you know what? I’m gonna do it ‘cause it just sounds like a fun idea too. I’ve built up so much hatred and contempt for the people on the list, I won’t even feel bad about it when I do it. I’m also bored with life in general too. Day after day of the same old shit. Go to school, do boring fucking schoolwork, witness pricks pick on kids who are weaker, and for lack of a better word “innocent”, then come home, do fucking homework, and go to sleep. Gonna spice things up a little bit, can’t think of a better way to do it than kill a few scumbags. And hell this is Hopeville, by the end of this story, I will have a body count of 4, that’s way less than most of the people in this list have. If I had a bit more ego, I’d say I’m about to do a public service, but I’m not doing this for the public, I’m doing it for me, and the few people I don’t totally hate by proxy, but that’s it. And what will I do after? It’s not like I’ll have to leave; you’ll find out that murder among other things that would be a problem in other parts of this world, aren’t a big deal in Hopeville, but I will anyways, I need to get out of this town. Few people leave Hopeville, which is baffling considering how much life sucks here. Perhaps we just become desensitized to it, since most don’t know anything elese? No one with a functional brain moves to Hopeville permamently. I feel as if I’m the only native that comprehends what is wrong with this place. I’ve seen enough representations of the rest of the world in books and on the internet that I’ve developed some wanderlust. I recently came across a book called “Magic Lamp: A Book About Setting Goals for People Who Hate Setting Goals”. Well my lazy ass has finally set some real, serious goals; 1) kill some asshole people, 2) leave Hopeville. Looking forward to both.
I live with my old uncle; my dead dad’s much older brother. He’s old enough to have been my dad’s father, and did in fact raise him. He’s raised me all my life; my parents died in some “accident” when I was an infant. My mother has no living relatives, and neither does my father’s side, and Uncle never married or had children. In short, we are the only family eachother has. He might as well be my dad, and I might as well be his child. He’s done his best to raise me at least somewhat decent. I’m a pretty fucked up person, but I think I might be one of the few “decent” people in Hopeville, well, as decent as a person can be in this town. I try to list positive facts about myself, and I can only think of traits I lack; the racism, homophobia, and penchant for casual rape, murder, and hate crimes that the rest of the people in town and especially the kids my age embrace. Uncle wanted me to be a good person, and he set a good example, hoping that maybe I myself could try to set a good example for smaller kids on my street. He’s mostly succeeded, but considering I’ve chosen “killing spree” as the best and only solution for my depression and frustration, he probably failed at some stage, but in his defense, that is more the fault of my own fuckedupness, than him not setting a positive example for me. He definitely wouldn’t approve of this, definitely gonna have to make sure he doesn’t find out. Shouldn’t be a huge problem. Not sure what I’m gonna do about this whole escaping thing though. I love that man dearly, and I’d hate to leave him behind, but he would most likely refuse to leave. He fucking hates Hopeville, and could’ve left by this point but hasn’t, so he much be set on staying here. I don’t want to leave him, but I must leave this town soon.
Entry II
This little quest of mine starts with Kevin and Jason, two assholes who attend Hopeville High, where I go to waste 8 hours of life a day, 5 days of week. This one is rather personal, well they all are. I have no friends, the closest I could come to that was Pan, the sole other kid who would be in the art room during the lunch hours at school. We both had a knack for drawing and during these artroom sessions, we would compare pieces, talk about art theory, discuss our styles, influences, and just art related stuff. Having a sort of kindred spirit is a godsend, especially if you’re me. Naturally, this couldn’t go on for too long. One lunch Jason and Kevin came into artroom and mocked us. They questioned why we waste our times and lunches here, what kind of losers do this. I asked them about their herpes, erected the middle finger in their direction, and told them to go fuck themselves. Pan just ignored them and kept on working on a sketch. They walked over and told him to fork it over, probably to rip it up. He simply said no, and pulled it over, then Kevin ripped it from Pan’s hands, and then tore the sketch to pieces. Pan just dropped his head in anguish. Then Jason spit in his face. That’s when Pan took a red pencil crayon and jabbed him in the chest with it. It didn’t go deep, and the two just ran away. I gave him a pat on the back and congratulated him on fucking up one of the Fuck-Ups. Those two assholes and the rest of their shithead friends, call themselves the Fuck-Ups, because they fuck people up. Metaphorically for the most part, but sometimes for the unlucky girl, all too literally. Pan didn’t seem to care what I said, the loss of a sketch was all that mattered. To artists like us, that shit hurts, we really do invest alot emotionally into our pieces. I tried to comfort him, and we went our separate ways for the rest of the day. That was the last time I saw good-old Pan.
He wasn’t in the artroom next lunch. Walking through the hallways, the Fuck-Ups were laughing about how they taught Pan not to fuck with them. They had followed him walking home and had jumped him and beat the shit out of him. Figuratively and literally. They kicked him so bad he shit his pants at one point. Pan has been left brain damaged, and crippled from the neck down. He can’t feed himself, dress himself, or wipe his own ass. Most importantly, he can’t draw. In a dark way, it’s good he’s brain damaged too. Imagine if his mind was intact, but his body was still fucked up. Living, knowing and understanding he couldn’t do what he loved again. At least in his current mental state, he doesn’t know and understand shit. He can’t feel as bad as he would and should. I had to hear a fucking officer of the “law” say that they won’t bother pressing charges against his attackers besides the fact that they gleefully brag about it in person and on Facebook. Pan didn’t keep his anti-homophobic views to himself. He tried to start an acceptance/tolerance club at school. I’m aware of the homophobia that exists in the whole world, but in Hopeville, doing that is one of the bravest things a person can do. Only Me, him, and a girl named Lew showed up. A teacher at school said after the incident, “we don’t really need any faggot lovers around anyways, let’s see him talk more fag love now he’s almost fuckin’ braindead”. I was so pissed when I heard that. It’s one thing to hear some random piece of shit say shit like that, but when someone in a position of power and authority openly says it, it’s just another reminder that a sane person is doomed here. I really do wonder how my Uncle who is almost 70, has lived here all his life, but isn’t a scumbag. I was seriously considering adding that teacher to my hit-list, but that was only one incident, the rest on my list have continually fucked with me over the years, and lots more one time incidents. If I broadened list qualification to those, I’d have to kill the whole town except for Uncle, and about 30-ish other individuals. After the incident, the lunchroom art sessions were now in total solitude. One day Jay and Kay came to laugh about what they did to Pan, I told them they wouldn’t be laughing about it come the end of the school year. They said that they were too much for me to handle. I’m really gonna enjoy slitting their throats, gonna try to do it slow, that way they have some time to see who did it before they die.
Entry III
Kay and Jay are always in eachother’s company. They are similar to Jay and Silent Bob, never apart, and potheads. The only difference is that I could never see myself killing Jay and Silent Bob, they seem like cool dudes, I actually really love those movies. Kay and Jay routinely go to the woods after school. They take pictures of eachother smoking weed, blowing smoke rings, snorting other shit, and vandalizing trees and post them on facebook, photographic proof of their undeniable badassery. There are three tools I need to pull my plan off: knife, gasoline, and matches. The meat cleaver and matches I have at home, had to steal some gasoline from the school garage used for the auto-mechanic class. I couldn’t carry it with me the whole day, and I would need it right after I was finished with those two. At lunch time, I hid it near the spot those two pricks normally go for their drug photoshoots. When the final bell rang, I waited far from the school entrance, for them to come out. They stood around with their friends near the entrance, laughing loud and obnoxiously, pinching a girl’s ass and looking to see her react. Thankfully, she did the smart thing and just kept walking, if she stopped to say something, they would’ve done much worse to her. Eventually the two split from the rest of the Fuck-Ups and walked towards the woods. I followed them from afar, and then into the woods. They sat near a stump, and started rolling the joints. They then began posing on their cellphone cams. Shots consisted of extensively flipping the bird at the lens, making angry faces with the joint in their mouth, that kinda stupid shit. After a while I stepped out of the bushes from where I was watching, and walked in front them and then just stood there, perfectly still and silent, eyes fixed on them. Kevin said, “look it’s Picasso’s buddy”, Jason and him then burst out laughing. I just kept standing still there, emotionless, and silent. Jason told me that I’d better get the fuck out of there if I knew what was good for myself. I broke my silence forcing a yawn to show I wasn’t impressed or intimidated, but otherwise stood still. Kevin then said “looks like there’s gonna be a hoedown”, and then they both rushed at me...
I took the knife out of my coat pocket and jabbed it hard and deep at the side of Kevin’s head. It went in his hear, he dropped to the ground, alive but clutching his bleeding ear and screaming. Jason tackled me to the ground and started to strangle me, I took my index and middle fingers and poked into his eyes, and then I pushed him off of me, got up and started kicking him, just like he and his buddies were kicking Pan. Eventually he was too busy clutching his sides to actually move. I picked up the knife, pulled his head back and cut into this throat, slowly. Blood gushed from his mouth and throat, he seemed to be choking on it, eventually he stopped moving, I let go of him, time to finish off the other one. Poor Kevin seemed to be crying, I actually almost felt bad for him, but then I remembered why I was doing this in the first place, and snapped out of it. I turned him over and plunged the blade into the back of his head several times, I lost count. Now they were both dead. I retrieved the gasoline I hid nearby at lunch, thankfully the canister was undiscovered and intact. I piled the two together, doused the bodies with the gasoline, lit a match, dropped it, and watched the two meatbags set ablaze. Morbid as it sounds, I enjoyed the sight. Drawing was Pan’s life, and they took it away, and now, THEIR lives are gone. There was no reason to burn the bodies, I don’t even plan to bury them. As I said, murder, rape, and other crimes don’t mean anything in Hopeville. I mean in theory we still follow the law, but out police force and municipal government is so fucking corrupt, people get away, even in this case where they bragged about Pan’s beating. Unless you physically marched yourself down to the station, begged to be cuffed and jailed, you will get away. I guess I did the burn for my own twisted pleasure. Told you I was fucked up. After watching the blaze for a few minutes, I went home. Two down, two to go.
When I got home, Uncle was asleep on the sofa, I put my clothing in the laundry and showered, and slipped into my lounging around home clothes. It just occurred to me “whoa, you just fucking killed two people”. It feels strange, I will say that much. I don’t feel bad at all, just really fuckin weird. I walked downstairs to the living room and woke Uncle up, and asked him how he was, and how his day was. He told me non-chalantly, “same old shitty Hopeville day”, I asked him about his flower shop, and he told me he’s still having trouble saving it. That brings me to my next target, Rat. The aptly named piece of shit threw fire bombs at Uncle’s shop a month ago. Racism is another ugly truth in Hopeville. Well it’s an ugly truth all over, but at least in other places, they try to hide or... haha, whitewash it. In Hopeville, they told Uncle they wouldn’t reimburse a nigger. It was that simple. A shame I can’t get those bastards, but Rat is still fair game for me. I guess that makes me a black panther. I always liked those, beautiful fuckin’ creatures.
Entry IV
Rat; that cheese eating sonofabitch lives on Circuit Rd. Not far from my school. He doesn’t attend though. He’s about 19 or 20, and left school years ago. Not sure what he does in his spare time other than the occasional rape and murder. People at school mention him alot, it’s always “Rat shot this guy, Ray slit this dude’s throat for looking at him funny, Rat raped some girl...” Sounds like I’m dealing with a real badass here. I say that half-jokingly, half-seriously. He doesn’t sound truly dangerous, just stupid, but stupid people can be dangerous. It only seems right to kill Rat with a Molotov cocktail, since he torched my Uncle’s shop with those. I know how to make one; they’re actually pretty easy, for me at least. I can find the glass bottle anywhere, I still have some of that gasoline left over, so, yep, will put it all together right before I go after the fucker.
At school the next day, everyone was talking about the burned bodies in the woods. They identified them with the camera near the corpses, which had photos of the two morons. The Hopeville Chronicle referred to the job as the “work of a true psychopath”. Please, if I was any sort of “path” I’d be a sociopath. Psychopaths are born. Sociopaths are shaped and moulded by life and experience, which more accurately describes my development. Not that I really think of myself as a sociopath, but I’d be more likely to be that than a psychopath. It amused me to hear the Fuck-Ups’ big talk about how they would find whoever did in their homies and fuck him up. Unlikely I think. Even if they did have something linking me to it, by the time they find out, I will have most likely have left Hopeville by then. During lunch, I put the firebomb together and then went to the mall after school. I played Tekken at the arcade. I will always love that series. Have since I was a kid, and no matter how much may change with age, I will always enjoy kicking virtual ass in it. That night, I hid in a tree with binoculars in Rat’s house. At 9pm, he left his house, from the rumors I heard about him, he lived alone, so after he left, I snuck around the back, and in through the window. Searched around the house for anything he could use to defend himself, I found a loaded gun and a baseball bat, there were some knives in the kitchen. The house was a complete fucking mess, food all over the floor, smelled like shit, bugs crawling around, sticky porn magazines in his bedroom, the usual abode of messy person, almost crossed into hoarding. I waited for an hour before he came home, when I heard him, I rushed to the front door and WHACKED him in the head with the baseball bat. He was out cold, I tied him up...
When he came too he was frantic with questions “who are you? What the fuck did I do? What the fuck do you want with me?” I laid it out simple for him. “Here’s the deal Rat, you torched my Uncle’s flower shop, before I torch you, I just want to know, why did you do it?” With that he replied with a grin that I wanted to rip off his fucking face, “I dunno, I just love doing shit like that, especially to an old nigger...” I snapped and smacked him across the mouth. “Well, so long asshole, I hope in the afterlife there’s all the people to torment you could ever want” I said with my own devilish grin. That smirk of his disappeared instantly, I stepped out of the room I laid him down in, tossed the firebomb in, and walked away, as his whole shithole of a house set on fire. Tonight’s job was done. 3 down, 1 to go.
That whole “why’d ya do it” may seem cheesy, but I really needed to ask that. As far as I know, me nor Uncle had any sort of interaction with Rat prior to him torching the shop. Why the fuck did he do it then? Crapsack Hopeville or not, was he really that bored? And why? Because my Uncle is a “nigger”? Shit, baffled is what I am right now. Not that surprised though. Walked home, suddenly remembered that I missed Mad Men and True Blood! Dammit! Really need to plan my timing of these killings better, if only the targets were vulnerable at a time when I could kill ‘em, and still make it home to catch my shows on time, but life is never easy. I reached home and made a mental note to remind myself to catch up on those episodes, and to at least make a meal that would be prepared for me the next time I got home late from a killing. Nothing more frustrating than coming home after offing a dude, starving, and then having to make a meal from scratch. Well, at least I’m closer to my goal, then I can think about leaving town.
Woke up next morning, went downstairs, Uncle was watching news. They were talking about the murders of Rat, Kevin, and Jason. They were referring to this as the work of a serial killer. I was like WHOA. I’m a serial killer now? Couldn’t think for a second. I mean, when I think of serial killer, I think of dudes like Henry Lee Lucas, Bundy, and those kinda guys. The guys who had all sorts of creepy, weirdo sexual elements to what they did. Real sick guys. Oh well, it’s not like people actually know it’s me and will be like, “Hey look, its the Hopeville Fireraiser!” Ya, that’s what the news stations has dubbed me. The Hopeville Fireraiser. Pretty lackluster name for a “serial killer” if you ask me. Honestly, can’t think of a better one, but “Hopeville Fireraiser” just plain sucks. I still don’t like the classification at all. I later looked up the definition of serial killer, so I could exonerate myself of that in my head. I came up with “a person who kills 3 or more individuals in separate incidents in a short period of time” DAMMIT! I guess I qualify. Shit. At least no one knows. So Uncle was watching, so I threw the bait. “Hey, isn’t that the asshole who torched your shop? I guess he got what he deserved” Then the gold man gets all fuckin’ “Still doesn’t change the fact that the shop is ruined, or solve my problems with insurance”, I said “Well ya but, doesn’t it make you feel a teensy, weensy bit better?” He looks at me as if I was on fire or something, “Of course not! Why would it? Those are still human lives lost” I told you my uncle was a decent man, maybe TOO decent if you ask me. If I were him, I’d be glad that the person who wronged me for no reason suffered.
Entry V
Nearing the end of the road here. Number 4 is a prick named Kaluum. I’ve known this bastard since first grade. Hated this bastard since first grade. He’s the Green Goblin to my Spider-Man, the Joker to my Batman, the Newman to my Seinfeld, the Wil Wheaton to my Sheldon Cooper. Those are the best archnemesis relationships I can think of. I’ve had the displeasure of sharing a class with him every school year since I was six. The shit he pulls can range from pretty to scary. Sometimes it’s just throwing my lunch in the garbage, farting near me, then it can be vandalizing my artwork, my front lawn, and pushing me down a school stairwell, and causing me to break an arm. One time, he left a puppy with a slit throat in my locker. It’s not a huge secret I’m fond of animals. At least the animals are somewhat nice in Hopeville, too bad you can’t confide in them thought. Well, you can talk to them all you want, they don’t give any useful feedback. I’m not sure what started this, but I know what’s made it persist, me not doing anything. For years, I shrugged it off, didn’t confront him, not even go “hey what the hell man”. I’ve allowed myself to be an easy target. No more. I’ll end him just like I ended Rat, Kevin, and Jason. Gonna not involve fire this time. I’m aware that most serial killers have consistent “rituals” and MO’s. For me the fire was coincidental in both incidents. I think this time, I’ll just stab the fucker, and then just walk away.
Kaluum walks his dog on the beach every night. These damn people. With schedules they stick do without a break, make planning their killings easy. Not that my plans are complex in any sense of the word. I mean, it’s not like in Hopeville, I need to make big deals to remove evidence of my presence or anything. We don’t even investigate murders here. We just dump the bodies in a landfill. Seriously. He’s at that beach EVERY single night, either forcing himself on some poor girl, or walking his doggie.
There’s a burger place not far from the beach. I headed there after school. I sat back, relaxed and filled my gut with 2 ¼ pound sirloin burgers, jumbo fries, fish fingers, and an extra large diet coke. I looked at the time when I was finished, and there was still about an hour and a half until Kaluum would be at the beach, so I just walked around for a while. I made my way on top of a hill on the beach and sat, and just looked at the ocean. There’s alot to hate in this town, but the ocean view is something that I can appreciate, too bad I don’t see it as often as I should. The Fuck-Ups and other assortments of Hopeville scum hang around all the spots with the nice views. It seems all that junk food gave me niggeritis, as I fell into a nap after sitting for a bit. I was in a mild state of panic when I came to, I thought I missed Kaluum, but I looked at my watch, and I was only asleep for under an hour, and fortunately for me he had just showed up with company. Some girl that I’ve seen before around school, they were walking side by side, talking. I kept my distance for now. He tried to lean in and kiss her, she turned him down gently... he tries again, she says what looks like stop, then he grabs her and she slaps him. At that point, he then pushed her down, and got on top of her, she put up a struggle, but Kaluum is large dude and was overpowering her. I knew what was about to happen next, and that’s when I got up, I sprinted down the sandy hill over to them, and pulled him off of her. The would-be victim ran away, I tossed some sand in his eye, and tackled him to the ground. I started punching his face until his nose and mouth bled. I took out my switchblade and was about to stab him when his dog latched onto my ankle with it’s fangs, and sank in deeply, my distraction allowed him to push me off of him, he got up and started kicking me all over, he got my head and ribs a few times. I kicked the dog in the face numerous times and it got off. It whimpered and ran away, I took my knife and jabbed it into Kaluum’s chest, it looked like I got the heart. He fell on his back, struggling to breath, probably about to die without assistance if I had left him there, but I really wanted to finish him off myself. I plugged his nose, until he forced his mouth open, then I put fistfuls of sand into his mouth. He was choking instantly on blood and sand, he was trying to say something, but it was pretty unclear with all that sand in his mouth and throat. Sounded like “fuck you” or something. And that was it, the killings were done. All that was left before my departure was to spend a wonderful day with Uncle, or even fix his insurance problems ideally.
Entry VI
It was a wonderful Saturday morning, the perfect kind of day to do nice shit with your parental figure after killing 4 guys during the week. I got up and made bacon and French toast for him. I myself just had some Cap ‘n’ Crunch. He was really happy to see me bring him breakfast in bed, “All those years I made your breakfast, nice to see the table turn”, he started eating, and to my delight told me that he enjoyed it. Not like I could ever cook as good as he does though. We walked through the park, like we often did when I was a child. We sat on a bench and just breathed in the air. It was about 8 am, on Saturday morning, most people were inside. It was just nice to sit and breathe in that air. I realized that there is no way for me to help Uncle with his insurance problems, not unless I robbed a bank or something, and I don’t have the man or firepower for that. When I realized that, all I could do was sigh. That’s when I told my Uncle. About leaving Hopeville. I told him that I’d love for him to come, but that I thought he wouldn’t. “You probably hate this place as much as I do, you’ve lived here for 70 years, why not leave?” He breathed deeply and told me “I honestly don’t know, where would I go, what would I do, not much point in and old fart like me going out into that real, outside world, what can I contribute?” I told him that he could’ve left when he was younger. “Hmmm. Honestly son, I just put it off, and off, and off, and then gave up.” I told him what I pictured doing, Leaving him, but magically solving his insurance issues and such. He put his arm around me and said that he could live without it, as long as I was around. It was a nice sentiment. “But I HAVE to go, I absolutely must go, and I want you to come with me”. I told him we don’t have to settle down, we can just live like nomads. He was silent for a while. He finally spoke “I’ve never left here in 70 years of life, I don’t have much time left. Seeing what’s out there with nothing to do can’t be much worse than sitting here idly waiting to die.” I was almost put in a trance to hear him say that. I honestly thought he’d never come. “So you’ll come?!” “Of course I will, there’s something home that I want to give you.” We walked home.
I sat at the dinner table, and then he came down with it. A big ass brown folder. “You never have asked for your parents, because you almost never knew them. And I’ve never taken it upon myself to talk about them with you, and I don’t know how to word it, so here it is. Everything you could ever want to know about your parents is here. The way you’ve never showed interest, you might not care at all, but I want you to have the option, so here. Take it. Do what you want with it.” And then he handed me the folder. The folder with any and everything I could ever care to know about my parents. To do whatever I wanted with. We started packing that night.
Entry VII
And we left about two days after. We packed light. We took snacks, extra clothing, money; the essentials for hitchhiking I brought a sketchpad and pencils, he brought along a few packs of Marlboro Reds, and a copy of Brave New World. We both took one last walk through the forests and the beaches. It was... pleasant. Just pleasant. Don’t have a poem written out to talk about this shit. No sonnets or metaphors or nothing. It was just pleasant. Uncle went to look at his shop one last time; he’s a sentimental old fucker. I just went to a park and sat on a bench. There was another dude sitting there, about my age. We just started talking, his name was Loren. Seemed like a nice enough guy. He said he’d seen and done some crazy stuff in the past while. I said that he couldn’t top what I did. “What exactly did you do exactly?” I asked. He said “Oh well, just went dimension hopping, saw a majestic phoenix, met my parents who I thought were dead, dimensionally transported back here, and well that’s it? How about you? “Me, well I killed 4 dudes, set 3 of the corpses on fire, stabbed one in the heart and then suffocated him with beach sand... oh oh, and in that same incident, I stopped a rape from happening” He just stared at me for a bit, then spoke, “I’m honestly not sure what to say to that? You’re... not gonna kill me right?” I laughed. “NO, of course not, I only kill Hopeville scum. Don’t know where you’re from, but you definitely don’t seem like scum. Anyways, me and my Uncle are leaving now, don’t have time to kill you, even if you wanted to.” “Phew, thanks” he said with a sigh of relief. I spoke again, “And my Uncle just gave me a folder with all this info on my dead parents. Haven’t opened yet, probably will though, don’t know shit about them.” I got up and shook his hand, “Well, it was nice talking to you friend, take care of yourself”, “You too” he replied, and we parted ways.
Me and Uncle walked out the border gate of Hopeville. All I could see was desert. We started walking, and kept walking. We knew we could find something, some place eventually, this was our life now, a better life than before. This is the death of my old life, and the birth of the rest of it. I just kept walking forward with him, the new world in my view.
I live in Hopeville. One can’t even begin to explain the irony of that name. If someone told you of a town called Hopeville, you would probably say “wow, it must be a bright, nice, sunny atmosphere, with salt of the earth people, and just an overall pleasantness”. Before you think that, I will tell you right now, Hell. Fucking. No. Hopeville is pretty fucking far from that sort of ideal. I mean, it would be far more appropriate to call it “Doomville”, which I do, in my head. I mean one would imagine Doomville as a dark, and gloomy place, with a scumbag population, and just an overall shitty place to live. Well, that’s Hopeville. Well I guess, overall that’s the whole world, but there’s definitely a strong concentration of shittiness and dark energy in this nice little town of Hopeville. There is no hope here. The “good” and “honest” suffer and perish, and the assholes prosper. I’ve seen things in recent times that are beyond my fears as a child. That’s just the way it is here. If you want to stay relatively sane and safe here, you’re gonna have to kick a few dogs and bite your tongue at blatant oppression. I’m disgusted by this place, the people here, and this whole atmosphere. This environment is definitely a product of the people, or to be precise, specific people. I’ve reached my maximum tolerance of being idle in this place. I’ve given this alot thought, and I’ve decided that there’s a few people I’m gonna kill. I’m full of bitterness and rage. The source is people, so logically, once those people are gone, it will recede a little. I know life is not perfect, when I kill them, there will always be something else to deal with, something else to drive me fucking crazy, but you know what? I’m gonna do it ‘cause it just sounds like a fun idea too. I’ve built up so much hatred and contempt for the people on the list, I won’t even feel bad about it when I do it. I’m also bored with life in general too. Day after day of the same old shit. Go to school, do boring fucking schoolwork, witness pricks pick on kids who are weaker, and for lack of a better word “innocent”, then come home, do fucking homework, and go to sleep. Gonna spice things up a little bit, can’t think of a better way to do it than kill a few scumbags. And hell this is Hopeville, by the end of this story, I will have a body count of 4, that’s way less than most of the people in this list have. If I had a bit more ego, I’d say I’m about to do a public service, but I’m not doing this for the public, I’m doing it for me, and the few people I don’t totally hate by proxy, but that’s it. And what will I do after? It’s not like I’ll have to leave; you’ll find out that murder among other things that would be a problem in other parts of this world, aren’t a big deal in Hopeville, but I will anyways, I need to get out of this town. Few people leave Hopeville, which is baffling considering how much life sucks here. Perhaps we just become desensitized to it, since most don’t know anything elese? No one with a functional brain moves to Hopeville permamently. I feel as if I’m the only native that comprehends what is wrong with this place. I’ve seen enough representations of the rest of the world in books and on the internet that I’ve developed some wanderlust. I recently came across a book called “Magic Lamp: A Book About Setting Goals for People Who Hate Setting Goals”. Well my lazy ass has finally set some real, serious goals; 1) kill some asshole people, 2) leave Hopeville. Looking forward to both.
I live with my old uncle; my dead dad’s much older brother. He’s old enough to have been my dad’s father, and did in fact raise him. He’s raised me all my life; my parents died in some “accident” when I was an infant. My mother has no living relatives, and neither does my father’s side, and Uncle never married or had children. In short, we are the only family eachother has. He might as well be my dad, and I might as well be his child. He’s done his best to raise me at least somewhat decent. I’m a pretty fucked up person, but I think I might be one of the few “decent” people in Hopeville, well, as decent as a person can be in this town. I try to list positive facts about myself, and I can only think of traits I lack; the racism, homophobia, and penchant for casual rape, murder, and hate crimes that the rest of the people in town and especially the kids my age embrace. Uncle wanted me to be a good person, and he set a good example, hoping that maybe I myself could try to set a good example for smaller kids on my street. He’s mostly succeeded, but considering I’ve chosen “killing spree” as the best and only solution for my depression and frustration, he probably failed at some stage, but in his defense, that is more the fault of my own fuckedupness, than him not setting a positive example for me. He definitely wouldn’t approve of this, definitely gonna have to make sure he doesn’t find out. Shouldn’t be a huge problem. Not sure what I’m gonna do about this whole escaping thing though. I love that man dearly, and I’d hate to leave him behind, but he would most likely refuse to leave. He fucking hates Hopeville, and could’ve left by this point but hasn’t, so he much be set on staying here. I don’t want to leave him, but I must leave this town soon.
Entry II
This little quest of mine starts with Kevin and Jason, two assholes who attend Hopeville High, where I go to waste 8 hours of life a day, 5 days of week. This one is rather personal, well they all are. I have no friends, the closest I could come to that was Pan, the sole other kid who would be in the art room during the lunch hours at school. We both had a knack for drawing and during these artroom sessions, we would compare pieces, talk about art theory, discuss our styles, influences, and just art related stuff. Having a sort of kindred spirit is a godsend, especially if you’re me. Naturally, this couldn’t go on for too long. One lunch Jason and Kevin came into artroom and mocked us. They questioned why we waste our times and lunches here, what kind of losers do this. I asked them about their herpes, erected the middle finger in their direction, and told them to go fuck themselves. Pan just ignored them and kept on working on a sketch. They walked over and told him to fork it over, probably to rip it up. He simply said no, and pulled it over, then Kevin ripped it from Pan’s hands, and then tore the sketch to pieces. Pan just dropped his head in anguish. Then Jason spit in his face. That’s when Pan took a red pencil crayon and jabbed him in the chest with it. It didn’t go deep, and the two just ran away. I gave him a pat on the back and congratulated him on fucking up one of the Fuck-Ups. Those two assholes and the rest of their shithead friends, call themselves the Fuck-Ups, because they fuck people up. Metaphorically for the most part, but sometimes for the unlucky girl, all too literally. Pan didn’t seem to care what I said, the loss of a sketch was all that mattered. To artists like us, that shit hurts, we really do invest alot emotionally into our pieces. I tried to comfort him, and we went our separate ways for the rest of the day. That was the last time I saw good-old Pan.
He wasn’t in the artroom next lunch. Walking through the hallways, the Fuck-Ups were laughing about how they taught Pan not to fuck with them. They had followed him walking home and had jumped him and beat the shit out of him. Figuratively and literally. They kicked him so bad he shit his pants at one point. Pan has been left brain damaged, and crippled from the neck down. He can’t feed himself, dress himself, or wipe his own ass. Most importantly, he can’t draw. In a dark way, it’s good he’s brain damaged too. Imagine if his mind was intact, but his body was still fucked up. Living, knowing and understanding he couldn’t do what he loved again. At least in his current mental state, he doesn’t know and understand shit. He can’t feel as bad as he would and should. I had to hear a fucking officer of the “law” say that they won’t bother pressing charges against his attackers besides the fact that they gleefully brag about it in person and on Facebook. Pan didn’t keep his anti-homophobic views to himself. He tried to start an acceptance/tolerance club at school. I’m aware of the homophobia that exists in the whole world, but in Hopeville, doing that is one of the bravest things a person can do. Only Me, him, and a girl named Lew showed up. A teacher at school said after the incident, “we don’t really need any faggot lovers around anyways, let’s see him talk more fag love now he’s almost fuckin’ braindead”. I was so pissed when I heard that. It’s one thing to hear some random piece of shit say shit like that, but when someone in a position of power and authority openly says it, it’s just another reminder that a sane person is doomed here. I really do wonder how my Uncle who is almost 70, has lived here all his life, but isn’t a scumbag. I was seriously considering adding that teacher to my hit-list, but that was only one incident, the rest on my list have continually fucked with me over the years, and lots more one time incidents. If I broadened list qualification to those, I’d have to kill the whole town except for Uncle, and about 30-ish other individuals. After the incident, the lunchroom art sessions were now in total solitude. One day Jay and Kay came to laugh about what they did to Pan, I told them they wouldn’t be laughing about it come the end of the school year. They said that they were too much for me to handle. I’m really gonna enjoy slitting their throats, gonna try to do it slow, that way they have some time to see who did it before they die.
Entry III
Kay and Jay are always in eachother’s company. They are similar to Jay and Silent Bob, never apart, and potheads. The only difference is that I could never see myself killing Jay and Silent Bob, they seem like cool dudes, I actually really love those movies. Kay and Jay routinely go to the woods after school. They take pictures of eachother smoking weed, blowing smoke rings, snorting other shit, and vandalizing trees and post them on facebook, photographic proof of their undeniable badassery. There are three tools I need to pull my plan off: knife, gasoline, and matches. The meat cleaver and matches I have at home, had to steal some gasoline from the school garage used for the auto-mechanic class. I couldn’t carry it with me the whole day, and I would need it right after I was finished with those two. At lunch time, I hid it near the spot those two pricks normally go for their drug photoshoots. When the final bell rang, I waited far from the school entrance, for them to come out. They stood around with their friends near the entrance, laughing loud and obnoxiously, pinching a girl’s ass and looking to see her react. Thankfully, she did the smart thing and just kept walking, if she stopped to say something, they would’ve done much worse to her. Eventually the two split from the rest of the Fuck-Ups and walked towards the woods. I followed them from afar, and then into the woods. They sat near a stump, and started rolling the joints. They then began posing on their cellphone cams. Shots consisted of extensively flipping the bird at the lens, making angry faces with the joint in their mouth, that kinda stupid shit. After a while I stepped out of the bushes from where I was watching, and walked in front them and then just stood there, perfectly still and silent, eyes fixed on them. Kevin said, “look it’s Picasso’s buddy”, Jason and him then burst out laughing. I just kept standing still there, emotionless, and silent. Jason told me that I’d better get the fuck out of there if I knew what was good for myself. I broke my silence forcing a yawn to show I wasn’t impressed or intimidated, but otherwise stood still. Kevin then said “looks like there’s gonna be a hoedown”, and then they both rushed at me...
I took the knife out of my coat pocket and jabbed it hard and deep at the side of Kevin’s head. It went in his hear, he dropped to the ground, alive but clutching his bleeding ear and screaming. Jason tackled me to the ground and started to strangle me, I took my index and middle fingers and poked into his eyes, and then I pushed him off of me, got up and started kicking him, just like he and his buddies were kicking Pan. Eventually he was too busy clutching his sides to actually move. I picked up the knife, pulled his head back and cut into this throat, slowly. Blood gushed from his mouth and throat, he seemed to be choking on it, eventually he stopped moving, I let go of him, time to finish off the other one. Poor Kevin seemed to be crying, I actually almost felt bad for him, but then I remembered why I was doing this in the first place, and snapped out of it. I turned him over and plunged the blade into the back of his head several times, I lost count. Now they were both dead. I retrieved the gasoline I hid nearby at lunch, thankfully the canister was undiscovered and intact. I piled the two together, doused the bodies with the gasoline, lit a match, dropped it, and watched the two meatbags set ablaze. Morbid as it sounds, I enjoyed the sight. Drawing was Pan’s life, and they took it away, and now, THEIR lives are gone. There was no reason to burn the bodies, I don’t even plan to bury them. As I said, murder, rape, and other crimes don’t mean anything in Hopeville. I mean in theory we still follow the law, but out police force and municipal government is so fucking corrupt, people get away, even in this case where they bragged about Pan’s beating. Unless you physically marched yourself down to the station, begged to be cuffed and jailed, you will get away. I guess I did the burn for my own twisted pleasure. Told you I was fucked up. After watching the blaze for a few minutes, I went home. Two down, two to go.
When I got home, Uncle was asleep on the sofa, I put my clothing in the laundry and showered, and slipped into my lounging around home clothes. It just occurred to me “whoa, you just fucking killed two people”. It feels strange, I will say that much. I don’t feel bad at all, just really fuckin weird. I walked downstairs to the living room and woke Uncle up, and asked him how he was, and how his day was. He told me non-chalantly, “same old shitty Hopeville day”, I asked him about his flower shop, and he told me he’s still having trouble saving it. That brings me to my next target, Rat. The aptly named piece of shit threw fire bombs at Uncle’s shop a month ago. Racism is another ugly truth in Hopeville. Well it’s an ugly truth all over, but at least in other places, they try to hide or... haha, whitewash it. In Hopeville, they told Uncle they wouldn’t reimburse a nigger. It was that simple. A shame I can’t get those bastards, but Rat is still fair game for me. I guess that makes me a black panther. I always liked those, beautiful fuckin’ creatures.
Entry IV
Rat; that cheese eating sonofabitch lives on Circuit Rd. Not far from my school. He doesn’t attend though. He’s about 19 or 20, and left school years ago. Not sure what he does in his spare time other than the occasional rape and murder. People at school mention him alot, it’s always “Rat shot this guy, Ray slit this dude’s throat for looking at him funny, Rat raped some girl...” Sounds like I’m dealing with a real badass here. I say that half-jokingly, half-seriously. He doesn’t sound truly dangerous, just stupid, but stupid people can be dangerous. It only seems right to kill Rat with a Molotov cocktail, since he torched my Uncle’s shop with those. I know how to make one; they’re actually pretty easy, for me at least. I can find the glass bottle anywhere, I still have some of that gasoline left over, so, yep, will put it all together right before I go after the fucker.
At school the next day, everyone was talking about the burned bodies in the woods. They identified them with the camera near the corpses, which had photos of the two morons. The Hopeville Chronicle referred to the job as the “work of a true psychopath”. Please, if I was any sort of “path” I’d be a sociopath. Psychopaths are born. Sociopaths are shaped and moulded by life and experience, which more accurately describes my development. Not that I really think of myself as a sociopath, but I’d be more likely to be that than a psychopath. It amused me to hear the Fuck-Ups’ big talk about how they would find whoever did in their homies and fuck him up. Unlikely I think. Even if they did have something linking me to it, by the time they find out, I will have most likely have left Hopeville by then. During lunch, I put the firebomb together and then went to the mall after school. I played Tekken at the arcade. I will always love that series. Have since I was a kid, and no matter how much may change with age, I will always enjoy kicking virtual ass in it. That night, I hid in a tree with binoculars in Rat’s house. At 9pm, he left his house, from the rumors I heard about him, he lived alone, so after he left, I snuck around the back, and in through the window. Searched around the house for anything he could use to defend himself, I found a loaded gun and a baseball bat, there were some knives in the kitchen. The house was a complete fucking mess, food all over the floor, smelled like shit, bugs crawling around, sticky porn magazines in his bedroom, the usual abode of messy person, almost crossed into hoarding. I waited for an hour before he came home, when I heard him, I rushed to the front door and WHACKED him in the head with the baseball bat. He was out cold, I tied him up...
When he came too he was frantic with questions “who are you? What the fuck did I do? What the fuck do you want with me?” I laid it out simple for him. “Here’s the deal Rat, you torched my Uncle’s flower shop, before I torch you, I just want to know, why did you do it?” With that he replied with a grin that I wanted to rip off his fucking face, “I dunno, I just love doing shit like that, especially to an old nigger...” I snapped and smacked him across the mouth. “Well, so long asshole, I hope in the afterlife there’s all the people to torment you could ever want” I said with my own devilish grin. That smirk of his disappeared instantly, I stepped out of the room I laid him down in, tossed the firebomb in, and walked away, as his whole shithole of a house set on fire. Tonight’s job was done. 3 down, 1 to go.
That whole “why’d ya do it” may seem cheesy, but I really needed to ask that. As far as I know, me nor Uncle had any sort of interaction with Rat prior to him torching the shop. Why the fuck did he do it then? Crapsack Hopeville or not, was he really that bored? And why? Because my Uncle is a “nigger”? Shit, baffled is what I am right now. Not that surprised though. Walked home, suddenly remembered that I missed Mad Men and True Blood! Dammit! Really need to plan my timing of these killings better, if only the targets were vulnerable at a time when I could kill ‘em, and still make it home to catch my shows on time, but life is never easy. I reached home and made a mental note to remind myself to catch up on those episodes, and to at least make a meal that would be prepared for me the next time I got home late from a killing. Nothing more frustrating than coming home after offing a dude, starving, and then having to make a meal from scratch. Well, at least I’m closer to my goal, then I can think about leaving town.
Woke up next morning, went downstairs, Uncle was watching news. They were talking about the murders of Rat, Kevin, and Jason. They were referring to this as the work of a serial killer. I was like WHOA. I’m a serial killer now? Couldn’t think for a second. I mean, when I think of serial killer, I think of dudes like Henry Lee Lucas, Bundy, and those kinda guys. The guys who had all sorts of creepy, weirdo sexual elements to what they did. Real sick guys. Oh well, it’s not like people actually know it’s me and will be like, “Hey look, its the Hopeville Fireraiser!” Ya, that’s what the news stations has dubbed me. The Hopeville Fireraiser. Pretty lackluster name for a “serial killer” if you ask me. Honestly, can’t think of a better one, but “Hopeville Fireraiser” just plain sucks. I still don’t like the classification at all. I later looked up the definition of serial killer, so I could exonerate myself of that in my head. I came up with “a person who kills 3 or more individuals in separate incidents in a short period of time” DAMMIT! I guess I qualify. Shit. At least no one knows. So Uncle was watching, so I threw the bait. “Hey, isn’t that the asshole who torched your shop? I guess he got what he deserved” Then the gold man gets all fuckin’ “Still doesn’t change the fact that the shop is ruined, or solve my problems with insurance”, I said “Well ya but, doesn’t it make you feel a teensy, weensy bit better?” He looks at me as if I was on fire or something, “Of course not! Why would it? Those are still human lives lost” I told you my uncle was a decent man, maybe TOO decent if you ask me. If I were him, I’d be glad that the person who wronged me for no reason suffered.
Entry V
Nearing the end of the road here. Number 4 is a prick named Kaluum. I’ve known this bastard since first grade. Hated this bastard since first grade. He’s the Green Goblin to my Spider-Man, the Joker to my Batman, the Newman to my Seinfeld, the Wil Wheaton to my Sheldon Cooper. Those are the best archnemesis relationships I can think of. I’ve had the displeasure of sharing a class with him every school year since I was six. The shit he pulls can range from pretty to scary. Sometimes it’s just throwing my lunch in the garbage, farting near me, then it can be vandalizing my artwork, my front lawn, and pushing me down a school stairwell, and causing me to break an arm. One time, he left a puppy with a slit throat in my locker. It’s not a huge secret I’m fond of animals. At least the animals are somewhat nice in Hopeville, too bad you can’t confide in them thought. Well, you can talk to them all you want, they don’t give any useful feedback. I’m not sure what started this, but I know what’s made it persist, me not doing anything. For years, I shrugged it off, didn’t confront him, not even go “hey what the hell man”. I’ve allowed myself to be an easy target. No more. I’ll end him just like I ended Rat, Kevin, and Jason. Gonna not involve fire this time. I’m aware that most serial killers have consistent “rituals” and MO’s. For me the fire was coincidental in both incidents. I think this time, I’ll just stab the fucker, and then just walk away.
Kaluum walks his dog on the beach every night. These damn people. With schedules they stick do without a break, make planning their killings easy. Not that my plans are complex in any sense of the word. I mean, it’s not like in Hopeville, I need to make big deals to remove evidence of my presence or anything. We don’t even investigate murders here. We just dump the bodies in a landfill. Seriously. He’s at that beach EVERY single night, either forcing himself on some poor girl, or walking his doggie.
There’s a burger place not far from the beach. I headed there after school. I sat back, relaxed and filled my gut with 2 ¼ pound sirloin burgers, jumbo fries, fish fingers, and an extra large diet coke. I looked at the time when I was finished, and there was still about an hour and a half until Kaluum would be at the beach, so I just walked around for a while. I made my way on top of a hill on the beach and sat, and just looked at the ocean. There’s alot to hate in this town, but the ocean view is something that I can appreciate, too bad I don’t see it as often as I should. The Fuck-Ups and other assortments of Hopeville scum hang around all the spots with the nice views. It seems all that junk food gave me niggeritis, as I fell into a nap after sitting for a bit. I was in a mild state of panic when I came to, I thought I missed Kaluum, but I looked at my watch, and I was only asleep for under an hour, and fortunately for me he had just showed up with company. Some girl that I’ve seen before around school, they were walking side by side, talking. I kept my distance for now. He tried to lean in and kiss her, she turned him down gently... he tries again, she says what looks like stop, then he grabs her and she slaps him. At that point, he then pushed her down, and got on top of her, she put up a struggle, but Kaluum is large dude and was overpowering her. I knew what was about to happen next, and that’s when I got up, I sprinted down the sandy hill over to them, and pulled him off of her. The would-be victim ran away, I tossed some sand in his eye, and tackled him to the ground. I started punching his face until his nose and mouth bled. I took out my switchblade and was about to stab him when his dog latched onto my ankle with it’s fangs, and sank in deeply, my distraction allowed him to push me off of him, he got up and started kicking me all over, he got my head and ribs a few times. I kicked the dog in the face numerous times and it got off. It whimpered and ran away, I took my knife and jabbed it into Kaluum’s chest, it looked like I got the heart. He fell on his back, struggling to breath, probably about to die without assistance if I had left him there, but I really wanted to finish him off myself. I plugged his nose, until he forced his mouth open, then I put fistfuls of sand into his mouth. He was choking instantly on blood and sand, he was trying to say something, but it was pretty unclear with all that sand in his mouth and throat. Sounded like “fuck you” or something. And that was it, the killings were done. All that was left before my departure was to spend a wonderful day with Uncle, or even fix his insurance problems ideally.
Entry VI
It was a wonderful Saturday morning, the perfect kind of day to do nice shit with your parental figure after killing 4 guys during the week. I got up and made bacon and French toast for him. I myself just had some Cap ‘n’ Crunch. He was really happy to see me bring him breakfast in bed, “All those years I made your breakfast, nice to see the table turn”, he started eating, and to my delight told me that he enjoyed it. Not like I could ever cook as good as he does though. We walked through the park, like we often did when I was a child. We sat on a bench and just breathed in the air. It was about 8 am, on Saturday morning, most people were inside. It was just nice to sit and breathe in that air. I realized that there is no way for me to help Uncle with his insurance problems, not unless I robbed a bank or something, and I don’t have the man or firepower for that. When I realized that, all I could do was sigh. That’s when I told my Uncle. About leaving Hopeville. I told him that I’d love for him to come, but that I thought he wouldn’t. “You probably hate this place as much as I do, you’ve lived here for 70 years, why not leave?” He breathed deeply and told me “I honestly don’t know, where would I go, what would I do, not much point in and old fart like me going out into that real, outside world, what can I contribute?” I told him that he could’ve left when he was younger. “Hmmm. Honestly son, I just put it off, and off, and off, and then gave up.” I told him what I pictured doing, Leaving him, but magically solving his insurance issues and such. He put his arm around me and said that he could live without it, as long as I was around. It was a nice sentiment. “But I HAVE to go, I absolutely must go, and I want you to come with me”. I told him we don’t have to settle down, we can just live like nomads. He was silent for a while. He finally spoke “I’ve never left here in 70 years of life, I don’t have much time left. Seeing what’s out there with nothing to do can’t be much worse than sitting here idly waiting to die.” I was almost put in a trance to hear him say that. I honestly thought he’d never come. “So you’ll come?!” “Of course I will, there’s something home that I want to give you.” We walked home.
I sat at the dinner table, and then he came down with it. A big ass brown folder. “You never have asked for your parents, because you almost never knew them. And I’ve never taken it upon myself to talk about them with you, and I don’t know how to word it, so here it is. Everything you could ever want to know about your parents is here. The way you’ve never showed interest, you might not care at all, but I want you to have the option, so here. Take it. Do what you want with it.” And then he handed me the folder. The folder with any and everything I could ever care to know about my parents. To do whatever I wanted with. We started packing that night.
Entry VII
And we left about two days after. We packed light. We took snacks, extra clothing, money; the essentials for hitchhiking I brought a sketchpad and pencils, he brought along a few packs of Marlboro Reds, and a copy of Brave New World. We both took one last walk through the forests and the beaches. It was... pleasant. Just pleasant. Don’t have a poem written out to talk about this shit. No sonnets or metaphors or nothing. It was just pleasant. Uncle went to look at his shop one last time; he’s a sentimental old fucker. I just went to a park and sat on a bench. There was another dude sitting there, about my age. We just started talking, his name was Loren. Seemed like a nice enough guy. He said he’d seen and done some crazy stuff in the past while. I said that he couldn’t top what I did. “What exactly did you do exactly?” I asked. He said “Oh well, just went dimension hopping, saw a majestic phoenix, met my parents who I thought were dead, dimensionally transported back here, and well that’s it? How about you? “Me, well I killed 4 dudes, set 3 of the corpses on fire, stabbed one in the heart and then suffocated him with beach sand... oh oh, and in that same incident, I stopped a rape from happening” He just stared at me for a bit, then spoke, “I’m honestly not sure what to say to that? You’re... not gonna kill me right?” I laughed. “NO, of course not, I only kill Hopeville scum. Don’t know where you’re from, but you definitely don’t seem like scum. Anyways, me and my Uncle are leaving now, don’t have time to kill you, even if you wanted to.” “Phew, thanks” he said with a sigh of relief. I spoke again, “And my Uncle just gave me a folder with all this info on my dead parents. Haven’t opened yet, probably will though, don’t know shit about them.” I got up and shook his hand, “Well, it was nice talking to you friend, take care of yourself”, “You too” he replied, and we parted ways.
Me and Uncle walked out the border gate of Hopeville. All I could see was desert. We started walking, and kept walking. We knew we could find something, some place eventually, this was our life now, a better life than before. This is the death of my old life, and the birth of the rest of it. I just kept walking forward with him, the new world in my view.