Cherish What Was

Chapter 1

I never wanted to be this way. I don't want to kill. But I do. And that's not okay.

My name is Tavros Nitram, and my story is not a happy one.

The world was promised to me, and I did not get the world. My father was a drinker. He would come home and beat me, slap me around. He would force me to get on my hands and knees, and do something shameful. Too shameful. I never had a mother. I never had love. What once was will never be again, I so tell myself. But my mind makes me hurt them, so hurt them I shall.

A territorial marking of free will I try to impart upon the world. But it spits in my face.

And that makes it angry.

The viewing window of my own madness speaks against authority but I repeat to the glass that, no, this will not get us anywhere. We need to wear the paper-thin mask everyone else does. For then we will triumph the Earth.

It agrees.

It better.

I walked down my basement stairs. There stared Sollux, my friend Aradia's new boy toy. Not for long. She doesn't know I do these things. She doesn't have to know.

She's sad because I do these things. And that's not okay.

I take my hand to his face, and look at him with the dead eyes my father punched into me. He looks so scared. I smile. He doesn't. The chains on his hands keeping him to the wall are making red lines on his wrists. My hot breath mingles with his cold. His eyes close. A breathless chuckle is forced out of my throat. The fire of a single lighter is pressed into his stomach. His eyes open. They tear up; you can see he wants to ask. Why. But he can't. That's the best part.

He can't.

Excitement swells within my veins, and my face tells the tale. He sequels with pain. Like a pig.

I walk away from him, and approach the closet. I open the door with excruciating slowness, I want to torture. I pull out a chainsaw. A chainsaw.

He practically burns with anxiety. I would, too. I take the handle and pull it with fervency. The loud drowning sound scares him. It would me, too.

I languidly step to his side. His eyes travel to mine. He hasn't stopped shaking yet. He shouldn't.

I advance myself to his being. My baby collides with the vellum of his concert shirt.

I watch as the ever spinning blade slices so easily through his tender epidermis.

Blood bespatters both of us in a glorious bout of red. A smell of iron and copper fills my tongue, and the taste of crimson variegates my ears.

A smile of pure bliss spreads across my visage like butter. This is a time that I feel alive and well and nothing is wrong.

Finally.

The world of the damned shall have a new patron.

Screams.

I hit bone. A pinking sound of rough material bounces from wall to blood-stained wall. And he just won't stop.

But he does. That's how you know it has stopped beating.

The heart, that is.

It was delicious, yes. But,

Boring.

I need excitement in my euthanasia.

…

I need my sleep. A new student is coming tomorrow. He will be fun.

I hope.