by Cerys du Lys
I hope she sleeps well, too. I can't fucking wait to wake up next to her in the morning. I seriously just can't fucking wait. We've still got some food leftover. I'll ruin my fucking breakfast for you, Angeline. I'll eat peanut butter and jelly and cake and orange soda and whatever the fuck you want. I'll do anything for you.
When I wake up the next morning, something's missing. It's her. She's gone.
Why?
I don't want to cry. I didn't cry. Fuck you if you think I cried. Do you think I'm fucking weak and useless?
Just go to fucking hell. I fucking hate you.
*** Noah
I can't do this shit. I can't be nice. What the fuck did nice get me? Nothing. She left me. Fuck her.
I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I love you. I'm just so angry. I'm so fucking upset. I'm mad.
I don't leave her. She left me but I don't leave her. I can't. I keep going to the church and it's like nothing ever happened. I mean, fuck, shit happened, but life goes on, right? It's the same as always.
"Always" is just really shitty, that's for sure. They hurt her, they rape her, they abuse her. I can't stand it. I don't want to do this anymore.
I can't be nice. I'm sorry but I tried being nice and I just can't fucking do it anymore. No one else is nice, so why the fuck should I have to be? What the fuck did nice ever get me? I can't fucking save you if I'm nice, Angeline. I'm sorry that I can't fucking save you when I'm nice, but that's the goddamn fucking truth of the matter. Motherfucking hell bitch slut cunt fucker. I want to scream this shit into the sky.
I want to scream it down the fucking asshole priest's throat while he gurgles on his own blood after I gut him.
Do you know how to kill someone? I don't. I didn't. It can't be that hard, though. People kill things every day. You get a fucking rifle or a bow and arrow or some shit and you go into the woods and you shoot a deer, right? I mean, maybe you've never shot a deer. To be completely fucking honest, I've never shot a deer, either. I don't want to shoot a deer. That deer's never done shit to me. We are good. Me and the deer would probably get along real fucking well.
The deer is good, but plenty of other people deserve to die.
I'm going to tell you how to kill someone right now. It's easy. There's plenty of ways to do it.
Killing a deer is actually harder than killing a person. First, it's harder to find a deer than a person. You can step the fuck outside and see people. Even in this small as fuck village in the middle of nowhere in the woods has people. I see them every day.
People are weaker than animals, too. That's the thing. Are you going to kill a deer with your bare fucking hands? No, fuck off. Of course not. Maybe you could try, but the deer would either run away or ram the fuck out of you, headbutt you to death, kick you with its hooves, or a bunch of other shit. Deer do not fuck around. Do not fuck with a deer unless you know what you're doing.
People are weak, though. As unfortunate as that is, people are weak. That's a good thing sometimes, too. It keeps everyone in check. You're weak? I'm weak? Let's just look the other way then. I won't mess with you if you don't mess with me.
I refuse to be weak any longer. I refuse to be human, I refuse to look the other way, I refuse to accept some unwritten fucking rules that say that I won't fuck with you, because you refuse to follow the same fucking rules. This isn't a one way street, motherfucker. I will fuck up your shit.
I'm an animal. I'm a monster with teeth and once I get close to you I'll rip out your throat.
It's not hard to kill people, you just have to be willing to do it. I understand if you're not. I don't think you should be. I'm not going to say that it's a good thing to do, alright? This isn't some fucked up how-to guide, it's just a fact of life.
I watched them hurt her every day. I saw them kick her in the ribs. I watched him shove her head in a tub full of water. I watched all of it. I know how you hurt someone.
Don't forget that I live in a small as fuck village, too. At the corner fucking store I can buy things you wouldn't even believe existed. Yeah, I got bread, peanut butter, jelly, pound cake, soda, muffins. You can get that, too. But I can also buy hunting knives, survival guides, and shit like that.
Do you know how to kill someone? It's the way you kill anything. A guide telling you the weak points of an animal can be used to figure out how to kill a person. We're all weak. We all die the same way. The same things that can kill you can kill me and can kill anyone else. You're not special. No one's special.
I want to be nice. I tried to be nice. Trying doesn't do anything, though. Trying never helped anyone. You need to do shit. You need to fucking get things done.
I'm sorry for what I have to do, but if I don't do it, this won't stop. It's not just about Angeline, it's about others. If the priest sells her, then what? When does he do it again? How long does this go on? And who the fuck is next? What if it's you? Me? Who? What if it's my mother? What the fuck happens then? I just sit by while they rape and torture and abuse my own mother? I can't even fucking stand it when they do it to Angeline, so how the fuck am I supposed to deal with something like that?
I'm never going to be able to understand. I can't deal with this shit. I will stop it, I swear to fucking God. I promise you that I'll stop it.
*** Noah
It's summer solstice today. Do you know what that means? Not a whole fucking lot. It's June 21st and it's the day of the year with the most hours of sunlight. Not by a lot. It's not like today magically has an extra hour of sunlight or something. It's a little longer than the day before it and a little longer than the day after it.
Longest day of the year as far as daylight's concerned and it's the shortest night. It's still twenty-four hours so who gives a fuck? I don't.
I didn't, at least. I do now.
The priest decides to hold some fucked up event. It's not a public event, it's like a fucking religious party or some shit. I don't know why, because the summer solstice isn't religious unless you're pagan. St. John's Day is soon, but seriously who the fuck celebrates that? I'm sure he was a nice guy, a saint and everything, but still. If it's not Christmas or Easter, no one fucking cares.
We've got this event, though. It's supposed to be in honor of all the hard work that the people who volunteer at the church have done. What this means is that it's a fucked up gathering of assholes who pretend to be better people by going to the church, when in reality they rape and abuse Angeline. Tonight's going to be an entire fucking night of that shit.
Can't you just leave her the fuck alone? You hurt her all day and make her sleep on a stone floor at night after you're done abusing her. Now you're going to do it for the entire day and night?
That's what this event is. We're gathering at the church in the afternoon, staying throughout the evening, and staying up all night. It's supposed to be like a vigil, I guess. Fuck if I know the reason. I don't know what the fuck we're watching over, but that's what this is. It's a vigil for the summer solstice.
Angeline's the entertainment. There's going to be food, and prayer gatherings, but other than that, she's going to take center stage. Need a pick me up because you're getting tired? Go get a coffee or some shit, and then fuck Angeline. Getting bored? Go kick Angeline. Want to be a fucking asshole? Angeline's in the basement, have fun.
Fuck you. Go to fucking hell. I hate everyone.
It's a good night, though. It's the best time for what I want to do. I've been planning this for awhile and now seems like it's as good a time as any. If I don't do it tonight, I don't think I'll have a chance to do it again.
Like the Biblical flood that God sent down to earth from the heavens, I'm going to scour this fucking church and rid it of the evil that has become of humanity. It sounds really fucking righteous, doesn't it? You want a reason to be vigilant on midsummer night? I'll give you a fucking reason.
I have a hunting knife. It's a good quality one, not some cheap bullshit you buy at a shitty place in the city. This is real, it's sharp, and I can gut a fucking
animal with it no problem. Don't worry, though, all the animals are safe tonight. I've boarded them onto my ark. A storm is brewing and I'm going to be its catalyst for tragedy and disaster.
A couple of the assholes are in the basement right now. No doubt fucking Angeline. I'm not there, unfortunately. Maybe it's fortunate, at least for them. I don't know if I could hold back and stick to my plans if I saw that one more time.
There's a few of us upstairs. It's not like there's a lot of us, but there's enough. One is too many. They sicken me.
We do a small prayer group, which is the biggest bullshit thing I've ever done. How the fuck can any of these people seriously pray to God like that when they know exactly what the fuck is going on downstairs? When they're about to be a part of what's going on, too. Fucking hell.
"I'll be holding a brief ceremony of confessions," the priest says.
We don't usually do this shit in the middle of the week, but I guess tonight's special. There's a lot of sin and wickedness about to go down, so we should confess our misdeeds now before it's too late.
He goes into the confessional booth while the rest of us screw off for a moment.
"I'll go first," I say, volunteering.
Some stupid fucking prick grins at me. "Yeah, you just want to get down to that sweet piece of ass before the rest of us, huh?"
She has a name, fuckface. I will fucking stab you if you say shit like that again. I swear to fucking God I will rip out your goddamn fucking throat. Do it. Say it.
I smile back at him and shrug like I'm some fucking puzzling enigma. It's easy to be fake when everyone around you isn't the sort of person you used to think they were. I used to think they were good people, but they aren't, so why should I be any different?
I'm going to save her.
They leave to get something to drink and eat while I go to the booth. I step inside and close the door behind me.
I get straight to the point. No reason to fuck around. "Forgive me father, for I have sinned," I say.
"God will understand," he says. "What is the nature of your transgressions?"
God won't understand. He would never understand this. You can't speak for God.
"I've been having violent thoughts lately," I say.
"Do you know the source of your aggression?" he asks.
"Yes," I say.
"You cannot act out your anger towards others, Noah. I know that this is difficult to understand, but we must treat people with kindness. I believe you know what this means, do you not?"
"Yes," I say.
"God has given us a great gift, one which I believe will help you greatly. We cannot act out our anger towards others, but Angeline is an exception. She is God's Gift to us, granted to us in order to help quell our urges and our needs so that we may become better people."
I need to ask him this one thing before I go through with my plans. "Why?" I say. "Why her? Why is she an exception?"
He hesitates. I can almost picture the fucked up, annoyed furrowed brow he must have.
"It is God's Will. I am but a simple servant to God. She has committed abominable atrocities and sinned more wickedly than you can ever know. Because of this, she must be punished. Her punishment will not only be her own salvation, but yours as well. Do you understand now?"
"I think so," I say.
"You know what you must do," he says. "You may act out your aggressions towards Angeline so that you will not be tempted to act out against others. Be kind and understanding in your punishment, though."
What he means by that is he doesn't want anyone to kill her. She's money to him, and sex and abuse to others. If she's dead, she's no good to anyone. This isn't about God, it's about greed and sin.
I step out of the booth after that. We're done with what we needed to do.
I close the door behind me, but then I immediately knock on the door on his side of the confessional booth. He sounds confused for a second.
"What?" he asks.
"There's something strange out here," I say. "You're going to want to take a look at this."
"Is someone here who shouldn't be?" he asks.
I don't say anything. There's a lot of people here who shouldn't be. I don't think anyone who's here should be here right now. This is supposed to be a fucking house of worship, you stupid prick.
He opens the door and steps out, then looks at me before looking around. I point somewhere. I don't fucking know where I point. It doesn't fucking matter. He turns to look.
Without hesitation, I unsnap the sheath of my hunting knife, pull out the blade, and slam it into the side of his throat near the front. The blade rips through his flesh and his windpipe. I dig it in deep just to make sure, but it's not like I have to. With another stretch and a rip, I pull it forward and out the front of his neck. He collapses on the floor from shock.
It's not like he's dead. He's not dead yet, at least. He's going to die soon, either from blood loss or lack of oxygen. To be completely fucking honest with you, I don't know which will kill him first. All I know is that he can't scream the way he is, and whether he dies now or in a couple minutes, it makes no fucking difference to me.
I just do not give a fuck. There are no fucks given by me. Fuck off.
I drag his lifeless body back into the confessional booth for the time being, then I go to tell one of the other guys that I'm done. Before I go, I wash my hands in the basin at the head of the church. It's not perfect and there's still some blood on my sleeves, but I roll them up and hope no one notices. They don't. They're mulling around some banquet table, snacking on finger sandwiches that someone's mother made. I'm sure they're delicious, but I'm not hungry right now.
As soon as he leaves, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. Instead of doing that, I head to the confessional booth.
"Forgive me father, for I have sinned," the asshole says.
No one answers him. He doesn't seem to care, so he just starts listing a whole bunch of shit he's done. Mostly sex, wanting to fuck every girl he sees. I think he mumbles something about his mother. Wow, that's some fucked up shit, buddy. Doesn't matter, though.
I knock on the booth door. He sounds confused for a second, but then he opens it. He doesn't see me because I skipped around to the side. He steps out, still confused, and starts looking around. I slink around the back to the other side and peek out, waiting for him to be looking away.
It's easy. Too fucking easy. I told you before, this shit is easy. It's not hard to do.
I stride towards him, quick and confident, then slam my palms against his ears and grab his head hard. He jolts from the shock. Ears are fucking sensitive, alright? That shit fucking hurts.
It doesn't hurt him for long. I twist hard and snap his neck. He's dead.
The next guy dies just as easily. I find the last one next to the banquet table, stuffing his face. He just nods to me, the gluttonous fucking pig. I have nothing against people who like to eat, don't get me wrong. I just fucking hate this guy. I come up next to him like I'm a good friend, but I'm not. I'm not your fucking friend.
I flex my fingers before grabbing the back of his head, ripping into his hair, and shoving his face into a bowl of potato salad. He struggles to breathe, but I keep him pinned there. How's the fucking food, friend? You like it?
It's a really shitty way to die, drowning in potato salad. It's really shitty for people to drown a girl in a tub full of water and then bring her back to life, too. Don't fucking worry, friend, I'm not going to make you suffer like that. You can stay dead. It's fine.
There's a couple more. They're downstairs. I shout to them to hurry the fuck up because we're doing shit up here. Time to fucking switch, assholes. Your turn for confession or some shit. I don't fucking know. Whatever it is, whatever I say, it works.
One of them starts heading up the stairs. I guess the other one is still fucking Angeline. I'll deal with that asshole in a second. I step to the side of the doorway to the stairwell and wait. As soon as I see him, I slam my knife into h
is throat like I did the priest. It's easy. This isn't hard. He's dead. I drag his body to the pews and kick him underneath one of them.
The last guy takes his goddamn fucking time. I don't have all fucking night, you know? I've got shit to do here. It's evening now, but not that late. If I were home, I'd still be awake.
I was here later than this when I came for Angeline that night. When we escaped and went to my house and enjoyed a nice meal, made love, and talked, it was almost midnight then. I wish she hadn't left. I don't blame her for what I'm doing, but I just fucking wish I didn't need to do it. I wish we'd escaped. I wish I could've forgotten about all of this.
It's not that easy. I can never forget. It's going to haunt me forever. Oh well. Don't fucking pity me. It doesn't bother me. I seriously don't give a fuck.
The last guy comes up and I just don't want to deal with this shit anymore so I stab him, kill him, and drag him over to the rest.
That's that. Sort of, not quite. It's easy to do, but I need to do more. I can't just fucking leave everyone here. How fucked up would that look? Need to cover my tracks.
In hindsight, I don't know how the fuck this worked out in my favor, except to say that it was in some small as fuck shitty little village and it's not like we had a huge local police force or fire department or any of that shit. It worked because there was no one to fucking catch me. It worked but it shouldn't have. I'm lucky, as fucked up as that sounds.
I pull them to the pews and set them in them like maybe we were having some fucking evening mass sermon or some shit. Sitting down, laying down, who gives a fuck? They're in the pews. I drag the priest out of the confessional booth, too. His blood leaves a trail across the carpet in the center aisle. That shit's going to be really fucking hard to clean up. Don't worry, I got this.
I put him near the front, like he was addressing all of us or something. I don't know. In my head, this shit makes sense. In reality, it looks really fucked up. This entire situation's been fucked up for months, so it's not like this one fucked up thing is any better or worse than the rest. It's just different. It's fucked up and different.
