Terrible Sin (Excerpt)
Who: Alexander Wolfgang. (Reene Kuan, Nurse Sara.)
Source: (age 24) Diary For A Moderately Sane Man
Summary: Nightmares in Delial Park.
Rating: R for rape and gore.
Dreams again, but at the same time... not a dream. Running. Fear. No, not running, and no fear. Instead, there is hatred and malice. There is evil. There is hate. It starts with those things. It starts with betrayal. It starts with hurt. It starts with pain. He is feeding the sickness to himself and that is all he ever wanted. Then I realize that he is me and I’m still dreaming the same dreams into nightmare.
Alone. Always alone. Never alone. Stuck in a room. No, it’s a cage-a barred cage. Outside of my cage is a woman, standing on the other side. She is smiling. It takes a while for it to register inside my puny little brain but I realize that it’s Sara and she’s mocking me while smiling her smart, jovial smile. The malice returns again. Suddenly, I want to wrap my hands around her thin little neck. I want to take her. I want to reap her life from her slowly but not before I do ungodly things to her. I want to tear apart her face so I can study how she ticks underneath. Clockwork... She has no clockwork. She is empty on the inside and I know because I’ll soon feel it for myself so let us share the same emptiness and apathy.
She has a twisted smile as I’m slowly strangling her. She isn’t choking or in pain, but she’s spiting me. The bars of the cage dividing us vanish and I’m on top of her. I’ve got a knife in one hand and a bloodied fist in the other. I’m punching her now. Pounding my fist into her skull. She’s dying as I put things inside of her. Her gaping orifice is soft and smooth and it feels so good when I do it. It feels so good all over it makes me tingle as I enjoy it. She would be crying now, telling me to stop but I don’t stop. I’m enjoying it. It’s not the pleasure I’m enjoying but having a way with her that wasn’t my own because I don’t want to do this but I do. I don’t want to think it. I’m possessed. The part of me that does enjoy this has her pinned by the neck. She claws at me with her fingernails, blood gashes across my face. Pain feels so good to me now. She’s gasping for air. In and out, in and out, thrusting. She feels it, I feel it, we feel it... She hates what I love.
No longer is Sara crying as I slide between her thighs. Part of me is inside a corpse now, and that part doesn’t stop even as she’s rotting underneath me. It’s so real the pain and pleasure is all real and I can smell the stench of it all between us that horrible stench that humans make.
Beautiful, blonde hair cuts shorter, to her shoulders-brown hair with red streaks in it. So beautiful. The eyes that were once blue sunk in. The irises change. I can’t see them but I know they’re amber now because I can recognize her face. Her gasping cries in agony turned into pleasurable moans as the two of us are lost inside of one another. I’m within her and she’s screaming out to me.
She’s screaming.
Why did you kill me? O where is my dear-?
No longer cries of pleasure. Agony returns...
Surroundings change completely. I have this woman pinned to a musty mattress with rusted bedposts that creak with every plunge into her. I don’t stop. She does. She is a rag doll beneath me and I don’t stop. She’s looking elsewhere. I don’t turn my head but I see because I’m watching from the distance as I see her crying my name to another person. I don’t see this other person, but he’s there, chained, beaten, skin around the metal plate in his head inflamed and bleeding from impact of something hard.
I stop a moment. She sighs in relief and thinks it’s over but what a fool oh no I’m not finished with her yet. The knife... I still have the knife. O god o yes o no I’m cutting her into pieces now. I’m tearing off her fingernails before I start cutting off each of her fingers. The man she screams to sits emptily in the corner of the room, staring emptily into space while the woman cries for him and cries and cries. When I finish torturing her hands I draw the blade across each of her wrists and while she slowly bleeds I put my hands over her face and my thumbs sink into her eye sockets pushing them in as I push into her again, harder than the last time. She stops moving. She’s gone.
There is no pleasure anymore. All that’s left is horror. There is no comfort for her where she is at now.
God, what have I done... ?
Source: (age 24) Diary For A Moderately Sane Man
Summary: Nightmares in Delial Park.
Rating: R for rape and gore.
Dreams again, but at the same time... not a dream. Running. Fear. No, not running, and no fear. Instead, there is hatred and malice. There is evil. There is hate. It starts with those things. It starts with betrayal. It starts with hurt. It starts with pain. He is feeding the sickness to himself and that is all he ever wanted. Then I realize that he is me and I’m still dreaming the same dreams into nightmare.
Alone. Always alone. Never alone. Stuck in a room. No, it’s a cage-a barred cage. Outside of my cage is a woman, standing on the other side. She is smiling. It takes a while for it to register inside my puny little brain but I realize that it’s Sara and she’s mocking me while smiling her smart, jovial smile. The malice returns again. Suddenly, I want to wrap my hands around her thin little neck. I want to take her. I want to reap her life from her slowly but not before I do ungodly things to her. I want to tear apart her face so I can study how she ticks underneath. Clockwork... She has no clockwork. She is empty on the inside and I know because I’ll soon feel it for myself so let us share the same emptiness and apathy.
She has a twisted smile as I’m slowly strangling her. She isn’t choking or in pain, but she’s spiting me. The bars of the cage dividing us vanish and I’m on top of her. I’ve got a knife in one hand and a bloodied fist in the other. I’m punching her now. Pounding my fist into her skull. She’s dying as I put things inside of her. Her gaping orifice is soft and smooth and it feels so good when I do it. It feels so good all over it makes me tingle as I enjoy it. She would be crying now, telling me to stop but I don’t stop. I’m enjoying it. It’s not the pleasure I’m enjoying but having a way with her that wasn’t my own because I don’t want to do this but I do. I don’t want to think it. I’m possessed. The part of me that does enjoy this has her pinned by the neck. She claws at me with her fingernails, blood gashes across my face. Pain feels so good to me now. She’s gasping for air. In and out, in and out, thrusting. She feels it, I feel it, we feel it... She hates what I love.
No longer is Sara crying as I slide between her thighs. Part of me is inside a corpse now, and that part doesn’t stop even as she’s rotting underneath me. It’s so real the pain and pleasure is all real and I can smell the stench of it all between us that horrible stench that humans make.
Beautiful, blonde hair cuts shorter, to her shoulders-brown hair with red streaks in it. So beautiful. The eyes that were once blue sunk in. The irises change. I can’t see them but I know they’re amber now because I can recognize her face. Her gasping cries in agony turned into pleasurable moans as the two of us are lost inside of one another. I’m within her and she’s screaming out to me.
She’s screaming.
Why did you kill me? O where is my dear-?
No longer cries of pleasure. Agony returns...
Surroundings change completely. I have this woman pinned to a musty mattress with rusted bedposts that creak with every plunge into her. I don’t stop. She does. She is a rag doll beneath me and I don’t stop. She’s looking elsewhere. I don’t turn my head but I see because I’m watching from the distance as I see her crying my name to another person. I don’t see this other person, but he’s there, chained, beaten, skin around the metal plate in his head inflamed and bleeding from impact of something hard.
I stop a moment. She sighs in relief and thinks it’s over but what a fool oh no I’m not finished with her yet. The knife... I still have the knife. O god o yes o no I’m cutting her into pieces now. I’m tearing off her fingernails before I start cutting off each of her fingers. The man she screams to sits emptily in the corner of the room, staring emptily into space while the woman cries for him and cries and cries. When I finish torturing her hands I draw the blade across each of her wrists and while she slowly bleeds I put my hands over her face and my thumbs sink into her eye sockets pushing them in as I push into her again, harder than the last time. She stops moving. She’s gone.
There is no pleasure anymore. All that’s left is horror. There is no comfort for her where she is at now.
God, what have I done... ?