avien » my inner child is cruel (she always has been)
Story: RPG storyverse (Modernverse)
Genre: idk, it's an introspective ficlet about my sadistic serial killer villain, what the heck do u call that
Rating: 18+
Characters: Avien (with mentions of Aurelia & Cae)
CN: Murder, torture, cutting, blood, vampirism, childhood trauma, serial killer thoughts, complete lack of conscience or compassion
Author's Note: Idk what the hell went through my head when I wrote this, it’s a modernverse!Avien ficlet in 1st person singular??? But somehow, I did, so here we go. I lovingly call it "POV: you’re a mindreader getting tortured and killed by a vampire serial killer and now you have to listen to her internal monologue about what she learned from the self-help books her husband keeps getting for her"
People say you have to make your inner child happy every now and then. Make it feel safe. Give it a chance to heal.
What the mean is: Blow soap bubbles in the air, buy yourself that silly little plushie, eat cereal for dinner from time to time. Make up for all the times mom and dad were mean to you. Reconnect with what you liked as a kid, they say, accept, affirm and reassure your inner child.
I don’t think those people are aware of the fact that not all children are innocent and pure.
My inner child is angry, I think as I slash my victim’s thigh three times in a row, deep enough to split the layers of skin and some of the fat beneath it.
My inner child is selfish. I bury my teeth in their flesh, sucking some blood out just to spit it back in their face, watch it mix with tears and snot, and that sight alone gives me a rush worth burning in hell for-
My inner child is cruel. She always has been.
Maybe I’ve been alive for too long at this point, the details blurring together in the onslaught of too many years, too many decades, too many centuries that have passed; but I genuinely can’t recall a time when I felt that thing people call compassion. I know what they mean by it, I’ve seen it in other people, but if I ever experienced it at all, the version of me that was capable of that is long gone, faded into nothingness along with any other memory of innocence that might have been once upon a time.
Mother never truly cared. She wasn’t the kind of mother who wanted her children to be kind or polite or friendly, she never wished for us to become decent people; I think she didn’t want us to be people at all, to exist at all. Therefore, only our success mattered. No candidate for a parent-of-the-year award, I’m aware, but you have to hand it to her: She did raise one hell of a successful daughter. A daughter who always gets what she wants, no matter the cost.
They say you should follow your passion, right? Go wherever your heart takes you and let your dreams come true. Live a fulfilling life you won’t look back on thinking about all the what ifs.
How do they say that without realizing they might encourage someone to commit the murder of their dreams? Are they really that stupid? They should consider people like me when they write that shit. (Serial killers - I think that’s what they call us. It’s factually correct, we do commit series of killings, but if I’m being honest, I kind of miss the good old times when a monster was just called a monster, you know?)
I find my peace of mind in screams and sobs and incoherent stammering. I never feel as calm and content as I do when I cause others pain, and if I had any spark of decency left in me, maybe I’d feel ashamed of that, but I don’t.
When I slash their throat and let their blood pour over me, that’s where I find salvation. I smile to myself as Caedes’ voice reverberates in my head: That’s not what salvation is, Avi. You don’t understand. He was probably right - I don’t understand, so I have to make up my own definition. My own way to absolve myself of whatever doesn’t align with the image of myself I carefully curated in my mind.
My inner child is proud of me, I think. She always wanted to bathe in someone’s blood, wanted to learn about all the little quirks of the humanoid body and how to exploit them, watch the life fade out of a mortal shell that has been damaged beyond repair - and I do, in fact, indulge her wishes as often as I can.
Genre: idk, it's an introspective ficlet about my sadistic serial killer villain, what the heck do u call that
Rating: 18+
Characters: Avien (with mentions of Aurelia & Cae)
CN: Murder, torture, cutting, blood, vampirism, childhood trauma, serial killer thoughts, complete lack of conscience or compassion
Author's Note: Idk what the hell went through my head when I wrote this, it’s a modernverse!Avien ficlet in 1st person singular??? But somehow, I did, so here we go. I lovingly call it "POV: you’re a mindreader getting tortured and killed by a vampire serial killer and now you have to listen to her internal monologue about what she learned from the self-help books her husband keeps getting for her"
People say you have to make your inner child happy every now and then. Make it feel safe. Give it a chance to heal.
What the mean is: Blow soap bubbles in the air, buy yourself that silly little plushie, eat cereal for dinner from time to time. Make up for all the times mom and dad were mean to you. Reconnect with what you liked as a kid, they say, accept, affirm and reassure your inner child.
I don’t think those people are aware of the fact that not all children are innocent and pure.
My inner child is angry, I think as I slash my victim’s thigh three times in a row, deep enough to split the layers of skin and some of the fat beneath it.
My inner child is selfish. I bury my teeth in their flesh, sucking some blood out just to spit it back in their face, watch it mix with tears and snot, and that sight alone gives me a rush worth burning in hell for-
My inner child is cruel. She always has been.
Maybe I’ve been alive for too long at this point, the details blurring together in the onslaught of too many years, too many decades, too many centuries that have passed; but I genuinely can’t recall a time when I felt that thing people call compassion. I know what they mean by it, I’ve seen it in other people, but if I ever experienced it at all, the version of me that was capable of that is long gone, faded into nothingness along with any other memory of innocence that might have been once upon a time.
Mother never truly cared. She wasn’t the kind of mother who wanted her children to be kind or polite or friendly, she never wished for us to become decent people; I think she didn’t want us to be people at all, to exist at all. Therefore, only our success mattered. No candidate for a parent-of-the-year award, I’m aware, but you have to hand it to her: She did raise one hell of a successful daughter. A daughter who always gets what she wants, no matter the cost.
They say you should follow your passion, right? Go wherever your heart takes you and let your dreams come true. Live a fulfilling life you won’t look back on thinking about all the what ifs.
How do they say that without realizing they might encourage someone to commit the murder of their dreams? Are they really that stupid? They should consider people like me when they write that shit. (Serial killers - I think that’s what they call us. It’s factually correct, we do commit series of killings, but if I’m being honest, I kind of miss the good old times when a monster was just called a monster, you know?)
I find my peace of mind in screams and sobs and incoherent stammering. I never feel as calm and content as I do when I cause others pain, and if I had any spark of decency left in me, maybe I’d feel ashamed of that, but I don’t.
When I slash their throat and let their blood pour over me, that’s where I find salvation. I smile to myself as Caedes’ voice reverberates in my head: That’s not what salvation is, Avi. You don’t understand. He was probably right - I don’t understand, so I have to make up my own definition. My own way to absolve myself of whatever doesn’t align with the image of myself I carefully curated in my mind.
My inner child is proud of me, I think. She always wanted to bathe in someone’s blood, wanted to learn about all the little quirks of the humanoid body and how to exploit them, watch the life fade out of a mortal shell that has been damaged beyond repair - and I do, in fact, indulge her wishes as often as I can.