Broken Thoughts… Pleasure From The Pain…

A life lived is a life lost
The loneliness doesn’t start willingly
But it only grows over time
Unrequested but here we are
Making the best of the only situation
Slowly dying, no time to fight the need
Keep going for it is the only way to be
Please tell me one more time
How to fucking feel in my head
Please tell me one more time
How normal I’ve always been

That would be really embarrassing… Getting your ass kicked by someone taking a shit…

Time after time
Think this time the words will stick
Changing circumstances has never proven
To result in an overall difference
Drown me, distort me, take it all away
If being me was part of some plan
I’m good, rejection of an idea
Think this time I may have found the answer
Before the question
What the fuck am I even doing here?
Pleasuring myself from all the pain
Smiling, opening wide, taking it all with a laugh
Never thought I’d figure it out
Took less time then I had
Always in a hurry
Smashing through the words
Is there a deeper meaning? I’m sure
As sure as I know it doesn’t matter

Shh… truth is like glass… solid until it cracks…

Waiting in the dark
For anything to happen
A spark of thought
The world to fucking end
Up for anything at this point
Anything other than this
Waiting for the darkness to go away
Better luck drowning myself in a river of shit
Biblical and subversive
Makes no sense but who am I to complain
Never meant to be anything more
Than who I am

There always seems to be some discussion going on about what is too far… too much… we push limits… that is what we have been designed to do… drawing a line in the sand… comes off only as a new bench mark to what we can do… should we though?… when is too far… too far?…

Then it comes down to what we are capable of… anything we are told… stacking the bodies against the odds… it would appear true… we wanted to fly… so we did… we wanted to touch beyond the sky… so we did… we want to take another planet… and we will… an idea… like a spark… takes more than one… what we are capable of… good or bad… isn’t limited to just one… that’s a scary thought…

No one has ever been successful on their own… yet we strive to separate ourselves from everyone else… to rise ahead of the pack… to become the leader… I know that there is something here to what I am saying… can’t put a finger on it… the power isn’t in the individual but the collective?… one’s success doesn’t represent them but us all?… if this is true… why does it never feel that way?… living life at the bottom has never felt like living a life at all… cog in the machine… a thought buried inside us all… What are we really capable of… if we all come together?… the ants figured it out… nature figured it out… and we can’t figure out what to do with all this progress… maybe too far wasn’t far enough…

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Broken Thoughts… Secrets Are Never Worth Keeping…

A break from reality
Spinning out of control
Thought you owned me
Thought you had me against the wall
You were never more wrong
A break from normalcy
Breaking down from the core
Thought you knew me
Thought so many things didn’t you
You couldn’t be more wrong
A break from everything
Digging down deep
Thought you could be me
Thought everything was so easy
You have never been so wrong
So simple minded
So insignificant
If you didn’t know you already were

I’ve got a deal for your soul…

With an empty mind and a heart full of cold
Walking the earth seems less like a task
More like something I have to do
Writing down every thought of you
With an empty mind and a heart full of gold
Capsized in between two rivers
Taking another breath seems more like a task
Then it should have to
Intentions meant to ease my attention
Only seem to drown my head in more shit
With an empty mind and heart full of cold
Breaking away from myself seems less like a task
And more like something I have to do
Coughing up blood made of passion
Once cared now I fear that I don’t
Lonely symptom of existence
Going through easy days as if I have no choice

Now that we are talking about it… It kind of hurts..

Wasting time for no reason why
Thinking of all the things I could say
Wasting time looking for a reason
Thinking about how I could
If only I would
Have I told you yet about how tired I am?
Can’t stop thinking about all the wasted time
Can’t do anything I can’t do anything about
Depression, laziness, excuses
Wasting time for no reason at all
Thinking maybe today or tomorrow
Try never because all I do is
Waste time looking for a reason
To justify why I do what I do

Lately everything feels like it is going to hell… the world… shit around me… but I feel so calm… that none of it feels real… I’m so lost in my own selfishness… that as everything sinks under… burns to the ground… I don’t notice or care… feeling the heat… but what does it matter to me?… growing older?… growing smarter?… learned over time… that the more I try to fix… the worst everything becomes… can’t dodge the flames forever… but until they touch the skin?… what difference does it make?…

Life is a spinning wheel it seems… there is always something… something in the way… something clearing a path… something hurting me… something trying to kill… and it all feel so useless… does it matter if it will come any way?… I wouldn’t stand in front of a moving train and think I can stop this… so why would I fight the fucking wheel?… with the same out come… what am I fighting so hard for?… feel almost as if my human switches has been turned off… the passion… the drive… the anger… the screaming… doesn’t change a god damn thing… so why bother with any of it?…

How I feel… feels like depression… but maybe it is just realization… happenstance of enlightenment… this all comes off as me being an asshole and something so much more than I should be… duality of a situation… spent too much time trying to figure it all out… only to understand there is nothing at all to figure out… finding hope in the scars… looking for truth in a lie… burying myself so I don’t die… all pointless if you ask me…

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Chewing On Glass Presents… See Through the Light Into The Darkness…

The body lays on the ground before me pale and mutilated. So, pale that it doesn’t even look human at first. She lays stretched out in a cross like formation. Her hands not nailed to a board, but spiked into the ground. Both palms and one large spike through the ankles. No blood lies in her palms. No blood at all on the body. Could that be why she is so pale? The body has been placed here. Left here naked and abused. Whoever did this didn’t care for her, but what she represented to them. Jealousy? Lust? Foot prints all around the body. Us, him, or them? Can’t tell until it is all said and done. Still processing the body. Could be hours before we could even begin to find out. Must assume that it is more than one. I don’t like to assume. Leads down the wrong path. Goes places we shouldn’t. Her hands are stretched out not clinched. No, other wounds besides the palms and ankles. How did she die where she didn’t cling her hands? Natural to close our fists in pain. Did she die in pain? Where is the blood and where did it come out? Arms are clear of track marks. No usual signs of drugs. Body covered in tattoos, piercings, and what looks like other body modifications. She had money or money to burn. The work is good. Not cheap. Someone would have known if she had been missing. How long has she been missing? Who is she? Rubbing my eyes and as they make that funny wet sound a voice brings me back to reality.

“We found her like this,” a uniformed officer says nervously. He is trying to not act as though he isn’t bothered by this. Playing the part of the strong cop, but no one is used to seeing this. Not even me I want to say, but keep it to myself. “Sent in a call to the F.B.I. and here you are,” the lead detective finishes for him. Here I am. This shouldn’t even be my assignment. This is my areas of expertise, but nowhere near my home office.  Of course something like this had to happen while I was down here for a seminar. Go teach a class on homicidal profiling, take a break from the field, enjoy the calm relaxing atmosphere of the south my boss told me. Now I’m stuck here for at least a few days if not until this is solved. “You don’t speak much do you? Quiet type?” The lead detective asks me. “Is this the first?” I ask ignoring his basic observation of me. “The first what?” He throws back at me. “The first murder of this nature? Nothing about this says one and done,” I say to him. “Oh, yeah it is. Ain’t been nothing like this ever done here before,” he says confidently. “I’m going to need you or the officer to reach out to the other counties and possibly the surrounding states to confirm that,” I ask of him. “I told you nothing like this before,” the lead detective says hostile. “Here, but there are how many other counties in this state or the surrounding ones? We need to know all the information that we can,” I inform him. He steps closer to me, “We are trying to keep this, this crime from the getting out. No one needs to know that this happened here. The town can’t afford such a thing.” The lead detective gives me a serious look of concern. “It is a little late for all of that,” I say to him. “You telling me a guy with your smarts can’t solve this all quick like?” He asks me. I can’t tell if he is being a smart ass or I’m hyper sensitive at the moment. “That is not how my job works,” I say taking the high road. “Sure it does. They say you’re like a body whisper or something like that. You’ve solved all kinds of cases and what not,” he rationalizes. “I helped solve all kinds of cases and what not. It takes more than one person to solve these types of murders. I need the information I asked for and I’m going to need a lot more than a body nailed to the ground to help you solve this case,” I tell him. “I’ll get someone on it then,” he says annoyed. “I’m also going to need every ones shoe print before they leave here,” I slip in. “What? In the hell would we need that for?” He questions. “Way too many foot prints around the body. Either you have a much larger team of forensic experts or there was more than one person laying down the body,” I say pointing at the grass around the body. “I need to go and finish out my assignment. Call me when you get the report back from the coroner,” I hand him my cell number. “I’ll place some calls with my department and see if I can’t find any more helpful information,” I finish. “Is that all?” He asks annoyed. “Yeah, don’t screw this up and be prepared to find more. If this is a local thing. It is not going to stop at this,” I say walking back to my rental car.

“See the way the bodies are arranged? It’s a message, a warning. These aren’t satanic killings. These are Christian in nature,” I point out. “No, good Christian would do a thing like this,” the lead detective objects. “No, but a bad one might,” I say amazed I even have to say it at all. It is shocking to think that even in this day and age it might seem to out of place for such a thing in the south. Religious extremist come in all shapes and sizes. “I’m telling you no one who believes in God would ever do a thing like this,” he says as though reading from a script. “Unless it was for a purpose. The bible is riddled with stories of justice brought on by violence. Every Christian church has a statue of Jesus nailed to a cross. Not standing next to. Nailed to a cross, hands bound, and a crown made of thrones placed on his head. This wasn’t the work of Satanists or the occult. This is Christian in nature. The only question in my mind is how many?” I lay out. “How many what?” He asks. “How many people are involved and how many more victims are we going to stumble upon?” My presented questions go unanswered as they should. “I’m going to need an APB out on nay traveling Christian groups, any churches with overly religious themes, and anything of that nature,” I say into the phone. “Hold on just a minute. Do you have any idea where you are? This is the south. You’ve just halted traffic from here to Georgia,” he says. “Good, then our killer or killers will have no place to go. We need to find them and find them quickly,” I tell him. “Agree, but there is no way this is going to happen. The state doesn’t have the man power to cover every road in and out of this state. They could be days ahead of us,” he says. The first smart thing he has said in all this time. “Well we still need whatever man power you have looking out for these types of people,” I say again. “I suppose I could lock down the whole state while I’m at it,” he says sarcastically. “If you think it will help,” I say right back. “I have to go. Call me back when you have the report on the body,” I inform him before hanging up. Walking back onto the tiny school auditorium stage I address the audience of officers once again. My mind on the case and my mouth reciting something entirely else. The sooner I get back to the case the sooner I can get out of here.

“Why her though?” The detective asks me. “Why not her? Is what you should be asking,” I say to him as we look at her body on the metal slab. “Said it yourself earlier. There’s not a girl like her for hundreds of miles in any direction. She is tattooed, pierced up, and most importantly different,” I say to the detective. “So you think because she is different she is a target?” He asks. “If we are to believe the religious nature of this killings and the others that might be connected, then yes.” I walk around the body and try to look at her from another angle. “Hold on, not this again. I’m telling you the killer ain’t Christian. No good Christian could do this,” he says frustrated. I feel as though this is a road block I will never be able to get around until it is too late. “You shouldn’t be even pushing towards this hunch of yours you got going,” he spits on the floor of the examination room, a nice big wad of tobacco and saliva. “I assure you I am not pushing towards the Christian killer or killers. The facts however are. Either the killer is Christian or they are a huge fan of the Bible. Either way we both can agree that they are not receiving the message.” He rolls his eyes, “I ain’t agreeing to shit. I mean who does this?” He points at the victims groin area. “I mean look at these pictures,” he hands me the photos. “What kind of sick freak does this to a lady? Even a lady like her.” I push the photo back, “She did that to herself or she paid to have it done. Cutting slits into the labia has become something of a fade lately. You can see this in that the skin around the slits is already scared over. This tells me that she was passionate about her body modifications and that is about it. Nothing else to go on about that.” He cringes in horror at every word that I say. He seems more visibly upset over the body mods than he did this morning at the crime scene. “People do this to themselves?” He asks once again. “People do all kinds of things to themselves. This is pretty new. Not a lot of people doing this. Most mods serve a purpose such as image or perception. This one in particular is private. Doesn’t serve an overall purpose that we could help us. Even if we tried to tack down where she got it done it would lead to a dead end,” I rationalize out loud. “I just can’t believe,” he says as he shakes his head. “There are so many things you can’t believe out there. Not important. There’s nothing here beyond the obvious. No finger prints, no semen, no blunt force trauma, and least of all anything to go on. We can wait for the toxicology report, but unless that comes back with some rare drug we don’t have shit,” I say frustrated. “So, we sit and wait then?” He asks. “So it seems,” I say. The door of the exam room opens and a portly man walks in with a clip board. “Did you get through the whole report?” He asks. “Skimmed through the bullets points,” I tell him. “Any idea why they would choose to drain all her blood through her vagina?” He asks. “What?” I flip through the report once again. “They wiped the area around the vagina clean, but when I was examining for trauma and semen that’s when I noticed something odd. It seems they didn’t want to disturb the outside of her body so they went from within. She had to have been drugged or dosed with something, but there is no needle marks that I could find. So either she swallowed something willingly or she sat there calmly as they mutilated her insides,” the pathologist say calmly. “That doesn’t make any sense,” I say. “Nope, most mutilations like that would have to have some sort of sexual element to them. She wasn’t a virgin, but it has been sometime since she had any type of intercourse. Obviously I can’t pinpoint an exact date, but it hasn’t been any time recent. This has some religious aspect written all over it,” he informs us. I look at the detective and he rolls his eyes. “I believe that too, but even Jesus went through hell before they placed him on a cross. So what was her crime and why not kill her another way?” I ask them. “Are you really questioning such a thing?” The lead detective asks. “Whoever did this is obviously sick,” he follows up. “Local PD,” the examiner says to me. I nod my head. “What the hell does that mean,” the detective says offended. “Nothing,” the examiner says. “I wish I could be more help, but this body is clean. Perfect almost except for the inner genitals,” he says. “So it wasn’t just one?” I ask. “Not even close. If I had to guess nailing her to the ground wasn’t the first option. I think they may have tried to first shove a stake through her, but it didn’t work out? Not sure. Whatever they put up there wasn’t very big. As I said she hasn’t been penetrated for a while,” he shrugs. “All I know is you two have your work cut out for you.”

The body lays on the ground before me pale and mutilated. So, pale that it doesn’t even look human at first. She lays stretched out in a cross like formation. Her hands not nailed to a board, but spiked into the ground. Both palms and one large spike through the ankles. No blood lies in her palms. No blood at all on the body. Could that be why she is so pale? The body has been placed here. Left here naked and abused. Whoever did this didn’t care for her, but what she represented to them. Jealousy? Lust? Foot prints all around the body. Us, him, or them? Can’t tell until it is all said and done. Still processing the body. Could be hours before we could even begin to find out. Must assume that it is more than one. I don’t like to assume. Leads down the wrong path. Goes places we shouldn’t. Her hands are stretched out not clinched. No, other wounds besides the palms and ankles. How did she die where she didn’t cling her hands? Natural to close our fists in pain. Did she die in pain? Where is the blood and where did it come out? Arms are clear of track marks. No usual signs of drugs. Body covered in tattoos, piercings, and what looks like other body modifications. She had money or money to burn. The work is good. Not cheap. Someone would have known if she had been missing. How long has she been missing? Who is she? Rubbing my eyes and as they make that funny wet sound a voice brings him back to reality.

“We found her like this,” a uniformed officer says nervously. He is trying to not act as though he isn’t bothered by this. Playing the part of the strong cop, but no one is used to seeing this. Not even me he wants to say, but keep it to himself. “Sent in a call to the F.B.I. and here you are,” the lead detective finishes for him. Here he is. This shouldn’t even be his assignment. This is his areas of expertise, but nowhere near his home office.  Of course something like this had to happen while he was down here for a seminar. Go teach a class on homicidal profiling, take a break from the field, enjoy the calm relaxing atmosphere of the south his boss told him. Now he is stuck here for at least a few days if not until this is solved. “You don’t speak much do you? Quiet type?” The lead detective asks him. “Is this the first?” He asks ignoring the basic observation of him. He has always been a thinker. Most people can’t take it, but he can’t change who he is. “The first what?” The Lead detective throws back at him. “The first murder of this nature? Nothing about this says one and done,” He says to him. “Oh, yeah it is. Ain’t been nothing like this ever done here before,” he says confidently. “I’m going to need you or the officer to reach out to the other counties and possibly the surrounding states to confirm that,” He questions. “I told you nothing like this before,” the lead detective says hostile. “Here, but there are how many other counties in this state or the surrounding ones? We need to know all the information that we can,” He inform him. The lead detective steps closer to him, “We are trying to keep this, this crime from the getting out. No one needs to know that this happened here. The town can’t afford such a thing.” The lead detective gives him a serious look of concern. “It is a little late for all of that,” He smiles. “You telling me a guy with your smarts can’t solve this all quick like?” The detective asks him. He can’t tell if he is being a smart ass or if he is being hyper sensitive at the moment this early in his morning. “That is not how my job works,” He says taking the high road. “Sure it does. They say you’re like a body whisper or something like that. You’ve solved all kinds of cases and what not,” The detective rationalizes. “I helped solve all kinds of cases and what not. It takes more than one person to solve these types of murders. I need the information I asked for and I’m going to need a lot more than a body nailed to the ground to help you solve this case,” He looks back down to the body. “I’ll get someone on it then,” The detective says annoyed. “I’m also going to need every ones shoe print before they leave here,” He slip in. “What? In the hell would we need that for?” The detective questions. “Way too many foot prints around the body. Either you have a much larger team of forensic experts or there was more than one person laying down the body,” He points at the grass around the body. “I need to go and finish out my assignment. Call me when you get the report back from the coroner,” He hands the detective his business card containing his cell number. “I’ll place some calls with my department and see if I can’t find any more helpful information,” He informs. “Is that all?” He asks annoyed. “Yeah, don’t screw this up and be prepared to find more. If this is a local thing. It is not going to stop at this,” He tells them walking back to his rental car.

“See the way the bodies are arranged? It’s a message, a warning. These aren’t satanic killings. These are Christian in nature,” He points out in the pictures. “No, good Christian would do a thing like this,” the lead detective objects. “No, but a bad one might,” He says amazed he’d even have to say it at all. It is shocking to think that even in this day and age it might seem to out of place for such a thing in the south. Religious extremist come in all shapes and sizes. He thinks to himself.  “I’m telling you no one who believes in God would ever do a thing like this,” The Detective says as though reading from a script. “Unless it was for a purpose. The bible is riddled with stories of justice brought on by violence. Every Christian church has a statue of Jesus nailed to a cross. Not standing next to. Nailed to a cross, hands bound, and a crown made of thrones placed on his head. This wasn’t the work of Satanists or the occult. This is Christian in nature. The only question in my mind is how many?” He says as he looks down at the picture in front of him. “How many what?” He asks. “How many people are involved and how many more victims are we going to stumble upon?” His presented questions go unanswered as they should. “I’m going to need an APB out on any traveling Christian groups, any churches with overly religious themes, and anything of that nature,” He says picking up his phone. “Hold on just a minute. Do you have any idea where you are? This is the south. You’ve just halted traffic from here to Georgia,” The detective laughs. “Good, then our killer or killers will have no place to go. We need to find them and find them quickly,” He tells him. “Agree, but there is no way this is going to happen. The people of the south may be cool, calm, and collective, but they are still human. No one is that friendly anywhere. Besides the state doesn’t have the man power to cover every road in and out of this state, and I can guarantee the other states don’t either. They could be days ahead of us,” The detective points out. The first smart thing he has said in all this time he thinks to himself. “Well we still need whatever man power you have looking out for these types of people,” He says again. “I suppose I could lock down the whole state while I’m at it,” The detective says sarcastically. “If you think it will help,” He smiles right back. “I have to go. Call me back when you have the report on the body,” He inform him before excusing himself. “I need to get back to why I am here.” Walking back onto the tiny school auditorium stage he address the audience of officers once again. His mind is on the case and his mouth reciting something entirely else. The sooner he get back to the case the sooner he can get out of here. “Why her though?” The detective asks him. “Why not her? Is what you should be asking,” He says to him as they look at her body on the metal slab. “Said it yourself earlier. There’s not a girl like her for hundreds of miles in any direction. She is tattooed, pierced up, and most importantly different,” He says to the detective. “So you think because she is different she is a target?” The detective asks. “If we are to believe the religious nature of this killings and the others that might be connected, then yes.” He walks around the body and try to look at her from another angle. “Hold on, not this again. I’m telling you the killer ain’t Christian. No good Christian could do this,” The detective says frustrated. He feel as though this is a road block he will never be able to get around until it is too late. “You shouldn’t be even pushing towards this hunch of yours you got going,” The detective spits on the floor of the examination room, a nice big wad of tobacco and saliva. “I assure you I am not pushing towards the Christian killer or killers. The facts however are. Either the killer is Christian or they are a huge fan of the Bible. Either way we both can agree that they are not receiving the message.” The detective rolls his eyes, “I ain’t agreeing to shit. I mean who does this?” He points at the victims groin area. “I mean look at these pictures,” The detective presents the photos once again. “What kind of sick freak does this to a lady? Even a lady like her.” he pushes the photo back, “She did that to herself or she paid to have it done. Cutting slits into the labia has become something of a fade lately. You can see this in that the skin around the slits is already scared over. This tells me that she was passionate about her body modifications and that is about it. Nothing else to go on about that.” The detective cringes in horror at every word that he says. The detective seems more visibly upset over the body mods than he did this morning at the crime scene. “People do this to themselves?” The detective asks once again as though the words are lost on him. “People do all kinds of things to themselves. This is pretty new. Not a lot of people doing this. Most mods serve a purpose such as image or perception. This one in particular is private. Doesn’t serve an overall purpose that we could help us. Even if we tried to tack down where she got it done it would lead to a dead end,” He rationalize out loud. “I just can’t believe,” The detective says as he shakes his head. “There are so many things you can’t believe out there. Not important. There’s nothing here beyond the obvious. No finger prints, no semen, no blunt force trauma, and least of all anything to go on. We can wait for the toxicology report, but unless that comes back with some rare drug we don’t have shit,” He says frustrated. “So, we sit and wait then?” The detective asks. “So it seems,” he responds. The door of the exam room opens and a portly man walks in with a clip board. “Did you get through the whole report?” The examiner asks. “Skimmed through the bullets points,” he tells him. “Any idea why they would choose to drain all her blood through her vagina?” The examiner asks. “What?” He flips through the report once again. “They wiped the area around the vagina clean, but when I was examining for trauma and semen that’s when I noticed something odd. It seems they didn’t want to disturb the outside of her body so they went from within. She had to have been drugged or dosed with something, but there is no needle marks that I could find. So either she swallowed something willingly or she sat there calmly as they mutilated her insides,” the examiner says calmly. “That doesn’t make any sense,” He says puzzled. “Nope, most mutilations like that would have to have some sort of sexual element to them. She wasn’t a virgin, but it has been sometime since she had any type of intercourse. Obviously I can’t pinpoint an exact date, but it hasn’t been any time recent. This has some religious aspect written all over it,” the examiner informs them off handed. He looks at the detective and he rolls his eyes. “I believe that too, but even Jesus went through hell before they placed him on a cross. So what was her crime and why not kill her another way?” He asks the room. “Are you really questioning such a thing?” The lead detective asks. “Whoever did this is obviously sick,” The detective follows up. “Local PD,” the examiner says to him. He nods his head. “What the hell does that mean,” the detective says offended. “Nothing,” the examiner answers. “I wish I could be more help, but this body is clean. Perfect almost except for the inner genitals,” the examiner informs them. “So it wasn’t just one?” He asks. “Not even close. If I had to guess nailing her to the ground wasn’t the first option. I think they may have tried to first shove a stake through her, but it didn’t work out? Not sure. Whatever they put up there wasn’t very big. As I said she hasn’t been penetrated for a while,” the examiner shrugs. “All I know is you two have your work cut out for you.”

“Why her though?” The detective asks me. “Why not her? Is what you should be asking,” I say to him as we look at her body on the metal slab. “Said it yourself earlier. There’s not a girl like her for hundreds of miles in any direction. She is tattooed, pierced up, and most importantly different,” I say to the detective. “So you think because she is different she is a target?” He asks. “If we are to believe the religious nature of this killings and the others that might be connected, then yes.” I walk around the body and try to look at her from another angle. “Hold on, not this again. I’m telling you the killer ain’t Christian. No good Christian could do this,” he says frustrated. I feel as though this is a road block I will never be able to get around until it is too late. “You shouldn’t be even pushing towards this hunch of yours you got going,” he spits on the floor of the examination room, a nice big wad of tobacco and saliva. “I assure you I am not pushing towards the Christian killer or killers. The facts however are. Either the killer is Christian or they are a huge fan of the Bible. Either way we both can agree that they are not receiving the message.” He rolls his eyes, “I ain’t agreeing to shit. I mean who does this?” He points at the victims groin area. “I mean look at these pictures,” he hands me the photos. “What kind of sick freak does this to a lady? Even a lady like her.” I push the photo back, “She did that to herself or she paid to have it done. Cutting slits into the labia has become something of a fade lately. You can see this in that the skin around the slits is already scared over. This tells me that she was passionate about her body modifications and that is about it. Nothing else to go on about that.” He cringes in horror at every word that I say. He seems more visibly upset over the body mods than he did this morning at the crime scene. “People do this to themselves?” He asks once again. “People do all kinds of things to themselves. This is pretty new. Not a lot of people doing this. Most mods serve a purpose such as image or perception. This one in particular is private. Doesn’t serve an overall purpose that we could help us. Even if we tried to tack down where she got it done it would lead to a dead end,” I rationalize out loud. “I just can’t believe,” he says as he shakes his head. “There are so many things you can’t believe out there. Not important. There’s nothing here beyond the obvious. No finger prints, no semen, no blunt force trauma, and least of all anything to go on. We can wait for the toxicology report, but unless that comes back with some rare drug we don’t have shit,” I say frustrated. “So, we sit and wait then?” He asks. “So it seems,” I say. The door of the exam room opens and a portly man walks in with a clip board. “Did you get through the whole report?” He asks. “Skimmed through the bullets points,” I tell him. “Any idea why they would choose to drain all her blood through her vagina?” He asks. “What?” I flip through the report once again. “They wiped the area around the vagina clean, but when I was examining for trauma and semen that’s when I noticed something odd. It seems they didn’t want to disturb the outside of her body so they went from within. She had to have been drugged or dosed with something, but there is no needle marks that I could find. So either she swallowed something willingly or she sat there calmly as they mutilated her insides,” the pathologist say calmly. “That doesn’t make any sense,” I say. “Nope, most mutilations like that would have to have some sort of sexual element to them. She wasn’t a virgin, but it has been sometime since she had any type of intercourse. Obviously I can’t pinpoint an exact date, but it hasn’t been any time recent. This has some religious aspect written all over it,” he informs us. I look at the detective and he rolls his eyes. “I believe that too, but even Jesus went through hell before they placed him on a cross. So what was her crime and why not kill her another way?” I ask them. “Are you really questioning such a thing?” The lead detective asks. “Whoever did this is obviously sick,” he follows up. “Local PD,” the examiner says to me. I nod my head. “What the hell does that mean,” the detective says offended. “Nothing,” the examiner says. “I wish I could be more help, but this body is clean. Perfect almost except for the inner genitals,” he says. “So it wasn’t just one?” I ask. “Not even close. If I had to guess nailing her to the ground wasn’t the first option. I think they may have tried to first shove a stake through her, but it didn’t work out? Not sure. Whatever they put up there wasn’t very big. As I said she hasn’t been penetrated for a while,” he shrugs. “All I know is you two have your work cut out for you.”

End Part 1

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Chewing On Glass Presents… My Nightmare…

She screams as she awakens. She doesn’t know what is wrong, but I do. It happens each and every night since she was born. Always as I reach deep sleep. Always at the exact moment that I believe tonight is the night I will sleep. It is as if she knows and must awaken at this moment. She is in my head. I know because I can feel it. She is only a small child, but I can tell already something is not right about her. Something is off. I can feel that too. She does things that I can’t understand. It must be through her mind like some kind of freak. I gave birth to some sort of freak baby. My womb must be tainted. Was it something I did? I haven’t gotten a single night’s sleep in days or maybe it has been months. I’m losing time because her cries have turned into time. She cries and cries as if she knows that I am suffering. She does it on purpose. I know it because I can feel it. What did I do to be cursed by this demon child? When I check on her she is all smiles. She wears a smile of pure enjoyment. She fooled me in the beginning. Tricked me into thinking one thing when another was happening. She knows what she is doing. I know what she is doing. The little bastard enjoys my pain, enjoys destroying me from the inside. She is the devil playing her little mind games of cat and mouse. I won’t play them no more. She cries hour after hour, but I’m not going to play these games. They told me to let her cry. It is a stage. I believe their lies for too long. Until I figured out the truth. The truth is lord and she is the spawn of something else. What does that make me?

She is only a child I repeat in my head. She is barely able to comprehend sound and light, but already she is conniving. Already she has begun to destroy me. To seek out my death. What does the future hold for me if I don’t get rid of her? A lifetime of pain and suffering. This is only the beginning I remind myself as her cries get louder and louder. Get rid of this madness before it sinks in any deeper? I must get rid of her somehow. Make it look like an accident. Parents take knives to their baby’s cribs all the time right? It just fell in there somehow. She told me that she wanted it officer. Wanted to help me with dinner I could tell them. Have I lost my mind? I can’t just let her cry. I can’t let her suffer even if she is doing the same to me. Tears stream from my eyes as I look over her. Her cries stop and her smile comes back. This is only the beginning. She will only continue to do this for the rest of her life, the rest of mine. I can’t sit back and watch what she will become. More tears fall from my face as I know what I must do.

So, peaceful but it is only a farce. A trick she uses against me to play with my emotions. I stare into her little blue eyes and they stare right back. “What are you plotting?” I scream into her smiling face. She laughs and giggles. Taunting me to do it. She is not a child. She is not my child, but a demon. A perversion of innocence. She is something so far worse. I know it because I can feel it. A mother knows these things. A mother can feel these things. She came from me. No one understands her, knows her like I do, and no one else is suffering like I am. Not my husband, not the neighbors around us. Me and only me. Maybe that’s it. Maybe she is suffering. Projecting her misery on to me. She wants me to end her suffering. I’m not killing her, but helping her. That has to be it I think. A wave of happiness washes over me. A feeling I haven’t felt in months as I rub my finger gently on her soft cheek. “I know what I must do,” I say to her in a soft tone. Her face is consumed by her smile and I know that she knows too. All this time and that is all that it was. What needs to be done must be done. She cries, she screams as soon as I walk away. Walk my way to the kitchen and to the knife block. Could there be any other way to do it? She must want this because it is the only way I can think to get this done. Her mind powers are the only answer. The butcher knife slides right of the knife block and I make my way back to her room. Make my way back to her crib.

The screaming stops once again. Her eyes open wide and full and she smiles at the sight of me. Merrily a distraction I tell myself. Must not let it stop me. What needs to be done needs to be done. I hold the large knife over her little body. Her night light bouncing off the side of the steel. She giggles and reach for the knife raised above her. This has to be done I tell myself. I try to begin to bring the knife down on her. One blow, one quick motion to the chest I plan. The knife stops its decent. My arms stop motionless. Tears flowing down my face. I struggle to drive the knife any further. I can’t move any further despite all my trying. It is like someone is standing behind me holding me back. My shoulders, my elbows, my arms feel as if they will burst as I fight the invisible force. “It has to be done,” I scream into the night. “It has to be done,” I beg the invisible force. “It has to be done.” It is her that is stopping me. Her glowing eyes and demonic smile. I fight her for as long as I can, but I am too weak even for a child. I feel my arm snap against my will and I scream out in agony. Against my own will my right hand grips the knife handle. Somehow she gets me to place the blade at my throat. “Please don’t,” I beg her, but what are words to an infant? She smiles at my suffering. Same as before. Same as always. “It was only an accident. A lapse of faith due to a lack of sleep. I didn’t mean to do this. If you’d just let mommy sleep then I could think straight. I wouldn’t even dream of doing this,” I try to reason with her. The knife press harder against my throat. “I didn’t mean it,” I say one last time. She giggles as the knife gently slides across my throat by my own hand. I should be grateful to die, but I fear what awaits me on the other side. Blood spraying all over her little body with every beat of my heart. I fear what awaits everyone I leave behind. No one will know what is still left to be done. No one is going to know what a mother knows. This child, this demon will grow and more innocent people will die. The feeling in my mind escapes me as everything in front of me begins to slip in and out. Her laughter only growing louder as I black out. “Someone needs to destroy you,” I try to say, but it is too late.

I wake up screaming in my bed. “Someone needs to destroy you,” I hear myself shout. Startling my husband from a dead sleep. My hands fight the nothing that surrounds me until he takes a hold of them. “Suzanne it is only a dream. Wake up,” He says to me. “The baby,” I scream hysterical. “There is no baby,” He screams back at me in shock rather than anger. “Calm down,” he says to me. I try to relax. Think of where I am, but I can’t shake the feeling. “The baby,” I say again. “There is no baby sweetheart. You aren’t even pregnant,” He says as he lets go of my hands. He takes a deep breath, “It was only a nightmare Suzanne.” I rub my bare stomach. “No, it wasn’t. I need to get it out of me before it is too late,” I say calmly. “Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?” He asks me. “Even if it were true. Why in the hell would we get rid of it? As long as we have been trying? There is no way we are getting rid of a miracle baby,” He says to me annoyed. “It needs to be done,” I say staring into his eyes. “This is no miracle. This thing inside me is a curse,” I say to him. “You aren’t even pregnant,” he shouts in frustration. “A mother knows,” I whisper to myself. A mother knows.

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