The human mind is a delicate thing

The homo musical theme is a delicate thing. At times it can create much(prenominal) wonderful ideas beautiful art, drama and works of fiction scientific tools to enrich our lives. Yet it has a dark side, a side people like to keep hidden. However there are events which can bring this to the muster My name is John Frederson this is my taleIt was about ten years ago now, I was at the height of my childhood and life was wonderful. My parents were wealthy aristocrats who own a vast estate, one that easily spanned the length of three footb exclusively pitches it was like our own private country. The garden brimmed with greenery there were shrubs and trees everywhere, raise by the beautiful roses, tulips and foxgloves creating a living rainbow. If you listened close enough Im accredited the flowers sang along with the chorus instigated by the angelic doves and nightingales the heavenly descent was comparable to that of any church choir. instanter the house, or I should vocalise mansion, we lived in was non as magical as the garden, just a large house, not quite a mansion. There were everyday appliances and rheumy floorboards which added to the character of the abode it was most like a grand pose to me, providing soothe warmth and security. But that was nothing compared the loving embrace of my parents. Both of them voteless working, honest people they cleaned the house, tended the gardens and cooked the meals all themselves, they didnt believe in maids or butlers. I loved them more than anything in this world, and thanks to my home tutoring they were the still friends I had. Then one day it happened.Miles Come here my boy my father called to me, so at once I hurried over as fast as I could (he was not a man you unplowed waiting). Yes daddy what do you need?Well your mother is away in the car so perhaps you could cycle put through to the store and carry a jar of coffee and pint of milk for me? I wasnt positive(predicate) whether that manner of spea king was put on or if he genuinely did speak so exaggeratedly. But I quickly dispelled these thoughts and sauntered off down the country road to the local supermarket. Looking stern, I realise that I was very lucky father sent me out that day. I cant succor but wonder, did he know what would happen?I returned to the living way to find my mother and father had been murdered, slaughtered mercilessly by something not human no one but a demon could commit such an atrocity. Their bodies were sliced up, chopped like vegetables, their heads no longer attached this was sort of all displayed upon our finest dinner service, the heads retaining their tragic expressions of fear. As if that wasnt enough, the neurotic bastard had withal drawn, in blood, a gigantic, smiling side across the wall.I frankly didnt know how to react. I kept a tight hold of the plastic handle of the bag. My hand was ripe with sweat. My eyes gazed, unblinking, upon the scene. I look back now and wonder why I did nt shed any separate then. Maybe my emotions were so mixed. Feelings of anger. Feelings of sorrow. All of them trying to claw their way to the bulge but in vain. I didnt express what I felt. In integrity I didnt know how to. My head was doing somersaults and there was little I could do. I just remained in the doorway, gripping the bag, all the while glaring at the gruesome scene. I regained control of my body and at once proceeded to glance the atrocious face. Before I could get close enough, crash The mirror above the mantelpiece fell to the floor shattering into a one million million million fragments.Days, months and years passed yet I retained my youth. The house did not it was fluent standing, but withered and decayed. I still showed no sign of expression. The feelings were get stronger I felt myself becoming unstable.No I am not going insane I said to myself over and over at the time, ironic really. The important thing is to get help. Then everything will be better, muc h better. Speaking aloud was one of the few comforts I enjoyed. But where could I get help? The police think Im at peace(predicate) I cant let them to know Im alive. All my hard work would reach been for nothing if that were the case. After-all, a dead boy cannot kill I was sublime of having such a wonderful idea, father was proud too. Since I was declared dead in absentia I was no longer a person. As far as the law were concerned I was a remains in the ground. I would be their last possible suspect. Its brilliant Now to hunt my prey and make him suffer for what hes done. Then Ill be all better isnt that right mummy?Rummaging through dusty furniture and cobwebbed walls I searched for the ameliorate implement, brutal yet stylish. Something like a sword. That would be perfect and deliciously ironic the killer murdered by the same weapon he used. Father did you keep any swords? In the study you swear? Oh marvellous I skipped to my fathers old work room filled with a great sense of anticipation I would have the key to discharge my mind from these shackles. Once I entered the room there it was, displayed upon the wall in all its glory, yet the blade was sullied by a deep flushed stain. I took it down and grasped it strongly in my right hand. It felt pleasant, almost warm. It offered protection and redemption, yet also wrought pain and suffering neer was there such a poetic weapon. Smiling manically but happily, I left the house. It was time to have my revenge.Rain. Wet and miserable, it shrouded Belle-View house in a haunting grey mist.Doctor Robertson, may I have a word? Jeanne, the carer, called out.Yes? What do you need? the tall old man replied, his face was covered in a fine fur he was clinging conscientiously to the little hair that still occupied his head.Patient number 33 John Frederson. He hasnt had any medication for three whole eld now and people are starting to become disturbed by his screaming and detestable giggling. Permission to tranqui llise him before he hurts himself? she seemed hard put although she would never admit it.Yes yes go ahead, he took a deep sigh, if only they knew the truth.