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The Confessions of a Pent-up Psychotic I didn’t kill him. I never meant to kill him. But I admit I had murder on my mind. He made me so angry. I think he snapped one too many emotional twigs. He made me feel worthless. I wanted him to feel dead. I didn’t mean that literally. How could I have gotten him strung from the ceiling? There was just this red haze clearing and suddenly I see him hanging there…his hands dangling…his feet no longer twitching. He looked like a rag doll. His neck was twisted like my pretty golden bird. My pretty bird’s song. He hated my bird…He killed it. He killed it. He deserved what he got. He can’t stop me anymore…I’ll be able to sing all I want now…He can’t stop me... The Doctor said with proper medication I might be able to sing in the choir again some day. That is, after they figure out whether I have post traumatic stress disorder, or if I’m a schizophrenic killer. (Giggles maniacally) The Chaplain said God could make me better, if I accepted Jesus as my personal savior and confessed my sins. But I am without sins. What was done to my husband was God’s will. My husband was a sinful man…he deserved God’s judgment. He deserved what he got. When we were alone he was terrible. I got so scared sometimes that I screamed. And then he’d yell. “I swear to God, you scream one more time wench, and I will string you up by your neck till your eyeballs pop out!” Do unto others as they do unto you…Do unto others as they do unto you…Do unto others as they do unto you… I did. Post a comment in response: |
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