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Once there was a young boy, who was wise beyond his years. His old soul was kind, peaceful, and loving. The boy's parents were blinded by religion, and when the boy saw how they acted, he rebelled against them. They got angry at the boy for this, and when he tried to explain that they had been brainwashed by their church, they got furious. In order to show them what their religion was doing to them, he refused to speak for a week. On the first day, the parents didn't notice him. On the second day, they started to notice the boy's behavior, and tried to talk to him, to get him to talk back. The boy remained silent still. On the third day, the parents got angry. The father, who the boy knew was not his real father, would not even look at the boy. The mother was the opposite, in that she screamed at the boy, and told him that he had to ask for dinner, in order to get it. Yet the boy still refused to talk. On the fourth day, the parents locked the boy in his room, until he talked. yet he still did not let out a single sound. On the fifth day, the boy saw how corrupt the parents really were, when they decided that in order to make the boy speak, they would beat the sound out of him. the boy remained strong, and refused to even cry. On the sixth day, the parents gave up torturing the boy, gave him a warm dinner, and let him be. When the week finally ended, the boy spoke only one sentence:

"You say you want what is best for me, but you beat me, starve me, and shun me, for the smallest problems; you are liars, and failures."

With that, the boy's soul was torn apart, and thus, Hannibal The Demonic was born, killing the once kind spirit of the boy.

I looked at myself in the mirror for a long time today. I saw every bump, scar, and mark, and what I saw when I looked harder was confusing. on one side of my mind, I hated myself, despised every imperfection about me, and loathed every story that came with it. Another side of my mind loved every scar, every scratch, and every sick and sadistic thought that ever did cross my mind. A third side of my mind told me to stop analyzing every detail. It told me to take a look, that this is what I have become, this is what I have created.

I've sat in this house and listened to the sounds that go on around me, and I have discovered peace in silence. However, there is no silence. I've wandered the town at night for adventure, and realized there is only one thing more thrilling than life itself. It is the one thing that everyone faces eventually. There is nothing more thrilling than death. It is beautiful, and frightening. So here I stand, on the edge of life, on one of the many roofs in Seattle. The cool breeze of the night plays with my hair, and taunts me, wishing I would take that final step, letting the wind take what's left of my soul to the depths of the unknown. So exciting, so enticing. But I cannot. I still have work. I still

have to save lives. When I'm done, then I can proceed. Until then, I must decline such a lovely offer. My sincere apologies,



~Hannibal The Demonic

There are times in one's life where they become so desperate, they will do anything to get what they need. For some people, it's heroin, for some, it's crack. For me, it was blood. No thirst has ever been as painful as the one I have experienced. By the time I finally fed, I had migraines, I couldn't keep down food, and my eyes turned black and my cheeks turned hollow. This was the first time I fed on myself.

It was a Saturday night, and my throat burned with the desire for blood. I was itching for just a little taste. A small amount, and I would be fine. I couldn't take it anymore, and I grabbed for the sharpest thing around me. In my right hand, I held my razor, and slowly with pressure, I cut open my left bicep, so deep that I slightly damaged the muscle. It bled so much, and before I realized exactly what I was doing, I was feasting on my own body. I blacked out, but when I came to, my face was covered in blood as well as my hands. I lost part of my mind forever after that.

From the time I was little, I was different. I could do things that the other kids couldn't, I was able to have full and in-depth conversations with adults. I was better at solving puzzles. But I lacked one thing that almost every other kid I knew had: my parents' love

The one thing that every child needs in order to survive, sanely and happily, was the one thing that was never good enough for. My mother hates to look at my face, and my adopted father just wants peace in the house.

I remember one night, when I said I was going to kill myself, my parents sent me to my room for being hysterical. They walked in on a bloody mess all over my arm and chest. And they got mad at me for it. They were mad at the fact that I almost got blood on the carpet. They don't care if I die. Hell, they would welcome it. So why not finally make them happy?

Why do they always get louder? The voices in my head beat against my brains, as if a shotgun kept going off inside my head. I can't take it anymore! They never stop arguing, no matter what I say. I'm hopeless. Broken by my own mind. Incredible . I am corruption. I am hopelessness. I am the monster in the closet, and the beast under the

bed. No more survival. No more happiness.

How did I become this? I was innocent, I was young, I was kind. Everything about me was like that of every other child. So what changed? What was so wrong with me as to deserve to be left on the floor, branded by the devil? Where was my so called "guardian angel" in my darkest time of need? I got my answer recently. I have a fallen angel. My guardian angel is the devil, and I am cursed to walk in his shadow for an eternity on this cruel world. My calling is to ward off the unforgiven. The true monsters of humanity. My job is to slay the unjust murderers, and the rapists of this world. Such a calling is not usually meant for someone who is seventeen years old, but I have vowed to do my best. This is my fate, and I have come to realize that, though it is a curse, it is an honorable life.

After I made the first incision, I couldn't help myself. It was bleeding so much, and for lack of self-control, I latched on. It was on her neck, so it was bleeding more than I had expected. Her sweet blood poured into my mouth, and I just kept sucking. Eventually she stopped bleeding, so I cut her again, on the wrist. She kept telling me that it was okay, that she was fine. She stopped bleeding from her wrist and I (without hesitation) cut her a third time. At this point I was losing control, so I ran away. I did follow her home, to find that the last cut I made on her was the deepest. It was just below her shoulder, flayed open but not too bad. It was still bleeding though, and I was still hungry. So I climbed up to her window and she let me in. She was very scared at this point. She'd never seen this side of me. She let me feed on her for a third time that night, and I gave her my mark. She has been claimed by me, and now I have my personal blood slave.

COMMENTS

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BeautifulEnlightenment
14:55 Mar 24 2015

Wow.. This reads like a story. I'm hooked LOL! What happens next???

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