Shutter My Island [Toreh]

[Semper Capone]

They said I was crazy.... ha. That's what they say about everyone that ends up here. They said that about my schizophrenic room mate when really all he needed was someone to vent to. They said that about the lady who took an axe to her husband when he cheated on her, but all she wanted was someone she could trust. Though, me and the axe lady -- I think her name's Helga -- have something in common: we've both killed people with axes. An axe was my favorite weapon of choice when.... when.... after she left me. I was so distraught.... devastated. I didn't cry, though. I kept everything bottled up like I usually do, and what happens when you open the cap of a shaken soda? It explodes. And that's what I had done.

They told me that she left me for someone else -- someone better than me. Someone smarter, someone short enough for her to reach, someone "mentally stable" enough for her. And I went mad.

The first thing I had done was gone to the fire department. They taught me how to use an axe, so that's what I got. Guns were too loud and knives were just no fun, especially when you could hack off limbs with axes. And you know what? The first people I went after were the firefighters that were inside. Fucking idiots didn't even bother to change the code to get inside the station.

Oh, the screams I heard.... all the blood.... the sounds of splintering bone.... it was wonderful. They tried to crawl away after their legs had been severed, but I stopped them.... I stopped them.... I hit their neck and then they stopped. Do you know how easily a sharpened axe can cut through a human neck? Like a warm knife through butter. And I loved it.

Their blood was everywhere.... it was all over me, too. I raised the thick blade to my face and licked the warm red liquid off of it, but it tasted really bitter for my liking, so I spit it back out. And you know what? Just to make sure that they were all dead, I sliced their heads in half, right above the ears. Brain matter, skull fragments, and shreds of skin with strands of hair on them all spewed across the tile floor with each head that was severed in half, my boots leaving sticky red prints everywhere as I traveled from corpse to corpse.

But obviously I didn't end there. I went out onto the dark street, axe slung across my shoulder, staying to the shadows even though it was night. Hardly anyone was out, and those who were walking down the sidewalk alone were making a grave mistake. I would hide, and once they were in range, I'd strike and swing the axe, hitting them anywhere I could to take them down. Once that was achieved, I hit them again, and again, and again, and again, and again.... especially the ones that looked like her. The ones that had dark wavy hair and blue eyes were specially hacked up: sever off one foot; knock them down and cover their mouth as quickly as possible; drag them off to a secluded area; hack off the other foot, then move up to the knees and sever off the shins. Be sure to cut right in the joints instead of above or below them since it causes more pain. Cut off the fingers, then at the wrist, then the elbows. Then I went on to lift up her shirt so I could draw random designs on her skin with the tip of the axe. Such random drawings.... sometimes I'd even write a name, you know. Her name. But then I'd cry, so I didn't do that often. And if I did, then I was always sure to swing the axe down as hard as I could onto the person's stomach and then leave them, moving onto another target. If I felt like it, I'd also cut open their stomach and pull out their liver and intestines, reaching up into their bodies and grabbing onto the stomach sac, tugging it so that it'd pull on their esophagus. Ohh, the muffled screams.... it was like hearing the voice of a lover whisper my name. I pulled harder, and harder, and harder until it either tore or I got bored. Then I'd finish her off with a blow to the neck, just like all the others.

So that's how I ended up here. The police did shoot me, though, since one of the officers that cornered me looked like her. It took them six hours to find me and finally catch me, but I suppose having been shot also helps catch someone. I still have the scar, you know. Right on my stomach.

They took my shoelaces and belt when I arrived here three years ago, and I never got any back. Hence why I always walk barefoot everywhere unless it's snowing outside, so then I wear my worn-out boots with no laces. But it was fall now, and though it was chilly outside, it wasn't cold enough to need shoes. A hooded sweatshirt (with no laces), yes, but still no shoes. Hell, we couldn't even shave but once a week, so all us guys had five o'clock shadows going on everyday but Thursday.

It was our free time, so like always, I was wandering around the flower patches in the courtyard, not even bothering to see if anyone was around before lightly putting my finger against a live flower and sapping the life out of it. Seeing the petals wither gave me a sick sense of joy and caused me to smile, the white flowers turning brown and crisp, bits and pieces falling off of it. I moved onto the next living flower, draining the life out of that one too. Then the next one. And the next one. And the next one. And the next one.....

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