Monsters. Monsters everywhere. They lurk in the shadows. They haunt the streets. There is no escape.
Voices. There in my head. Telling me what to do. What to say. I am trapped in my own mind.
The world is messed up. Colours are aggressive, shapes are distorted. What the hell is wrong with it? What the hell is wrong with me?
My parents are evil, they want me gone. My sister fears me, she thinks I am wicked. Family is useless anyway. No one cares anyway. We all die anyway.
Mother says I need a doctor, a whole medical team. Father says I need the Pope, the assistance of the church. Sister says I need to go. They are just intimidated by me. I am better than all of them and I want them gone. All of them. Everyone is out to get me and I want them gone. The whispers behind my back. The crying at night. They plot and they scheme, but I am ahead. I am smarter and quicker. I am the hunter, not the hunted, and when the time is right... I will strike.
There is a name for my condition. For the way, I act. I consider it a label. They branded me. They have categorised, classified, characterized me. They call me a freak, a monster, a danger to society. They call me a psychopath.