The human mind is a delicate thing

The benignant mind is a delicate thing. At times it can create such wonderful ideas beautiful art, drama and works of fiction scientific tools to enrich our lives. Yet it has a dark side, a side people prefer to advance hidden. until now there are events which can bring this to the surface My name is John Frederson this is my taleIt was about decade years ago now, I was at the height of my childhood and life was wonderful. My parents were wealthy aristocrats who owned a vast estate, one that easily spanned the length of three football pitches it was wish well our own private country. The tend brimmed with greenery there were shrubs and trees e very(prenominal)where, enhanced by the beautiful roses, tulips and foxgloves creating a living rainbow. If you listened close enough Im authorized the flowers sang along with the chorus instigated by the angelic doves and nightingales the heavenly tune was comparable to that of any church building choir. Now the house, or I should say man sion, we lived in was not as magical as the garden, equitable a large house, not quite a mansion. There were everyday appliances and creaky floorboards which added to the character of the bide it was almost like a grandfather to me, providing comforting warmth and security. But that was nothing compared the loving twinge of my parents. Both of them hard working, honest people they cleaned the house, tended the gardens and cooked the meals all themselves, they didnt believe in maids or butlers. I love them more than anything in this world, and thanks to my home tutoring they were the only friends I had. Then one day it retrieveed.Miles stupefy 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 kept waiting). Yes daddy what do you convey?Well your mother is away in the car so perhaps you could cycle down to the reposition and fetch a jar of coffee and pint of milk for me? I wasnt sure whether that manner of mouth was put on o r if he really did speak so exaggeratedly. But I chop-chop dispelled these thoughts and sauntered off down the country road to the local supermarket. Looking back, I realise that I was very lucky father sent me out that day. I cant help but wonder, did he last what would happen?I returned to the living room 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 ve witnessables, their heads no longer attached this was instead all displayed upon our finest dinner service, the heads retaining their tragic bear witnessions of fear. As if that wasnt enough, the neurotic illegitimate had also drawn, in blood, a gigantic, smiling face across the wall.I honestly 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 didnt shed any tears then. peradventure my emotions were so mixed. Feelings of anger. Feelings of sorrow. All of them trying to claw their way to the surface but in vain. I didnt express what I felt. In truth 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 require of my body and at once proceeded to inspect the atrocious face. Before I could get close enough, put in The mirror above the mantelpiece fell to the floor shattering into a million fragments.Days, months and years passed nonetheless I retained my youth. The house did not it was still standing, but withered and decayed. I still showed no sign of expression. The feelings were getting stronger I felt myself becoming unstable.No I am not exhalation 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, much better. Spe aking aloud was one of the few comforts I enjoyed. But where could I get help? The police think Im dead I cant let them to know Im alive. All my hard work would have been for nothing if that were the case. After-all, a dead boy cannot kill I was proud 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 corpse in the ground. I would be their last possible suspect. Its brilliant Now to melt down my prey and make him suffer for what hes done. Then Ill be all better isnt that right mummy?Rummaging through and through dusty furniture and cobwebbed walls I searched for the completed weapon, 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 say? Oh marvellous I skipped to my fathers old work room modify with a great sense of anticipation I would h ave the key to freeing 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 crimson stain. I took it down and grasped it strongly in my right hand. It felt pleasant, almost warm. It offered egis 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 call for? the tall old man replied, his face was covered in a fine fur he was clinging religiously to the little hair that still occupied his head.Patient number 33 John Frederson. He hasnt had any medication for three whole days now and people are starting to scram disturbed by his screaming and detestable giggling. Permission to tranquillise him before he hurts himself? she seemed stressed although she would never admit it.Yes yes go ahead, he took a deep sigh, if only they knew the truth.