Re-Animator

"Talking to yourself is not a sign of insanity. Answering back is".

For the longest time, I had hid away from the world. Stepping back into the shadows; vanishing from the gaze

and spotlight of the public eye long enough to become a distant memory.Perhaps even a myth or an urban legend

of sorts. Where shock and disbelief had dissolved into acceptance. Where the sightings of a murder scene had become

a place of remembrance. The memories live on.

In my absence, I have engulfed myself in my own personal darkness; my own private hell, if you will ..where the confines of reality and the pleasures

of the surreal are sewn together seamlessly. It was in this makeshift workshop that I began to divulge myself into something far more ...enticing.

A contorted arm leftover from an alleyway struggle now stitched together to the gutted torso from a subway altercation.The petrified face of a

lifeless escort decorated with the eyes of an innocent bystander. Their flesh coated with dried blood lathered over their pale,porcelain

coloured flesh. A site ever so beautiful to behold.

Each piece, a work of art. Each addition, another piece of the puzzle slowly coming together In the silence of my workshop,

their dilated eyes watch closely from a distance. Always fixated from afar. Always watching me. Each and every one of them

...a constant reminder of the sins that I have committed in the world of darkness.

Yet, in my own twisted way, I like to think that each victim is still very much alive. And, soon enough...they will be.

Carried on the winds of a growing darkness; the sounds of the deceased swayed gently amongst the breeze. His body contorted from the pressure of a tightly bound noose. His face, sunken in anguish from the grip of the noose. Fixated into eternal slumber; it was the sight of suicide that stood before the child one autumn morning.

"They say the mind bends and twists in order to deal with the horrors of life...sometimes the mind bends so much that it snaps in two".

I, myself have often thought about suicide to the point of fantasizing over the most romantic methods of self-execution.To be shot down in a hail of gunfire, to be eradicated in a spectacular, explosion, to fall and have my guts splattered all over time's square for the world to see.Oh, how I have dreamed and pondered such schemes over and over in my mind!

Just like the remnants of my own flesh and blood (and judging by the steady rate you, my much adored reader is finding these confessions) I'm afraid I am not long for this world. Yet, even though my time is slowly coming to an end, I look forward, with great anticipation to our eventual confrontation.To finally meet face to face, eye to eye, and mask to mask ...all at long last.

For this special occasion, I have left you, my reader, with something fitting. Think of it as a memento; a retrospective souvenir offered to you as a reward for all of your hard work and handiwork
so far. In regards to the fine, young gentleman that hangs before you, I have named this piece"Reenactment of a Father's Suicide". I hope you enjoy this piece as much as I have.Piece by piece, the puzzle is gradually coming together. Letter by letter; determined to solve the mystery, I can sense your anticipation; an indescribable, unstoppable,unkillable desire to finally put an end to the killings. To salvage what's left of the "pieces" scattered throughout the alleyways and refuges of the darkness that has already engulfed you. Yet, dear reader, I must warn you. The further you step into the darkness, the closer you get to finding the truth. Be careful what you wish for.

I will be waiting....

02

My childhood was far from perfect.

My father; a man of faith was a strict, devout Christian planted firmly in his beliefs. A father that never hesitated to preach

his narrow-minded outlooks towards his family on a daily basis.

My mother, spared from the hardships of reality, fell ill during my infancy.

What little information that I managed to gather about my mother from over the years was pieced together through stories of resentment.

I was a burden to the family. A burden, as I was often told, that contributed to the death of my mother and brought her to an early grave.

"It was god's will" father said.

Through his cold, stern eyes and, in extension, the eyes of god himself, my father looked at my mother's
passing as a form of punishment. Lack of repentance and the consequence of infidelity. There was no exception.

And so, through the fruits of such an affair, a child was born.

The sole reminder of the dark temptations that reside within us. The burden of guilt and the bearing

of shame made flesh.

Now, in this day and age, most "accidents" and "mistakes" are nipped in the bud in the earliest stages of pregnancy;

but to give up an only child,one of god's greatest miracles, was simply out of the question.

My father, ever the main of faith, had a better idea.

It is said that in every cloud lies a silver lining. How I wish that were true in a world of darkness.

____

At first, my father looked at this situation as an opportunity; a second chance, if you will. to start over and create the wholesome,

religious family that my father always wanted.

But, as time passed and the years went by, the life that my father had originally envisioned gradually turned into a strained relationship

plagued by regrets and the winding downfall of

As the pressures of raising a child, mixed with the responsibilities of a single parent escalated, my father began to slip further and further

into a state self-medication.

It wasn't much longer after that my father started losing touch with the world around him. His method of coping with the outside world became

the root of his addiction.

Alcohol, his vice of choice, slowly changed my father into something else entirely.

As all habits are formed, the effects of his addiction manifested without notice , but, with time, all it took was a few drinks

and my father became something else entirely.

By the time I was 9 years old, I could already see the cracks forming between my father and I. But, it was also during this time

that I began to see the world for what it truly was.

A cesspool of filth and degradation.

The superficial frauds of false appearances which hid away true intentions. The fabricated put-ons and self serving faccades of the dishonest. The flesh made illusions

masquerading as reality.

All masks. All masks carved with plastic smiles grinning from ear to ear.

____

Dear reader. I'm afraid you'll have to look much harder for what you're searching for. This particular body had a few more items attached to it that I so desperately

needed for a current project of mine.

Until next we meet.

There is a beauty to this city; an irresistible charm amongst it's backstreets and never ending alleyways that draws souls deep into the city's depths.

1

I must apologize once again. This, how can I put it delicately ...'habit' of mine seems to be getting the better of me lately.

It's a shame, though; how much she pleaded and begged. But, she had the most beautiful blue eyes and a voice like no other...

I must confess, the sounds of her suffering were but a symphony of screams to my ears.

She truly had the voice of an angel.

0

And so it goes my tale of woe to this world. A confession, if you will for the events that have transpired.

----

To whom this may concern, I seek not forgiveness in these entries, nor ask of penance for the crimes I have committed.
But, simply an audience. An audience to bare witness ...to my craftsmanship.