The House - Not Complete Yet

This will be, possibly the most outrageous story that my words ever did speak, yet I do not expect faith. Foolish, yes I would be, to ever expect your belief, especially when my emotions rage through me eliminating the evdience held before me. But I promise you, foolishness does not exist amongst myself – and of course, my dreams stay asleep. I am going to die, soon in fact, so today I replenish my sins, throw them out into the open. Without hesitation I will confess them, detailed, briefly and not deny my sentiments. With the outcome, these sins have haunted – have corupted – have shattered me. I don’t have to explain. I know, they are my sins, they have only caused trepidation – this will only seem abnormal to many others. But I hope, in the revelation of my sins been unbound from my soul, people will learn from my mistake, become more logical and more reasonable. But I do not expect acceptance. My sins are nothing more the natural causes of human nature.
As I was a child, the human instinct of death – of blood – of killing helped me evolve. I will not decieve you on my behalf, as this is no biblical paraphrase. My heart suffered with the adoration my parents so lovingly spat on me. My parents cosseted me – pampered me, when all I wanted to do was kill. I’d borrow a seat, in abundance, in front of the vehement fire, with a spider seized in my palm. The fire was so warm and peculiar to nature; I prized fire, everything about it absorbed me. But the spider, the foulest of gods creations, would try and escape from it’s own solitude. The way it’s legs beseeched to ample – the way it was under my control. I admired that rush, that rush of feeling that spiraled into my throbbing heart. It could seek no refuge from my desires. A spiders legs, so un natural, every one of them – everyone of them eight. Eight. What creature has a use for eight legs. I’d question god; I’d tell god that I will fix his wrongs.’ I, yes I, will repair your wrecked creatures’. That’s what I intended. A spider has no use for eight legs, it only needed two, like me. I’d take a seat, in comfort, infront of vehement fire and that spider in my palm, would be fixed. My arrows would extend out to the legs of the spider and one by one, until only two remained, I would tear of it’s god forsaken legs. My smile grew extravegantly as I knew… I was god’s fixer, I was the one who would rid God of his wrong doings – rid god of his mistakes. I was going to set the world right, one spider - one leg – one person at a time.
I didn’t get married, I did myself justice and refused to entangle in the sentiment of love. I kept to myself, kept myself with I. That’s the way it would be – that’s the way it would stay.
This house I belonged to was not only my shelter or my comfort, but my saviour. It showed thee how to be oneself again. It helped me, as a soul, to develop my creative, yet troubled side. Without that house, I would be nothing. I would be one thing, inside a bigger thing. I believe this theory to be extravagantly worst than death itself. Therefore I owe my gratitude to the house that does save my soul each day.
Spiders – this is what my saviour brought too me. Every day – every week. My childhood grew attached to me at the sight of these behemoths, and would help me re-live my most desired memories. I wanted the spiders to worry about their destiny, where does it lie if my eyes catch sight of their eight legs. I urged them to be afraid. Though, I was not afraid of death. No one could reach my infinate soul as I sit in the house. It made my thoughts bring oneself to attention of facts I had not witnessed before. Spiders were foul creatures, I knew that, and I enjoyed twisting their legs, turning them from bad to great! I loved controlling death. But my thought opened a sealed door, that had not been unlocked before. People.
One person, in the house, is all it would take, to find truth amongst my thoughts, I felt an impulse alter my actions. It was not adreneline; it was my mind – my thoughts corrupting my soul. Or was it the other way round? Since birth my instincts have been some what, un-avoidable. I have always lusted after blood – after death. I had always been intoxicated by the undeniable beliefs my soul created. I knew it now, it was time to pay attention – it was time to kill.
When I first beheld this apparition, I decided, most certainly, to act upon it. My duties were obvious to my mind – my thoughts – my soul and therefore it was decided. My victim still remained anoyomous to myself, yet I believed destiny to play a higher role in what was to come. As I have stated, I will not lie to thee to save ones soul and thus I shall bare my sins in its hopeful return. I reflected my thoughts – my soul with the actions I provided. It had to be as easy as keeping a spider captive in my longing palm. Destiny had already made certain of that.
One night as I lay, half alive, in the house I had assembled, my attention flustered back to destiny. It was my time. It was the house that had decided as doors creaked and lights flickered. The house was prepared – my soul was prepared and my actions absolute. My feelings a rose within me, depoisting rage and aderenline through my devouded body. My body, floated – no, flew high from my bed it did lie in. With my aversion to god’s wrongs, I left the house.
The dread was not a dread of how physically able my loathing body would hold out to be. The dread was the thoughts of been caught. However, people would try to employ my actions to their courts, God would be my witness in the depths of his wrongs. I knew this much. I thought of how I could destroy one person with one blow. Even one word could corrupt a persons mind and justify my arrangements. It was too easy. God had set my destiny.
The terror of street lights flickered in my direction causing an abundance of adereneline. What if someone saw? I could not care less.
My feet did not patter. They hardly bore a step until I saw that undeniably, properly derranged person glide to my approach. God must have been tired when formulating this one into its sorry mother. Polietely and calmy, I advanced to my victim. My spider caught in its own web of fear.
Conversation grew, adapted to it’s on change in destiny. As they tried to vacate the topic, I spoke poeticly in form to close in on the next step of destiny. They sluggishly ambled away. It was not goodbye.
The rest is distinctively un recognisable to my sins. Destiny assured me I need not know. Yes, I remember my actions and yes, I did agree to not to portray lies. But you need not know how my prey entered the house. Pointless facts.
Once in the house, admitedly, it was tranquil. It was like re-living an epithiny.