by Cody Singley
This is the first chapter a novel I'm working on. This chapter is short. Please review.
|Hello. My name is Jordan Lane. But, you already knew that. I assume since you are here, you want to know my story. More specifically, you want to know my brain. You want to know why I did what I did. You want to know my motives. In your head, you are sitting across a truly evil, and dangerous person. It doesn’t matter that I’m just an 18 year old kid. You pegged me as some awful, horrific person since the moment I walked in here.|
Well, this isn’t a mystery. It’s a confession. I did those things you’ve heard about me. I am not a good person. I’m murderous. I wish I wasn’t. I wish I could’ve stopped myself. I wish I didn’t kill the people I killed. Especially her.
I know they say psychopaths don’t feel love, but I definitely felt something towards her. Maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe it was stronger than love. She meant the world to me. I would do anything for her. I wanted be the one who protected her, but it was me that led to her death. I killed her.
Sorry, I’m getting choked up. Don’t think I ruined the story by admitting that I killed her. Like I said, this isn’t a mystery. You know the ending.
Endings are overrated. They aren’t as important as most people think. It’s always some cliché, predictable happy ending that makes me want to vomit all over my shoes.
The middle is the best part. It’s where all the substance lies. It’s the heart and soul of each adventurous tale is. The middle is action-packed. It’s the most important part of every story.
But, we have to start with the beginning. The beginning sets the story up. Without a good beginning, the story is meaningless. People stop caring, and you’re just an idiot, telling you’re story to a bunch of psychos that live in a nuthouse. Luckily, the guards allowed for a little story time.
My story is fairly basic. I’ll get to that. First, I want to say, that I think the entire population of the world is crazy. I may be one in the asylum, but I’m normal. I don’t see how people don’t think like me. I think it’s weird that other people don’t have the urges to bash their neighbors skull in with a frying pan.
Maybe they do. Maybe some people are better at hiding a suppressing their urges and psychotic desires.
I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t “crazy”. I was born like this. So, is it my fault that I finally succumbed to my brain’s intentions? I did the thing that my mind was yelling at me to do.
I don’t have multiple voices in my head or anything like that. But, I do have an “imaginary friend”. I knew he wasn’t real, but I didn’t care. I let him into my heart, and I let him control my brain. Don’t worry. I’ll explain him. And all the other crazy characters in the fucked up story that is my life: an alcoholic mom, a good-hearted preacher, a skeptical cop, an abusive step-dad, and a beautiful, creative, and intelligent girlfriend.
So, without further ado, here’s my story. Everything I tell you is the truth. Or, at least, my truth. Everyone has a different truth. Everyone sees the world a bit differently. You see beautiful roses and colorful rainbows. I see thunderstorms and pools of blood.
Anyway, here’s my story. My heart. My mind. My soul. These are the confessions of a psychopath.