The Couch

DSC05721“And how did that feel?”

“Umm feel? I felt a lot of things. I felt powerful, I felt excited, I felt a rush, of extreme joy, I think. But then, after I did it I thought I was supposed to feel guilty. I tried. To feel guilty. But I couldn’t. It was like the part inside me that gives me the rush had erupted. I was overflowing. I wanted to run but I wanted to watch it happen too. Slowly, slowly. Bit by bit. Breath by breath. Her shorter, mine longer. My palms heating up inside the glove and there was just one drop of that sweat that slid down my back all the way from my neck, so seductively.
I stood there, in silence, in darkness, in the middle of the smoke from the chimneys. And when it was finally over, I wanted more. It was a first and I was already addicted. I controlled my thoughts. I really did, I tried.
I talked to myself, like Mama used to. I slapped myself, I even hit myself with the belt, exactly like she did, but I couldn’t seem to calm down. I needed that rush. Do you know what a ‘Need’ is? It’s like food, like water. Like vaccinations. Wait, you do take them everyday right? Mama gave them to me everyday. They hurt. But she said I needed them. That’s a need. I needed to do this again.
So I went down town again. In the middle of that silence, darkness and smoke. And I did it. Second time. But this time…
I used a knife.
I was bored of the gun. One shot and she was dead. No! I wanted a bigger rush. So she lay there in front of me. And I cut her open.”


“Why? Don’t you want to know more?”

“Skip these details!”

“But why? Are you scared? You can’t be scared of me! You’re supposed to fix me, aren’t you?
Are you scared of me?
I’m just a little boy.”

“You are a thirty-six year old man”

“Yes, I’m aware of my age. I don’t see your point?”


“I’m just a little boy.”



  1. Your blog is absolutely brilliant. And this post is my favourite. Love the way you write, it’s so powerful. You’re a really good writer. I loved reading your blog.
    Keep writing!

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