Journals of a Psychopath

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Bailey does not have a happy end.

The Haven

Smithson was keen, I was sleeping, and he woke me.
      “Your mother is cruel and you are reprimanding women, because of the torment you lived through,” Bailey said.
      “Who granted you permission to speak?”
      “Why are you complying? You are too young to live this way,” she said to Smithson.
      “Smithson is my son and I taught him the trade, he is the heir to the dominion, and he is on par with me.”
Bailey's excrement was on the dirt and it aggravated my sensibilities.
      “This is a sacred venue and you have messed it,” I said.
      “I need the use of a toilet.”
“It is no excuse you caused a mess sanitize it.”
Taking the feces they stank and she crawled to the entry. I lugged Baily from the door.
      “It is not as easy as that.”
Bailey blubbered.
      “Eat your feces.”
Smithson helped me to open her mouth and we forced Bailey to swallow the substance, she retched, I crooned to her, smoothed the tangled hair.
      “You produced more filth than earlier.”
Mother's words spilled from my lips, mother was right it was unseemly. Bailey scuffed to the bend in the wall in an effort to evade us and I paced nearer. Pulling the death-stick from my mouth, I ground the cigarette into her nipple, she shrieked.


The Homestead

Caldwell sneered when I appeared in his den he checked my hand.
      “Rheanna has given me a set of keys.”
He permitted the declaration to sweep over his head. Helping myself to his brandy, I rolled it around the glass, and I twisted my face.
      “Rhea is in a bad way and your manipulation is apparent to everyone except Rhea. Since you entered her life she has deteriorated, she was active, confident and happy.”
I downed the brandy.
      “Well Caldy, her need for me is so great she would rather risk her health than lose me.”
      “Rheanna was a lovely girl until you came into her life.”
      “Get real she would have turned to drink.”
      “I know for a fact that she would not,” Caldwell replied.

The Wooden Forms and the Archangel

Bailey’s vision-orbs twitched and Smithson lifted her eyelid. Exhaling, the Purifiers and the Darkest-One required the crimson-solution. Tautness was in my chest, I was overwrought by the thought of the wrath of the loved ones.
      “The surrender might not satisfy us,” the Trees and the Darkest-One said.
Clasping my skull in my hands and tumbling on my knees, I worshiped. Swinging to us, the Speaker screeched, the Prey’s screams were expected. Smithson carved her skin and the sounds from Bailey’s throat were erotic. Continuing to slice and Smithson scrutinized the red-fluid leak. Ominous above her and raising the sword, he plunged it into Bailey’s face, she screamed, the Voices sighed, Smithson hacked until the slashes were multiple.
      “Mm,” The Trees said.
The discharge from my manhood was swift. Smithson’s robe was awash with the blood and semen. Bailey was out of it and Smithson began to shake her ragged body, she came to, she did not scream or try to free herself. Smithson seared her honeyed-part and then she squealed, wriggled so much we were ecstatic.
      “She is beautiful,” Smithson said.

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