Journals of a Psychopath



Clarkson's sister was abused too, but she is worried about him.


The flames from the fire caused Sis's home to seem cosy. Sis brought up the subject about Mother, I stoked the coals and they loosened.
      “Mother visited yesterday,” Charlenson said.
Sis never married, she evaded that status. Pursued by a few suitors, I wondered if Sis engaged in the sexual act.
Changing the topic, explaining the involvement with Rheanna, and Sis gave the impression of pleasure.
      “Rheanna sounds nice.”
Charlenson’s wheelchair was in the hall. Picking her up, lowering Sis into it, she was so light. Sis did not mention Hanson or Mother. Pushing her to the town, her wide smile radiated to her friends and neighbours. The sky turned grey, but the stores were warm and inviting. Charl’s began to tire.
      “I need to go please take me home.”
      “Are you sure? You are aware the weariness disappears suddenly and you might regret the decision.”
      “Yes, I am quite adamant.”

Charlenson’s house

Charlenson's eyes filled with pain and I knew her thoughts were on the torment at the hands of Mother, it distressed her. Hanson was the one to escape Mother's wrath, we did not know why, but we could see the favouritism that singled him out. Sighing and rubbing her legs, Sis’s limbs appeared wasted and stick-like. I sat down with dignified irritated taciturnity, Charl’s eyes slid to mine and away.


Teasing sexually, was one reason why Harlow joined the roll, the parchment was wafer-thin. Her skin similar to peaches and cream, Harlow’s mouth scarlet and attractive, her silvery-blonde hair was scraped back from her face.
The journey to Blackclaw Woodlands tedious, yanking her across the frozen-terrain, and she yelped.
      “Please stop and let me go.”
      “That is not going to ensue do you think I would go to this trouble and then release you?”
The only noise was the crunching of footwear as I pulled her along.

Blackclaw Woodlands

Removing the tarpaulin, it protected a large area. Setting fire to the humongous pile of branches, tossing gasoline on the firestorm, it ensured the blaze, I grinned. Slashing Harlow's labia, the agony in her flesh-orbs spurred action. Placing my lips onto her vagina, the essence from the gore lingered in my craw. Chopping the ear from her head with the sword, she whimpered. Pitching her on the huge fire and Harlow screeched. Fleur, Harper and Heather sprawled on the floor. Swinging Heather in my massive hands and Heather united with the combustion. I threw Fleur’s head into the flames and her body sequentially. Harper joined the fire. Acclaiming the Trees and the Darkest-One, my vista-disks closed, I admired the Trees my friends, a canopy obscuring the insanity. Dancing around the fire, I commended the Trees the Darkest-One and the Voice. Singing, I choreographed the timbre of victory. Pluming into the air, the stench, I was thrilled to view Harlow’s, Heather’s, Harper’s and Fleur’s bodies, as they burned in the firestorm, my song grew louder.

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