I Am Seth

I Am Seth I Am Seth

Status: Finished

Genre: Mystery and Crime

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Mystery and Crime

Summary

We've all been there; the darkest most inhabitable corners of our mind, lost in a labyrinth of anguish and hatred. The only difference with me is this seems to be a regular occurrence. Daily, at best. Hey, I'm not complaining, I've become quite accustom/infatuated with the way I am. Who I am. I am Seth.

Summary

We've all been there; the darkest most inhabitable corners of our mind, lost in a labyrinth of anguish and hatred. The only difference with me is this seems to be a regular occurrence. Daily, at best. Hey, I'm not complaining, I've become quite accustom/infatuated with the way I am. Who I am. I am Seth.

Chapter1 (v.1) - I Am Seth

Author Chapter Note

We've all been there; the darkest most inhabitable corners of our mind, lost in a labyrinth of anguish and hatred. The only difference with me is this seems to be a regular occurrence. Daily, at best. Hey, I'm not complaining, I've become quite accustom/infatuated with the way I am. Who I am. I am Seth.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 07, 2012

Reads: 598

Comments: 4

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 07, 2012

A A A

A A A

alt

I

It was raining. I remember this because I have a habit of watching the droplets dance down the window from my regular seat in my favourite café. I didn't mind the rain, it's the getting wet that irritates me. I watched an unstoppable droplet cascade into another to form a massive raindrop that vanished over the outside window sill. A young woman caught my eye from across the stark street, using a copy of this week's TV guide to shield her from the rain. She swerved round the side of a green Honda Accord, fumbling for keys in the back of her jeans. I remember watching her with great interest. Not a carnal interest. I'm not interested in the human species that way. The thought of two people writhing around together, getting covered in each others spit, sweat and other juices-..

No.

Just no.

I watched as the young woman slipped into the driver's seat of her adorable little car. Then she continued to do the usual ritualistic things every car owner did on a day like today. Crank up the heater. Spend a vain moment staring at own reflection in the rear-view mirror. Slide key into ignition. Start the car. Reverse out onto the road. Poor dear. She never saw it coming. I did. A filthy white Transit hitting 70mph easily, swerving on the slippery road and ripping her small car off it's axis, breaking the poor girl's neck.

The rim of my coffee mug lingered by my lips for what felt like the longest time. My eyes were fixated, in love with what they were being treated with. The constant sound of the Honda's horn blaring away, echoing off beaten up buildings and the irregular alleyways leading onto different estates. The few surrounding customers, the rabble of which was once falling on deaf ears, suddenly rang out with a helpless cry of bemusement and wonder, a few quiet “Oh My's!” sneaking past elderly lips. I hope nobody saw me smirking. So what if they did? It's all about personal taste. It just so happened it was her time to die, and I find the concept of death and suffering slightly entertaining. I don't know why, don't blame me. It's God's first line of defence, his bitch slap to the world. Here is your Earth, treat it well, lead a good life and I'll make sure you die in the most horrific of ways. How about you dear sir, how would you like to go? Bleed out from a sliced femoral artery? It's quick, but extremely messy. If you want to die in a matter of seconds and repaint your mother's bathroom, that's the choice for you! How about being fed feet first through a wood chipper? Ooh, sounds tempting, no?
The sound of approaching sirens snapped my greedy attention back to the orgasm of chaos that sprawled itself so filthily on the road. She was dead all right. I could see her corpse leaning against the steering wheel. Just a small figure in a pink cardigan, colours blending nicely as the red haze of blood splattered up the side window framed the corpse beautifully. I placed my lips to the rim of the mug, my eyes still absorbing the chaotic trauma before me. My own little front row seat to a real drama. Seat belts on kids!

Tipping the mug I took in a mouthful of coffee, swallowing it back with a satisfying groan to follow. I couldn't help myself. My lips curved into a smug grin as the everlasting horn continued to blare away, a few spectators beginning to appear, talking rapidly on mobile phones, a few of the sensitive folk starting to lose a battle with their emotions, breaking down into a flood of tears.
“Inadequate filth” I'd mutter under my breath. Did I really mean that, or just saying it for effect? I don't know. A bunch of nobodies getting hyped up over a car accident. Entire empires fall, people are raped, maimed, murdered, tortured and circumsized every single day and not an eyelid is batted. Maybe they're all excited to tell the story of this terrifying ordeal to their friends over an innocent glass of piss poor wine. It didn't matter. I'm rambling. She was dead and I felt strangely at peace with the world as I left a couple of dollars on the table and walked out of the café. I didn't bother to shield myself from the rain as I made my way through the crowd, giving a longer than usual glance at the tragedy before me, my lips sealed shut, though my eyes were peeled open, taking in the sight of the woman's blood of the driver side window. My entire body became stiff at the sight. Bits and pieces of the green car were strewn across the road, the bumper hung off and the ominous tone of the horn all beginning to numb my senses. I took one last mental photograph to save for later before I turned on my heel and walked away.

* * *

How did I get to this point? The sensation of void emotion was something special to me. I don't really know where it came from, whether it can be explained psychologically or whether it's more to do with a damaged part of the brain. The human mind is an enigma in itself but I will never worry myself too much about trying to explain who I am and why I am who I am.

I remember I used to be quite a likeable person. Well, no, that's not actually true. People liked the mask I wore in public, the lines I spoke so confidently from the script I had already written. Written very cleverly that is, to make sure nobody would doubt, for even a second, that my words were nothing more than the truth. People liked the person I wanted them to meet. The only person who truly and honestly knows the real Seth, is indeed Seth. Believe it or not I do, in fact, have a job, though I made sure I chose my career path carefully. I didn't want to stand out too much and I like to reserve my energy for my hobby. I have always chosen my job roles carefully, to cleverly blend in and not arouse too much suspicion about who I am and what I do in my spare time. There was a short period where I was car valet at the local casino, but I found this job to be tormenting. Watching high class business men roll up in their Mercedes with their twenty year old bimbo in arm, giving me a look like I've already stolen his car. Don't worry, I didn't steal his car. I severed his brakes and he and his little Barbie doll made a head on collision with the back of a pick-up after trying to brake for a red light. Nobody was seriously injured in the accident, regrettably, but it sure as hell was amusing to witness. These days I work at the mall, in a desolate, tiny office on the top floor. I sit there, five days a week, staring at twenty-four different monitors and watching the shoppers rush around in bewilderment at the hundreds of Half Price and Sale On posters hung in every shop window. Nobody ever disturbed me, and it was great fun. I love to people watch. Another positive aspect of my job is that it's a fantastic source of victims. I get to watch people, follow them around for hours without them even noticing me. I can pick up on their worst traits, their obvious fears and their bad habits. I can simply switch to the external closed-circuit camera and watch them climb into their vehicle, taking a quick note of their registration. Now it just takes a little know-how on the many uses of the information highway and a profile picture, name, address and all the other little breadcrumbs I can follow to find them.

Would I advise you to take my word on something? Not at all.

Would I tell you I'm a trustworthy soul who will never spill your deepest most darkest secrets? I am. I really am. You may go ahead and tell me, but first, let me tell you a little story of my own.

People liked the façade I had spent years developing, perfecting and mastering. You could say a person like me is mentally unhealthy, a person under influence of something less than ordinary, with an entirely unique outlook on life, a concept of someone truly void of emotion. You can imagine what kind of a blow that takes to any kind of social life.

Hey! Don't roll your eyes like that, I haven't always been such a person. There's a certain sarcasm in my state these days. It's something you'll grow to understand the more we talk like this. That is, if you'd like to continue talking? I could probably care less either way. You might glance at this and equate your own philosophical views on it's writings, though I wouldn't try too hard. We've all been there; the darkest most uninhabitable corners of our mind, lost in a labyrinth of anguish and hatred. The only difference with me is this seems to be a regular occurrence. Daily, at best. Hey, I'm not complaining, I've become quite accustomed/infatuated with the way I am.

Who I am.

I am Seth.


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