Once Upon a Madness

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Once Upon a Madness

(Warning: the following content is only for mature audiences)

“A person needs a little madness, or else they never dare to cut the rope and be free.”- Nikos Kazantzakis.

Marie McKenzie was dead. She wanted to see what it would take to gorge out a stomach with her own kitchen knife, she wanted to see what the heart would look like, she wanted to eat out the heart raw, she wanted to eat the brain out and gouge out the eyes, and devour it animalistically. She wanted everything to be covered in red, that’s what she wanted, yes. Yes. Blood covering her entire body, her face, her hair, every inch of her. But the blood, unfortunately, was not red. Red? What is red? Red is something unexplainably maddening to see but, the blood of the person she just devoured was not red. It was black.

Black? Why black of all things, I wonder. Black is what inhabited that person’s body and so why is it delicious? It’s like sugar on a cake, sprinkled white sugar on a cake with extra frosting and there’s a sound of chewiness between her teeth. IT’S MADDENING, AND SHE LOVED IT. She loved blood. She continued to stab the body repeatedly.

Again

and again

and again

and again

and again

Until everything was all out. Everything from the inside of the body and all of them out. She cackled and she cackled until everything fell apart. Her heart, beating heart, oh, so black. The devil’s song playing in the background, The Danse Macabre. Oh, how beautiful it was.

She extended out her arm and glided her fingers across the room and spun in her dress with the knife in her hand. She raised her other arm covered in blood, the black blood and other arm covered in red.

How beautiful it was. How beautiful it was. How intensely beautiful her eyes were. Her red eyes. Her red bleeding eyes from laughing too much. Saliva coming out of her mouth, which her long slit tongue had licked just in time before it hit the ground. Oh, how delicious everything was. She cut the body over and over again and reached down down to the slender legs of the victim. It’s the women she loved. Men tasted horrible to her. I don’t know why but she preferred women of purity and pale skinned.

“Oh, how beautiful. Oh, extravagant,” she said as she admired the sight of the woman’s frail, but disassembled body she had created. What an extraordinary and exquisite creation of her hands as if she was God himself. An image created from her own: disfigured, demented, and an abomination. Oh, this one is pregnant. She loves pregnant women for they serve as mouthwatering delicacies to someone so inhumane as her. She will eat it, yes. But for dessert. The beating heart of a child is still delicious, but more rare than the woman’s.

Marie took her knife and dug inside. The blood, sickeningly sweet and aromatic, captivated her. She wanted more.

More.

More.

More.

More.

I want more.

Marie licked her lips dry, sucking all of the blood out. She stuck out her head and giggled. Oh how delicious it was.

She noticed the baby inside the womb and wondered how it would taste. Cupcakes and pastries. Oh how impeccable the taste would be. Oh, the pleasure it gives her. The intoxication that chained her, binding her to this inhumane life and continuously drowning her to an abyss where no human would see light for an eternity.  

I created madness. No Marie did.

She is my mistress. I am only her mere servant.

“What did you do?” She choked on her own black blood as she showed me her stomach with the knife plunged into it.

I walked up to her and started digging through it with delight and a tingling sensation.

“Why, I want to eat you of course. You look delicious. You smell of cinnamon from bread. I love your smell. I want to taste you.”

I went up to her and licked her neck as she held on to her breath for one last time. I laughed at her and took out the knife, taking it back into different parts of her body, continuously stabbing without hesitation.

Yes. Madness how beautiful it is. Ah now for the baby. I looked at her and giggled at her dead eyes looking at me. Hatred, darkness, and psychotics I love them all. The devil wants me. He wants me to create a new world and purge this current one to the abyss.

“Marie McKenzie, that’s enough.”

The voice said and I let out a small chuckle at the sight of my art at the butchered woman already.

I turn around and smile.

So this is what it feels like to be free from reality. I’ve always thought that if I kept on living, being trapped in a house under an abusive husband’s whim, I would be alright. Yet now, it’s all different. I feel lighter as if I could do everything what I want.

“Come here, Marie. Let us go back to our own world,” the voice commanded from the shadows. I stared at the blackness with a hypnotized smile and willingly followed the voice. I looked back at the body that’s left behind; the woman wearing a red lipstick and an elegant magenta dress with her dismembered parts scattered across the cold, brick ground.

Tilting my head sideways, I admired the sight of my dramatic, crimson painting. She must’ve been a really beautiful lady with money and everything. But how cruel it must be truly to live with such a delusional life that everything is going to be alright as long as you have more power than the other. How cruel it must be indeed when you think you’re alright but the satisfactions already laid out for you do not give you happiness. I looked at the body and sighed.

“What a pathetic life.”

 

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