A few people protrude their hate from the pews; I can feel the heat from everyone banned whispered message of badass bane. The floor shone to blind the truth in here. With every step, I'm made to walk, a wrawl battle cries with my whistling. This world in now my playground and today is the day to push and swing so I can climb some bars; all my tools are in precise position for possible predicted mind population poisoning. I can still hear the camera-dude setting-up for a scoop of a career; today I shall help him level up.
I doodle swear words and naked women on the pad of paper the court has ever so nicely provided, this will be the only time this afternoon I will air my thoughts in a constructive manner. The smell of linseed oil plants itself at the back of my throat. I think about the amount of shit, which has allowed child killers to be set free to kill again or how many ruthless business men escaped paying anything to their battered wives after a lengthy divorce. Sane people call this justice, what morons. I want to just stand up and declare I did it all, admit my guilt and bring on prison. I need to set a standard and not cross my morals, back over my plan of infamous goals. Bite your tongue until it falls off. Once I am gone, I want my fame to cram this world. Show them what you can do with ink-filled mechanism of the masochism.
I am flirting with fire; from normality, I had cold feet. I am a kerfuffle of trouble, there's no saving me now as I have mushroom-clouds for thought bubbles. They lacerate my world believing they killed me, I'm letting slip my dogs of war until they know me as a reformed super villain. Challenge Completed, Planet Earth; I'm spinning out-of-control, no fault of my own, I couldn't keep hold. I'm a libertine shoulder barging my way through the captive creators; I'm writing on black paper in the dark.
No brain freeze or frisson, picking up lightening-bolts and throwing them at the pages of rapture I snap at. This is mere reverie I reveal and unravel, I time-travel back and thwart all my enemies plans for me. I am no poltroon; I pollute pages personally I made it personal because I am no longer a person. The rain trickles down and washes away all my plights from my face, I change my mind and change my face and I am giving the world hell again, true evil is holding a pen. My calm levels are unstable, upon this psychopathic page I have too much sycophantic horsepower, I bucking-bronco my way out from this web of life.
In school, after Maths was English class where I jotted down my aftermath from the bully's pulley, I guess I'm pure vile and puerile, I'm not a transformer I can transmogrify. Rambunctious to my soul's battery core; setting my switch to self-destruction. A man can only receive so much failure in his life before superiority takes over his eyes focus. Insanity is a gift from the Gods; I wield and shield it against sanity.
This world sees what they want to see; I could have charming characteristics, suave and soigné, hats off to me, my undercurrent is currently a catastrophe. All passengers, we have a slight insurgence for turbulence and wizen, please, fasten your seatbelts and come join me within my plummet. Its drizzling green and yellow pills, I'm dancing in the pain, I jump in blood puddles and reappear in sky tunnels of bliss. This hurt in my head, I play it over and over again, until a joker smirk arises on my face, I'm no longer insane, isn't life splendiferous.
Within my writing, I cannot be a stentorian, so I must visual lies my memory videotaped life, transplant and transport all my supercilious kisses of life, these pages are where my wishes go to find a place to die. This world should have boxed me in early, now I can create topsy-turvy from everything that profoundly promotes to hurt me. Here comes the valetudinarian again, turn away, don't dare turn that page, it's all the same. I could be a beacon of silver-lining light, but the doctors beat my head in with a rock to keep me under it for eternity. I am a writer, this is what I do, keep bringing you words and I shall sit here and laugh at you.
Sitting beside my lawyer, this court of law will today feel my rule. I glance over my shoulder and capture eyes with the police lieutenant, my interrogator. Pulling myself together through all their faces, I pull funny faces at him along with his crew and backers, the top-hats tut; twats.
My closing statements to these self-appointed judges of our just-land will leave a pressurized benchmark, watch me entertain the only way I know how. The court bailiff strides forward holding a card, skimming through his shaky words, he seems unsure of his ability, is it someone's first day at work?
"All rise!" The court enforcer protest outwards with such conviction. I drudgingly drag my dreary derriere up for delightful damnation. "The honourable Judge Russell Cranston Presides." The court cop hands the room details to the ferret upon his mighty podium, which he casts out solitary confined pandemonium with his gavel of judgment. Who gives this person a criminal's right to shell out convictions with a knock; Thor, he is not. I already hate this arsehole.
You don't see many women in this day and age wearing suits, but Keisha Denel, the prosecution, she wears threads like a she was always expecting a camera or eyes on her. Here am thinking this bitch only takes on high profile cases, well that's what the newspapers said about her. Her eyes scan across over every person, disassembling those she opposes with lies or over-truths. She can turn on women's independent signals and turn men's heads with a sturdy walk of booty-full pride; she was an alpha-female and one not to be trifled with. I must stay away from her tractor-beams of manipulation, if I get caught in her web, she will surely make a meal and mockery of me. She doesn't scare or challenge me, but a feeling still lingers, I don't know if I want to wear her skin as a slut suit or tie her legs around my waist as a belt until forced sex has been dealt, it will be nice to see the outcome of which one my brain decides upon.
"Mr. Stone, call your first witness to the stand please." The magistrate majestically magic's.
Henry humbly hunches up and hoofs outwards. "I call Doctor Sarah Metcalfe to the stand." All heads exercise around as Regan's does in the movie, The Exorcist.
A middle-aged woman transports herself in a panicky pitter-patter, the contour of evolved education spoors from her treads.
A bible is strong-armed under her chin; she handprints over the book.
"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"
"I do..."
My lawyer brawls through his documents; this aloof look of mine is not a stunt, it's authentic.
"Good Morning Miss Metcalfe." Nods are noticed. "Have you examined both of the excused today within this courtroom?"
She wrestles in her seat, swallow's nerves and sweats worry.
"I have examined them both separately and viewed the video footage of their initial police questioning."
Henry posts himself in the middle aisle, tentacles tangled with attentiveness.
"And in your opinion what is your medical opinion on the children's mental state after the tragic murders which have occurred?"
A cluck erupts as she unclogs her throat.
"In my medical opinion that is, Jessica has fallen into the deep recesses of her own mind after the night in question; she may never mentally get the restraint back to get out of her personality disorder. And, Mr. Emerson, he is the complete opposite; he's extremely intellectual, charming on occasion, manipulative and lacks the remorse of his actions. I believe him to be a sociopath, one I haven't in my medical history have dealt with."
Henry brings drama to the scene, pacing the floor, biting his lips and withholding lying tears and a bogus blub.
"Doctor Metcalfe, could you put what a sociopath is, into layman's terms, so everyone can understand this disorder." Their speech is sword swings, which seem to seam similarly. This hasn't been rehearsed, much.
"Of course, a sociopath is a male or female who is more aggressive or angry with everyone or anyone who comes into contact with them, only a portion of sociopaths have these symptoms. They believe they are of a high power to one and all, almost God like. Now when a sociopath wends into a narcissistic rage, the person is unreasonable and irrational. Their rages are uncontrollable and have an aim for only one purpose, to wreak mayhem and inflict pain and damage. Now I believe in this case Mr. Emerson was not born a sociopath, from my findings from police files and school records, he was a well-mannered, an ambitious young man who never came into complications with the law. But due to his mental disintegration, which he bottled up and kept in his thoughts, his father's drunken drug fuelled beatings, in which he inflicts on young Mr. Emerson and his sister; Kyle's bottle broke, causing him to go on a murderous rampage.
"Dr. Metcalfe when the accused were arrested, and due to the heinous nature of the crime, and the concern of the age, you were the person the county called to go over the kid's video recorded statements, is that right?"
"Yes, I was the person they called."
"And for the court here today, could you please tell us what your conclusions were?"
A bailiff spools out a titanic television; he places it into an angle, so we can all see. I hope we're watching either the up in Smoke Tour, Dr. Dre and Eminem... Or, how about American Psycho, I love that movie... I'm still unsure if Patrick killed those people.
The television is switched on; the video on screen is in a split-screen, showing mine and Jessica's interrogation.
The hulking bailiff presses play on the DVD player.
"I have found out, in one section of the time lapsed video, when a clumsy police officer spilt scalding coffee over Kyle, he acted erratically, but on the tape at the exact same time of the coffee spillage Jessica screamed and became unsteady.
"Doctor, in your words what do you think happened?"
"Personally, from my medical knowledge, I believe the twins suffer with an incurable rare condition called The Dualistic Pain Element. It's close to the condition Cognitive Pain Insensitivity. This ailment causes both the children to experience and witness each other's agony, we as a society have all heard this as an old wife's tale, but in this case, it's to be true. If one becomes hurt, the other will automatically react with the same amount of pain. So, every time their father hit and beat his kids, they would share the same amount of damage, this pushed them both over the edge, Jessica sunk into herself and Kyle was thrust into a world of tyrannical evil behaviour, stemming between yin and yang."
I never knew Jessica and I were that close, to the points where even our souls are connected. Congenital Pain Insensitivity; it sounds like a made-up condition of coincidence, but it makes me feel as if I have magical superpowers or something cool. I'm so fucking awesome; I'm lovin' this new chaste body O' mine.
From behind me, a young man, I have seen his face before on News coverage and articles; he was one of the dead cop's sons. You couldn't miss his wavy ginger hair bobbing around and his arched acne ached face.
"You're gonna' burn in Hell Emerson!" He explodes with gumption; I actually believe him now.
I rise lengthily and pitch an offensive glare of frozen frenzy at him.
"Keep talking cock-sucker; I'll make sure I put the fear of God into all you atheist fucks!" A whack on wood shadows our eruption.
"Order, order; if I hear either of you, outburst like that in my courtroom again I'll hold you both hold you in contempt, do you understand? Now sit and be quiet." Our judge jibs.
My law-fighter steps towards our table to sit by his master's throne, good dog, argue for the devil. He rubs my back to calm my monsters, with humourless eyes I make him crawl back into his personal bubble.
"Your witness..." My pudgy perverted lawyer donates to the prosecution.
From the corner of the courts recesses comes a reassuring claptrap. A fingering objecting figure fissures the feel of the courthouse. A young gent; he's wearing a matching tracksuit top and bottoms, sunken depressive eyes and week old patchy stubble. I loop and chance my look throw the people's body breaks and over shoulders, need a better view. I take to a higher altitude with my chair. Bailiffs bolt onto him, hooking him in and reeling from the arms out the doors. He kicks and bucks outwards over the gleaming floor.
"Hear me out, hold up, hear me out, I need to say this." He stone throws his voice and eyes my way. "Kyle, you're an inspiration to me, man, to all of us, this world needs you, grow and show them what we are. We've had a similar life; my parents were fuck ups too. I wish I had done what you did. Knowing you overcame what they did to you man, I can fend for myself now and if..." The doors are bashed through and he falls out of ear shot.
The adjudicator juices up the saliva in his mouth and saccades his hammer. "Settle down, settle down; be seated now. That was uncalled for... the court will have a five-minute recess, so I can file some contempt papers for our unwelcomed guest and hopefully rescue this trial. If anyone observing this trail is itching to interrupt what is happening here, please... hold it back or leave because I'm no longer in the mood for such behaviour. Court adjourned."
I'm surprised and confused... enclosing my actions with his logic leads to question after question. Have I become the anti-underdog story, where people can find encouragement in my rage ways? Could this be the feet fate has furnished me with? Think of the possibilities.
The judge comes back to his throne from talking to one of the bailiffs, eyes filled with newly informed knowledge, he reads through everything clumped in mid-flight. His hands flat on his plinth, he props up his brainwaves.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the young man who has just been ejected from this courtroom, he was quickly monitored and lead through the hallways where he revealed a bladed item and plunged it into his own chest without warning. Medical services have been called and he's being treated by first aiders. It turns out he is known to mental health professionals. We'll keep everyone updated. And, if there's a little noise outside the door, please ignore it. This courtroom has deterred into a peculiar set of events. Everyone mind you places, do not tread on my patience, I will not tolerate it. Okay, time to get back to it, where were we? Who's up next?"
Why would he stab himself? He may not have wanted to go home, or he was taking a stand to gain my maximum attention.