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Max The Cannibal And His Phobia, Creative Story

Essay by   •  April 30, 2011  •  2,637 Words (11 Pages)  •  1,433 Views

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creative story

:D

[[The following is a written version of Max Adams EXACT confession, with accurate punctuation and precise full stops, commas and etc. in specific places, according to the tape V30072 from state police.

Some areas are claimed to be false. This is all was said from Max before his release, this is confidential and has been disapproved by the court and should be shown to no one.]]

"Phobia? I don't have a phobia. I might be a bit afraid but not phobic about it. I admit I might go a bit crazy sometimes; scream a bit here, hurt someone there, stab people here, eat peoples ear lobes there, but doesn't everybody? They say I have a mental disorder, mental condition or whatever you call it. But they say the Ð''fear' I have increases my Ð''savageness', as they say.

Maybe something is wrong with me, I do enjoy the company of the family grieving for their loved ones that I supposedly killed and then supposedly hid the body, Ha! What a joke. I especially love the company of the mothers, oh how sweet their tears would taste..

The doctors say that I had this mental condition since I was born but it needed to be triggered some how. Even if they found out I had this condition the same day I was born, them doctors still couldn't say how it would be triggered. I was a good boy. Always acted In the same polite manner but I've always had this fascination about the dead; how they couldn't move, how their skin was pale, how they were cold and many more fascinating things. I used to walk around graveyards after school and by the age of 14 I'd memorized all the graveyards in and around the city like the back of my hand. And talking to a few graveceepers I got my hands on scheduled funerals so I could attend. But it was weird to see everyone sad and to see some kid that nobody knows staring down at the casket, smiling, as if I was happy that the person was deadÐ'...but the funny thing is.. I was.

Ah, my parents, maybe how well they treated me kept me from throwing fits. On my 8th birthday I got a full grown black stallion, but unfortunately died few months later because I accidentally tripped with a knife in my hand and lodging it deep into the horses stomach!.. nah, just kidding it died from natural causes. The motionless body looked spectacular.

Something marvellous happened when I was 15. I was strolling through Ð''The Holy Razmere Cemetery' I found that one of the mausoleum doors were open. At first I slowly walked towards it but as my curiosity grew I increased in speed until I found myself a step away from the door which then I stopped and scanned my surroundings. I entered the mausoleum and in the middle of the room lay a casket, it was the most beautiful casket I had ever seen in my life. The purple swirly decoration, the black leather, the gold trimmed edges, oh it was grand! It took me a while to open the casket and when I finally did I didn't hesitate once but just pushed the top off. This was my first close encounter with the dead. How beautiful she looked; wrinkly pale skin, colourless lips, but one thing that I always dreamt of doing was to see the eyes and when I moved the eyelids up with my fingertips and starred; I could see death starring back at me. Suddenly out of nowhere this sudden burst of anger overcame me combined with the delightful emotion of..Happiness. I didn't know what was going on. I started to breath heavily, my heart rate increased dramatically, I was sweating all over, my hand were shaking, I looked down at my hands; they were twitching like crazy! I looked back up at the woman's eyes and before I knew it I lodged my index finger into her left eye- in and out- in and out, a bit of the eye ooze squirted upon to my face, I started to cry but it was the tears of JOY. I don't remember what happened after but all I remember last was that I was lying next to a gravestone a few metres away from the mausoleum and in my hand there was three fingers. Obviously from the dead woman, but I didn't want to go back and check. It was awesome.

When I hit the age of 18 I was working in the morgue. I was in charge of cleaning after the autopsy's of the medical students that came in every few days. After a while I had thought, well, I had the thought long before, but that particular day I finally acted. Eating other human beings for the first time was a significant time in my life. The first thing I ever ate was I think the bicep muscle of a steroid user. I slurped it up, chewed it and swallowed, and that was thatÐ'... what did you expect? Some big weird voodoo hell ritual before I ate the muscle? No! even I think that is screwed in the head. How can I describe the taste? Maybe with all the emotion I had during that time my brain made me believe that the muscle would taste good even though it tasted very bad. And from then on I started to eat other parts of people bodies and I must say; healthy people taste better than those who are ill. What did the police say about the sate of my room? Oh yes, it was like "Aladdin's treasure den but with corpse" ha haÐ'...now here comes the worst part, I will never forget that day, it was the 5th of December 2001, a week before then Mary from the font desk quit but on this day a new lady was hired. I will never forget her, blue eyes, blonde hair, fair skin, skinny: these are all the things that she could not change, but there was something else she could've changed and maybe if she did, I wouldn't be sitting here telling you my story, whilst you recording every word I say.. what's the thing she could've changed, you ask? t'was a scarf, personally I love scarves; a great invention to keep your neck warm. But it wasn't the scarf, it was the colour that I hated, the colour that could change all my emotions into, there I say itÐ'...fear.

The sight of such a hideous colour would make a man say "oh, I like the scarf" but no. For some god forsaken reason it was the complete and utter opposite for me. My first encounter with the scarf was when I went to greet the new front desk lady, and there it was; choking her neck, I wanted to save her from the scarf but her facial expression was the happy and calm kind, and that's when I came to my senses and calmed down. Every second looking at the scarf was agony. I ran to the bathroom and splashed some water on my face, I took the rest of the day off, went home lay down and starring blankly at the ceiling I told myself, Ð''what just happened?'. I tried to sleep on it but in my dreams it came, night after night, day after day all I could think about was the

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