God, I feel terrible.
I watched my dad kill someone. I saw it with my own two eyes. He was drunk. He was just walking around. My dad saw him and just shot him. No words. Nothing. He just killed him. I don’t know why. He just did it, told me to throw it out to the pigs, and left. He left me with a freshly dead body.. So I did as I was told. I went up to the body. The worst part is that at first I wasn’t scared. I was just interested. I just looked at the dead person. I looked at its-his.. blank eyes. It was terrible. And here is the worst part. I wanted to take the body and cut it up. I wanted to inspect it carefully, I wanted to keep the bones. I wanted to soak my hands in the still warm blood.
I feel so horrible.
My hands feel gross. I feel gross.
I brought the body in and I grabbed a knife. I poked at the body. I wanted to start with cutting open the torso. It wasn’t easy though. I could feel it’s warmth through the plastic gloves I wore; it’s.. uncomfortable warmth.. it just got more difficult..
When someone is freshly dead, their muscles all go limp, the stomach is oh so soft.. when I tried to gently push the knife in.. it didn’t go in.. I was scared to add pressure. Scared that no matter how hard I pushed, the stomach would continue to just sink in. So I stopped. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t push the knife into it’s belly.
It was silly but another part of me thought that it wasn’t fully dead yet. Like it was going to grab me at any second. From the disturbing warmth of the body to the glossed over eyes.. It was terrible.
So I just poked at the body. Opening and closing its mouth, moving it’s eyes.. It was surreal. I hated it.
So I did as I was originally told. I dumped the body into the pig’s pen. They instantly ran to it. I couldn’t watch the rest.
I hate this so much. But I want more.
I wish I didn’t dump the body-
I wish I cut it to pieces and decorated the room with it’s guts.
God- I hate these thoughts.
This is the worst it’s ever been.
I’ve hurt animals before. Held their necks till they stopped squirming, only to let go and watch them attempt to breathe themselves back into life.
Alas, I haven’t killed them
But this is new.
I had a dead body. One I could do whatever I wanted to. I could of finally did what my dreams ordered me to do. To cut off it’s head and strip it of it’s flesh. To decorate my room with it’s skull and other bones.
And I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even make one small cut.
I wish I did. I regret not doing it.
God, I feel terrible