Friday, October 14, 2011

The Grins Of Chelsea. Chapter Two.

SPEAKER: RYAN NIGHTINGALE
SETTING: A LOCAL CAFÉ, THE STREETS
TIME: 12:00 PM, 12:30 PM
DATE: APRIL, 11

A while back,
How long I never remember,
I promised myself I will quit,
All of these damn smokes.

I am aware,
Don’t tell me,
The dangers of this.
I know.

So why do I do it?
What is my purpose?
You can blame my mother,
For smoking while having me.

It runs in the blood,
Like everything else.
Sooner or later I would be addicted,
Now I can never quit.

A long drag,
My lungs filling with this poison,
The slowing of my heart.
All felt good.

As I sipped my coffee,
Plain and black,
I started thinking about earlier,
And the case I was at.

Chelsea Grin attacked.
Why am I not surprised?
He moved around,
About time he came here.

I first heard of him,
Like I am sure you have,
When he first attacked Chicago,
I remember the press.

Fucking vultures,
No Goddamn respect for anything,
Or in this case,
Anyone.

They tortured the victims families,
Asking if they were connected with him,
None of them were.
Not at all.

The media started speculating as usual,
About the motive,
Or what he could look like,
Or who he was.

Most guessed a fan boy of comics,
Evil clowns,
Great acting,
Or giant smiles.

Paint it black.
That is what people thought he was doing.
Painting what black?
Everything.

I saw the photos,
The eyes darkened,
The nails blackened,
Pure nightmarish.

Why would someone want to do this?
What could be the motivation?
There are numerous ideas,
But no concrete once.

Some think it is due to obsession,
Some think due to some moral,
And then the some,
That think it is due to him wanting the world to burn.

We don’t even know what the fucker looks like!
How can we judge him,
Without knowing him first?
But we will regardless.

You can’t get images like what I saw,
The grotesqueness,
Out of your mind.
Does not matter who you are.

I through down some change,
Grabbed my belongings,
And left the area.
I need to go for a walk.

The cold air was a pleasant change.
I usually hate spring.
Despise summer.
Some tolerance for fall.

As I thought,
My mind racing all the time,
I started to wonder my own thoughts,
About this psychopath.

He is insane.
No question about that.
But something is off.
Something not quite right.

Why would a man go around,
Forcing people to smile forever,
Even in death,
With the cuts in their faces?

Makes no sense to me,
Nothing.
I have an idea,
But it seems idiotic.

Back in high school,
There was a killer like this.
Right down to the way they died,
And the conditions.

This guy though,
Can not be him.
That guy died already,
His body found covered in blood.

But he did have the scar,
Peeled on his face.
The horrific grin,
That is the devil’s grin.

Could this be a copycat?
An admirer?
Or simply,
A reincarnation?

Like I said,
This is completely idiotic.
All I need to do is find him,
Take care of him once and for all.

You could say,
If you want,
I have a vendetta against him.
A grudge, if you will.

Like all selfish bastards,
Like myself,
Grudges never go away.
They just grow.

Left,
Right,
Straight ahead.
I am trapped.

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