Streetlights

[pieface101 285]

Warning: Read at your own discretion. Certain parts may be found gory or alarming. Or they may be too thought provoking and shatter your brain into a million pieces.

 

 

Streetlights

(Prequel to Psychopath)

 

As per request of an... anonymous penguin nug

 

 

It's always raining.

 

Always.

 

It's rained for the past few days. Weeks even, months. When it isn't raining, the sky is grey and polluted from the factories near the city. And when the chaps at the city decide to turn off their smog, it starts raining again, pouring, storming, drenching the streets in mud and runoff.

 

Although I'm not gonna say that to anyone's face. See, the city folk are our only source of money. They supply us with money for heating and plumbing. In return, we go work in their factories on minimum wage and probably for longer hours than legal. No one complains though. If anyone so much as peeps, our little funding will go down the drain.

 

They haven't exactly done a great job. The fence surrounding the jail is made of chicken wire. No one is locked up, so they're considering shutting it down. Electrical bill too high. And it's quite gloomy, adding to the dark atmosphere the town has.

 

If you could boil our town down, it would be scrap metal and driftwood. And coal. For the wayward men who don't want to go to the factories, they go down to the mines. Come back with dirty faces and hands and lungs full of coal dust. Not that you can see the difference in the 24/7 darkness.

 

The only source of light, apart from the kerosene lamps and incandescent bulbs are the streetlights. They are on all the time to cope with the darkness. So going to the ramshackle shack that they call a school is like walking at night. Raining, windy, and the streetlights on.

 

Actually, though, I really am fond of the streetlights. Really, the only thing I am fond of in this town. They are bright and quite nice compared to the single incandescent bulb in my house. Which, by the way, I don't bother to change unless I absolutely have to. Or my mom is around. Dad used to do that, until some gang in the city stabbed him to death. Now Mom works in the factory and sews alterations in the city. So she doesn't come home save for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Or so she tells me.

 

Anyways, I guess that doesn't exactly explain why I am walking out this late at night with a kitchen knife. Watching the streetlights doesn't cut it, no? I guess not. You could say I'm crazy, a psychopath, even. Or you could say that Dad's death broke me and I was never the same. Or that I was born with mental illness. I actually don't know. The "doctors" never told me.

 

So I suppose I owe you an explanation.

 

___________________________________________________________________________________

 

Diary Entry #37

 

It's been 37 days since Dad's death. School was good for once today. Mrs. Parker announced a new project: write a report on some diurnal animal. I chose fireflies because they reminded me of the streetlights. The only hope really that I have to move on forwards, because it's so dreary. Mrs. Parker says that fireflies aren't diurnal, they're nocturnal. So I switched to butterflies. That seems like a good project.

 

Diary Entry #43

 

Mom came home for Thanksgiving. She says I should try to make new friends. After all, this is my first year of public school and the other kids have known each other for years. I don't know. I tried to convince Mom to home school me again, but she says she can't, not after Dad's death.

 

So I told her I would try.

 

Diary Entry #44

 

I tried to sit with the other kids at lunch today. They seemed nice enough, so I tried repeatedly to talk with them and join their conversations. They told me I was annoying them. I didn't know what that meant, so I looked it up in a dictionary in the library:

 

irritate (someone); make (someone) a little angry

 

I guess I failed. I'll keep on trying.

 

Diary Entry #50 

 

They don't seem to want to be friends with me.

 

 Diary Entry #52 

 

They invited me over today. Finally after over a week, I finally became friends with them.

 

We're supposed to meet at the intersection of Walter Street and Meadowbrook. That seems a little far away from home.

 

 Diary Entry #53 

 

Absolutely awful. Tell you more about it once these bruises heal.

 

Diary Entry #54

 

They ambushed me. When I arrived, no one was there. Then they jumped out at me and pinned me down. Called me a "nosy little jerk" and a "******".

 

One of them held my arms down while the others repeatedly punched me over and over again. I stopped feeling pain around fifty. Told me never to tell anyone or they'll murder me in my sleep. Good thing I had a cold that night and passed it on to one of them. A girl. She went home sick, probably a coincidence. Looks like I won't see her for a while.

 

The others left me there to die. Told me never to try to be friends with them. That I was weird, choosing to research butterflies in the library. That I had no friends. That I was stupid because I was only pulling a D in class. I really felt alone yesterday. Like the whole world was against me. The only thing stopping me from suicide was thinking about how sad my mother would be.

 

Once all was said and done, I cried for a whole hour. I know because I had a watch. Then I dragged myself home.

 

My only companions were the streetlights.

 

Diary Entry #55

 

They apologized to me at school today. Very eloquently. They said to meet up again at the corner of Walter and Meadowbrook to have the "official" hangout I was due.

 

Do they really think because I only have a D average that I'm that gullible?

 

Because they have no idea what's waiting for them.

 

Diary Entry #56

 

This will be the last entry.

 

I know because my normal life will end today. An uncertain road of hell lies ahead. I suppose I should say my apologies now. I'm sorry Mom, for disappointing you. I'm sorry Mrs. Parker. You were very nice to me when I didn't understand fractions. I'm sorry Dad. You'll never see the son you wanted to.

 

I'm keeping this diary in a very safe place for someone who knows me to find it. You know who you are.

 

Goodbye, diary.

 

___________________________________________________________________________________

 

The truth is, I'm scared. Even though I'm armed with a kitchen knife and they're not, they outnumber me. Not to mention the volunteer police. And where will I go when the job is done?

 

Nonetheless, I press on, the streetlights winking behind me. At least I think they are. After they attacked me, I began having conversations with "imaginary friends". I feel like I understand the streetlights a little better.

 

The corner of Walter and Meadowbrook is an eerie place. Maybe because I was ambushed there. Or maybe because the spot between the two houses, where I got ambushed, was a dead end. I honestly don't know. In the daytime, you can see dark patches on the ground. No one bothered to clean up the pools of blood. I'm sure the people who live there have a hard time sleeping nowadays. But in our town, you learn to never complain or ask questions. Questioning has a way of vanishing your paycheck.

 

When I arrive, I expect to see no one. What I don't expect is that all of them are all there, leaning on the fence and kicking chunks of concrete and asphalt around. It occurs to me that I might've been wrong about them having bad intentions and I hesitate. But I decide that nothing good can come of them in just a few days.

 

"Hey Nile!" the oldest boy calls out. Carter. He's a foot taller than me, stronger, but at least I'm faster. Sweat runs down my back. Which, along with the adrenaline coursing through me, doesn't make me feel cold and miserable at all. Although one thing is working out in my favor: they're all in the dead end, quite far away from the exit. Probably because they don't want me to escape. But it'll be the other way around soon enough.

 

"You know I'm not stupid, right?" I call back, walking towards them, blocking off the exit. "I know you're gonna ambush me, just like last time."

 

"No we're not." replies a girl. I remembered that her name was Elizabeth. "We regretted hurting you, right guys?"

 

"Yeah." replies Carter. "In fact, we brought you a present from the inner city."

 

We brought you a present from the inner city.

 

That's not good at all.

 

I step forwards. "So you're sorry for hurting me?"

 

"Yep."

 

I pull out my knife.

 

"I'm sorry for hurting you too."

 

 

Authors Notes: OK, ok, so there are a few holes here and there and stuff. Yeah. It's a story, geez. I don't care if a kid with a knife can't realistically kill an entire group of people. I don't care if there's a giant gap in the timeline.

 

On a happier note, I'm not that annoyed.  :D 

 

But seriously, I hope you all are pleased. Like seriously though, why streetlights?

 

I'll leave it to you to figure out what it represents  :ph34r: 

Edited February 5, 2017 by tweezers

[tweezers 1,034]

-Put the authors note in a spoiler.

 

Dramatic. 

[Hex 11,520]

Approved.

 

Nice story mate, enjoyed reading it!

Edited February 5, 2017 by Hexed
lol twee xD

[Penguin40 1,714]

Brilliant job m8, finally satisfied the Penguin King of Antarctica xD Wait wait, it was Nile Warner's request, because his last will was that he wanted his life documented etc! :P

 

Jokes aside, that really fills it well. Tho wait a second, you say in Psycopath that he killed hundreds but who were the hundreds? Other than this group of bullies... still brilliant job! :D

[Crip 4,735]

Great! Another spellbinding work.

 

You deserve that Distinguished Member position through and through!