Chapter One
*Note: This is my current work in progress. I have saved this to my computer and I am simply publishing it online. Do not plagiarize it as it is copyrighted.*
Have you ever had that strange feeling? A feeling so wrong, so sick that you've just pushed it aside, thinking it to be nothing more than a fleeting lack of sanity. A feeling that you could just as easily have pushed that woman infront of oncoming traffic rather than simply walk past her? A compulsion to kill? No? You liar.
What if I were to tell you that there are more like you? What if I were to say that there was a whole group of people, a cult, intent on fuelling this urge to murder, to intentionally harm random strangers.
What if I were to tell you that you're not alone?
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I jerked awake, sitting bolt upright and breathing heavily. As a result, I ended up flat on my ass on the floor next to the sofa I'd been "sleeping" on. Still acting like one of the seven dwarves, I heaved my six foot frame up on one arm (one being recently dislocated, we'll come to that later no doubt) and leant on the coffee table I'd narrowly missed. Wait...coffee table? I don't have a coffee table. Do I?
I never really sleep, I just doze in and out of consciousness. I guess you could say I'm an insomniac, but do you dream when you're not asleep? Am I even awake? Then again, are these really dreams? They seem so vivid. It's like I'm there. I know most dreams are like that, but back when I was normal, I used to dream like...like I wasn't in first person, like I was looking down on what I was doing and what was happening around me. Now though, it's like I'm me, I'm seeing what I'm doing. Like it's not really a dream. Problem is, these dreams I'm having are a little...unreal. The things I've done in my dreams, they must be dreams.
I sat back on the sofa, rubbing my right arm gently. Looking around the room I'm in, I notice a few things that grab my attention. The bookcase, for instance, on the far right wall. Nothing special about it really, just your average run-of-the-mill bookcase, brown, wooden, shelves and books on it. No, it's more the fact that the bookcase is in the room that's odd. See, I don't have a bookcase. I don't have a coffee table and I don't have a bookcase. So, if I don't have either of these things, and these things are in front of me, I'm not in my home. As if to add more proof to this bizzare situation, there's a 40 inch flat-screen television mounted on the wall dirrectly in front of me. This is the topping on the cake. I could never afford such a thing, so why is it here? More importantly, why am I here? Even more importantly, where is here?