He had not come for her husband. No. It was the woman's beautiful eyes that intrigued him. They were such a lovely deep chestnut brown.
He shut the door behind him, confident that no one would hear the woman's cries.
She was in a state of shock and could barely move.
Greg grabbed her short brown hair and slammed her head into the coffee table, knocking her senseless.
He allowed her to fall on the floor as he took out a small jar from his coat. He opened it and put it on the coffee table.
The woman was beginning to regain her senses. Greg pinned her down on the ground. He took out a small pocket knife from his coat and opened it.
The last thing the woman saw in this life was Greg's blade as it popped her eyeballs from their sockets. He put them in the jar. He would put them in front of the mirror when he got home.
Greg soon became tired of the woman's rhythmic shrieks and jerking on the carpet. He grabbed her head and smashed it against the floor, possibly forty times as hard as he could, until it felt like a shattered Easter egg.
The house was quiet now.
Greg sat down at the table and began finishing the woman's breakfast as he watched the morning news.
They were talking about abused children. Greg knew that subject well. His father had beaten him horribly when he was a child. He nearly killed Greg a couple of times from head traumas.
Greg never knew his mother. She died giving birth to him.
He looked at the pictures that hung on the walls of the home. Such happy people!
Greg didn't have any pictures on his walls at home. He had no family and no friends at all. Greg's odd behavior and inappropriate expressions scared people away. His whole life he had been an outcast, from school to whatever shitty jobs he could manage to hold onto.
Greg was feeling uncomfortable. He finished the woman's coffee and left. He had a doctor's appointment to keep.
"Greg, how nice to see you," Dr. Martin told him.
"How have you been this week?"
"All right, I suppose. It could be worse," Greg answered.
Dr. Martin had a very simplified view of the universe, Greg thought. He believes that we are just machines. He thinks you can dope someone up and fix anything with enough drugs. The old grey doctor was so set in his ways that listening to him was like hearing someone read out of a book. Their conversation was filled with cookie cutter responses.
"And the medication I prescribed? Has it helped you?" the doctor asked. He pulled his chair closer to the couch Greg was laying back in.
"Yes...I think it is," Greg lied. He had not been taking those pills. They made him feel sick. They put him in such a stupor that he could never concentrate on anything.
"Good, that is just what I want to hear," the doctor said, pleased.
"Doctor, what made me the way I am?" Greg asked.
"What do you mean?" Dr. Martin asked, pretending to be interested.
"I can't stand to be around people. Everyone rolls their eyes at me like there's something wrong with me. I try to be a good person, but it never matters..." Greg began.
The doctor cut him off. "Greg," he said condescendingly, "there is nothing wrong with you. Everyone has doubts and fears about life. That's normal."
"But everyone has always hated me. Why?" Greg asked.
"No one hates you, Greg. Listen," he said as he began looking at his watch, "We are all products of our environment. You had some bad experiences. Everyone does. But the mind is a very complex machine. Nature gave you everything that you need to overcome the past. You just have to be strong."
"I don't think other people feel like I do." Greg confessed hoping to make some real sort of connection.
The doctor motioned for him to wait as he answered his cell phone. By his hushed tones and the sickening smile on his face, Greg guessed that "Angel" was not his wife.
After a minute or two the good doctor got off the phone.
"I am so sorry. Go on. What do you feel?" he asked, with exaggerated concern plastered across his face.
"I feel...like I 'd like to leave now," Greg said as he got up.
Greg went inside McDonald's. People were looking at his long hair and black attire. They glanced down at his Tool concert shirt, and then up to his nervous face. He could feel their judgmental stares on him. It felt like he was melting inside like a child.
"Can I help you?" some snotty young wench sneered at him from behind the cash register.
Greg felt a lump in his throat."I would like the number one combo with...."
"Speak up!" she barked.
The cashier rolled her eyes at him as she handed him his change. She didn't say a word as she tossed his bag of food in front of him.
"Fuck off!" he snapped at her as he grabbed it up.
Later that night Greg was out again. He walked past the old stone church. It towered pompously into the black sky.
"You made me this way," he said under his breath.
"All of my life everything has gone wrong. I never asked to be born. I am a monster," he said with self-loathing.
He looked to the cross on top of the building and then to the flashing sign with its message of Jesus.
"Where is an angel for me, God?" he asked. "You can't help me. You are not even listening, are you?"
Greg went on his way.
He had been tracking a very pretty blond with much fascination for several weeks. He waited in front of her house.
Greg could feel his hands beginning to shake with excitement as her door opened. His trunk was ready. He would use the stun gun he had brought, and throw her in the trunk.
He watched her checking the locks on her door.
She was so beautiful, probably about five foot three. Her teased hair reminded him of the metal days. She was dressed very Gothic with a short black skirt and black lace top.
As she came down the concrete steps she looked over at Greg and smiled.
He smiled back. He couldn't move. He couldn't say anything. She appeared to him as an angel. He was in awe of her beauty. They stared at one another for several seconds as she passed.
As she started to get into her car a black Firebird pulled alongside of her. A man jumped out and began hitting her as he yelled, "You stupid whore!"
Greg recognized the man. It was her boyfriend. He had not come around much lately. Greg guessed their relationship had ended.
The young woman cried for help as the man grabbed her by the hair and began taunting her.
Before Greg knew what he was doing he had rushed the man and pushed him off of the girl.
"You mind you own God damned business!" the man challenged.
Greg threw a clumsy right hand that missed. The enraged boyfriend knocked him down and got on top of him.
Greg could taste the blood from his nose. The man was pummeling him on the sidewalk while the young woman screamed, "Get off of him! You're killing him!"
Greg felt his head being slammed into the concrete.
Soon everything went black.
Greg had sustained severe injuries to his head resulting in brain damage. He was in a coma for several weeks.
When he woke up he had no memory of who he was.
The young woman, Angel was her name, took pity on him. She found out that he had no family, no one to contact.
He was all alone.
She stayed by his side as he went through therapy.
Greg learned to walk, talk and read all over again, like a child.
And when he was released she suggested that he stay with her for a while, since he had lost his apartment and had no where to go. As weeks turned into months they fell in love and were married.
Greg was a perfect father and the best husband Angel could have imagined.
His memories never returned.
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Happy Halloween to all members from the Qlipothic Abyss
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