Untitled Story; written in religion class.

I watched as the woman's arm was wrenched from the socket. Her screams of agonizing pain didn't make me grimace, but I found no pleasure in them either. Watching her arm get pulled past where the flesh allowed it to go, her screams got even louder; a fact I'd not thought possible. With a final shriek of pure agony, her warm was torn from her body with a sickening rip, not unlike that of a soaked bed sheet being torn in two.

As blood pumped from the stump that was her arm not long ago, a white lab coat appeared in a doorway I had not noticed previously. Looking at her with a disinterested and dissatisfied look, he pulled out an odd piece of technology that I didn't recognize. I heard what sounded like 'Hold still' as he clamped the machine onto her stump. After several minutes of humming softly, the machine alerted us that it was finished with a soft beep.


The blood that had been gushing from her shoulder had stopped when he pulled the machine from the stump. he face, which a few minutes previously had been covered with painful expressions was now placid. her eyes, filled with life and agony were now dulled and doll-like. Her lungs still filled with air at a relatively constant rate; her body still functioned, but the spark of life was no longer present in the woman.

"Put her with the others," my scratchy, underused voice sounded in the other room. The lab coat glanced up at the sound of my voice. By the look of bewilderment on his face I could tell it was the first time this particular fellow had heard my voice. I was unsurprised by this observation; speaking was not something I did often. Most scenarios that required my presence also included someone to speak in my place. I could count and recall every time I had needed to speak over the last twenty years.

My voice no longer had meaning after December fourth of 2179, the day I went home and murdered my family. I'd found my wife, Eliza, in the kitchen. Her back was to me, so I lifted a pan from the rack of the wall; lifted it and cracked her across the back of her head as hard as I could. I heard her skull splinter and felt the bone give way under the force of my blow. She collapsed to the ground, the blood beginning to flow from where I struck her. Rolling her over, I could still see life in her, even concussed as she was. Her bright, icy-blue eyes struggled to focus on my face.

"Aiden?" she croaked, struggling with consciousness. Shaking my head, I stood and approached the counter, where we kept all of the freshly sharpened knives. Gripping the handle of the knife which had always been my favorite, I knelt down next to Eliza once more. Placing my free hand over her mouth, I took my knife and plunged it into her abdomen. Pulling the knife through her flesh, I gutted the woman who had been my wife and whom had birthed my children.

As I pulled the knife from her bloody corpse, my youngest son, Alex, chose that moment to enter the kitchen and witness my work. I don't believe he understood what had happened, but he was immediately frightened. I turned my steel-grey eyes upon my child and saw the terror in his eyes. Before he could open his mouth and let loose his hellish three-year-old scream, I shot forward and clutched his throat. "You always were far too curious," I heard my voice, seething with hate say. "And far too loud." As I said this, I removed his young head from his shoulders.

A fountain of blood erupted from his neck as I removed his skull. I dropped his body and surveyed my work. Messy, but efficient. My daughter Grace should have been home too, I'd thought to myself. I found her upstairs, playing in her room. while I was trying to decide upon the best way to end her life, she noticed my presence. She turned and upon seeing my bloodied form let loose a shriek from Hell. "Shut up!" I roared as the sound pierced my ears.

She lay on the ground trembling in fear, frightened to the point of pissing on herself. Now sitting in a pool of her own piss, Grace was shivering from fear and from there her tears spilled over. After the waterworks began the full-blown breakdown was not far behind. "I can't deal with this." Having that been said, I stepped forward and kicked Grace in the throat, causing her to gasp for air. As she lay there struggling to breath, I stepped forward once more and place my foot upon her throat and stepped down on her windpipe.

I left home, or what used to be my home that night and never bothered looking back. I could have burned the building or cleaned up or done something else to cover my tracks, but didn't bother. It was only a few days later that I was picked up and taken by police. They'd found me at work and wanted to speak to me. Not bothering to hide it; I told both of the officers and my entire office that I'd murdered my entire family. The best part was not the feeling of euphoria I'd gotten from their deaths, but the looks of shock, anger, disgust, and best of all, fear that showed so plainly on my coworkers faces.

At my trial, there was no need for the prosecutors to use any evidence. I gladly and willingly told the jury in clear, vivid detail what I did the night that I look the lives of my family. As I told the story that left me with blood on my hands, the shock that covered the room slowly turned to open hostility. I laughed at their hypocrisy. My punishment was decided that same day, less than an hour after my conviction. With no hesitation, the judge sentenced me to life in prison with no chance of parole.

I ended up serving six years of my life sentence before Eliza's family would push for my death via capital punishment. Due to the brutality of my actions and my lack of remorse at the slaughtering of my family, Eliza's mother and sister had no problems convincing jurers and judges alike. I did not try to convince them otherwise and neither would I let the pro-life activists speak on my behalf.

After the green light went on my execution, the method had to be determined. The first method was to be via the electric chair. For the first time since my original sentencing, I spoke. "Your chair won't work," my broken voice sounded. Eliza's mother and sister gaped at me as if I'd grown a third head with a phallus for a face. It took the courtroom several minutes to realize it was me who had spoken; even my lawyer seemed surprised.

"Just trying to be helpful," again my voice grated. "If you're going to kill me, might as well get it right." Greeted with blank stares and questioning glances, I continued. "My body has an unnaturally high resistance to electricity," I explained. "You would need near a half million volts to stop my heart. At that point, my skin would be burned and smoking, quite literally cooking me alive. And at that point you would be imprisoned for imposing a cruel and unusual punishment and I would still be alive."

With that concluding thought, I once again sat down, determined not to speak again. Many in the courtroom were shaking in their heads in what I can only conclude was amazement; that I could so calmly discuss and talk about my own death. When asked which method would work best, or if there was a method of execution I would prefer, I simply shook my head and did not answer. My lawyer interpreted this, back to the familiar way of communicating, as my execution would be for the judge to decide.

The sudden surfacing of these memories did not surprise me. While not common, they did pop into my mind on occasion. What did surprise me was how much time had passed while I relived my memories; or rather hadn't passed. Normally the memories dominated my mind for close to an hour, if not longer. In this case, the memories has passed through my mind quicker than the speed of thought; relived in minutes, rather than hours.

The Director, a man named Madding Bielhof's voice shook me from my surprise. "Do you really expect her mind to recover?" A shake of my head, telling him no, I did not. "None of the other 328 have recovered?" Another shake of my head. "Forcibly awakening their minds is not an option since the last incident, is it?" This time a nod, letting him know he was correct in his observation.

"That incident was a complete disaster and a total nightmare by any standards," another voice spoke from behind Madding. It was Leo, my partner. I gave him a look that said it was nice of him to show up. "My apologies for being late and leaving you without your speaker. Director Bielhof, did you ever hear full details of the incident?"

"No, I don't think I did. Only that it was a nightmare and had unanimous agreement not to be started again. Please, go on, Leo."

"Before we began using human test subjects," Leo began, "we tested animals. There are only a few animals that are capable of thought even remotely close to that of humans, so we attempted to bolster brain activity; elevate the animals' brains to a higher level. If we accomplished that, then perhaps we could apply it to humans was our reasoning.

"At first we had no substantial results. The animals' bodies reject the drugs we administered. Some rejected the drugs so strongly it killed them; torn apart by their own immune systems. Through trial and error and many animals, we finally started to see some progress. Instinctual animals began to show an understanding of basic math concepts and the like. From there it was slow-working again until we had a large breakthrough.

"Our breakthrough was with a turkey. At first his body fought against the newly refined drug. However, after a couple of minutes, his body began to accept the drug. The turkey's brain activity didn't just start to rise; it began to skyrocket. Brain activity wasn't the only change, though. Other less noticeable changes occurred.

"He began speaking; small things at first, but the drug worked too well. Instead of bolstering his intelligence by a set amount; it had an exponential effect, so his intelligence continued rising. He rose beyond genius-level of intelligence and brain activity. He got to the point where he demanded we call him Sampson. Sampson started out relatively normal, if that word was still applicable to a talking turkey. After a few hours of the drug, he became unstable.

"As his mental stability declined, Sampson began turning maliciously violent. He would place knives and scalpels in the way of our scientists, sometimes injuring them. He also began comparing himself to Stalin and Hitler; aspiring to be like them and cleanse the world of filth. Namely, us. It was at this time that be began outright attacking anyone who got near him. He would scream and yell about how we were inferior beings that needed to be wiped from the earth.

"In response to his breakdown, we did the only thing we could think of to clean up our mess. We sealed the room he was in and filled it with poison gas; then left it for over a week so that any chances of his survival were gone. After the room cleared, we sent in a team who recovered his corpse, removed his head, and then incinerated every piece of him.