Psycho

Thursday, October 23, 2014

Photo Credit: http://sheenajanes.deviantart.com/art/Twisted-Discovery-167789733
Psycho
Shaped by experiences unremembered.

She said she didn’t want to be psycho.

…but if I had a knife, I swear to God, I would have slit his throat.

She was talking about her two year old son.

***

I often wonder about the amount of influence parents have over their children. How much of our experiences come from them?

We are all shaped from experiences. Our thoughts, our behavior, everything we are defined by is shaped by history. 

Even, perhaps especially, the history we can’t remember.

***

When she was pregnant, she went through a jazz phase. She listened to it constantly: in the shower, while cooking dinner, during her commute to work, even as she fell asleep at night.

Twenty years later, her son pauses to listen to the beating of his heart every time he hears the sound of a saxophone. He is comforted.

But he can’t imagine why.

***

She was often angry.

She worked too much, and her husband too little. She never had time for herself. There was always too much to do.

Why can’t I ever come home to a clean house? Why is that so much to ask? Why must I do everything around here? You’re a selfish piece of shit. Why can’t you just take care of yourself for once? I’m tired of cleaning up after you.

Every night after dinner, they would sit down to watch the news as a family.

A young woman was found stabbed to death…

…twenty-seven first graders were killed in the school shooting; three more are in recovery…

The story was always different, but at the bottom of the screen, in bold letters, there was always the same word:
PSYCHO.

***

He killed her because his heart was broken.

I’m tired of your shit. Grow up already. I’m not your fucking mother.

He stuffed the pieces of her body in the suitcase she had been packing, and buried it in his mother’s backyard when he went to visit. 

“Where’s your girlfriend? She didn’t come with you this time?” His mother asked.

“She’s not my girlfriend anymore.”

“Good. I thought that girl was a psycho anyway.”

When he cleaned the blood stain from his floor, he was listening to jazz.


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