After my visitor, I decided to leave my house a little more often, and checking the community center near the edge of town I joined the "Inhuman Club". I'm told it's for anyone who feels like an outcast, or that does something that makes them feel like a monster, to get help.
It sounds stupid, but it was better then anything else on the list, and all I plan to do is watch and listen.
Everyone introduces themselves, also saying why they were there, some were just socially awkward because of the amount of horror movies they get obsessed over it freaks everyone else out, others came becasue they feel worthless, but then someone says they dream of killing people. I'm no longer bored, and I listen to every detail, even though some look away and look like they might be sick.
When they finally come to me, I'm almost suprised, because I forgot I haven't gone yet.
"I'm here because I like death." I say it clean and simple, but some people backaway from me as I look around the room. "Why is that? asks the counselur.
"I've never felt alive."
The meeting ends with that, and the guy that dreams of killing comes up to me.
"Is that even possible?"
"Not feeling alive."
I look at him sadly and don't answer, because he should know the answer, so I head back home, to see a dead bouquet of flowers on my doorstep again, but this time I leave them. I head to my bedroom and pull out the dagger I keep at my house for safety reasons, and cut my arm. It's a small cut, and not too deep, but I suddenly feel better, and I realize that I know what being alive feels like, and I fall asleep with the dagger still in my hand and my arm still bleeding.