Psyche of a Murderer

ndpthepoetress: "The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe is about an evil eye, dismemberment, and the repercussions of guilt. What more could a reader ask for! A seemingly short tale with enthralling details, but with an abrupt ending. Still in-between the lines one can perhaps visualize how some people fixate on a person’s flaws instead of their overall significance as a human being. And so the story begins, such imperfection gradually converts into an obsession. The male perpetrator could have only taken that which disturbed him the most. His method of choice however contemplated primarily on the breath of life, possibly giving the readers a clue to the frame of this killer’s own psyche at the time. Hence; the subsequent anatomization, may have been more of a means to prove his own self bloody-right than the ascribed reason. However; he was about to learn that all human life does have value. For guilt has a way of eating into the brain. There truth echoes, beckoning to be heard. Such resonance then can impel a sane man mad while plummeting a supposedly mad man even further into the depths of insanity. And so it is with The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe":

Treads of A Murder

In the cloak of darkness the heart pounded detrimentally inside her chest, as if insistent on immediate release; while perspiration dripped from numerous sweat glands she never knew her flesh had. Suddenly, the body she was hauling tumbled to the ground and descended along a steep hill. Panicky, she ran toward the already rotting carcass. In the hurried course her high heels broke as she toppled onto the mossy wet leafed ground, tasting dirt from her moist glossy lips. Her nose was within a few inches of the cadaver, the stench reeked with a combination of dumpster garbage and human sewage waste. Sickeningly nauseated she some how managed to rise, brushing the earths remnants from herself with her now bloodily scratched hands. Then, as if without any forethought whatsoever; she grasped the stiff body and lugged it toward a nearby river bank. Briefly, as if to catch a breath; she sat on the moist ground surrounded by the night. Her fleeting thoughts interrupted abruptly to realize she had not brought a shovel. Frantically she looked around in the moonlight. Broken twigs were scattered amidst the thickening, as she hurriedly threw them aside to at last find a short broken, rigid tree limb. She began to dig furiously right there beneath her feet, until the depth was sufficient. By now the crack of dawn was awakening, worn out she clasped the foul body, dragging it inside the hole. Her bare, scuffed raw hands clumping dirt rapidly over the grave. Content with her undertaking, she staggered toward the river. Achingly she knelt down to fling the icy water onto herself, simultaneously seeming to cleanse some of the filth from her skin and mind. Exhausted, she began the journey toward the hill top where her car was parked. Finally she arrived; fumbling with keys until the door unlocked, she climbed inside. Idle, hands on the wheel; she reflected on the nights’ escapade. If only someone had driven a little slower, perhaps none of this would have happened. Or if someone merely attended to the matter themselves when the incident occurred, than maybe she would not had to taken care of the dreadful situation herself. Still trembling; she shifts her car into drive and pulls onto the blackened road. The muddy rear frame of her car had only one bumper sticker visible: God Bless the animals that cross to and fro, for they know not which way to go.

Written By ©ndpthepoetress (- Jeane Michelle Culp) {copyright #98s7750940}

True Ghost Story

Thanks to my buddy Joy in Ohio for sending me the following story from on the internet some where. It helped me realize; nothing is ever as bad as how it seems:

WEST VIRGINIA GHOST STORY

This happened about a month ago just outside a little town in the low country of West Virginia, and while it sounds like an Alfred Hitchcock tale, it's real.

A guy was on the side of the road hitchhiking on a really dark night in the middle of a thunderstorm. Time passed slowly and no cars went by. It was raining so hard he could hardly see his hand in front of his face. Suddenly he saw a car moving slowly, approaching and appearing ghost-like in the rain. It slowly crept toward him and stopped.

Wanting a ride really bad, the guy jumped in the car and closed the door, only then did he realize that there was nobody behind the wheel. The car slowly started moving and the guy was terrified, too scared to think of jumping out and running.

The guy saw that the car was slowly approaching a sharp curve, still too scared to jump out, he started to pray and begging for his life; he was sure the ghost car would go off the road and into the marsh and he would surely drown. Then just before the curve, a hand appeared through the driver's window and turned the steering wheel, guiding the car safely around the bend.

Paralyzed with fear, the guy watched the hand reappear every time they reached a curve. Finally the guy, scared to near death, had all he could take and jumped out of the car and ran to town.

Wet and in shock, he went into a cafe and voice quivering, ordered a cup of hot coffee, black, then told everybody about his experience.

A silence enveloped the cafe and everybody got goose bumps when they realized the guy was telling the truth and was not just some weirdo.

About half an hour later two guys walked into the cafe and one says to the other: Look Jethro there's that idiot who rode in our car when we were pushing it in the rain.

Knock Knock ‘anybody out there’… Part 2

Somewhere between Fiction and Non-Fiction the Reality of 'Letting Go' Continues

[Scene: The Hangover

Author: awakens long enough to 'Let Go' its' latest victim]

Sadly, you just don't get it yet

You still think that after all the lonely weekends

After every night alone

Your day time 'give a darn', just doesn't 'give a damn' any more

But now you need to go on and save yourself

For the monster has crept in

Leave while you can

This nightmare has just begun

Perhaps one can merely feed a dog scraps and leftovers for so long

Before the beast within the Bitch rages out in anger

Leave me to my ''UnComfortably Numbness'– I don't give a damn no more

Can't you see – your 'give a darn' has gone

You can not reach me, it's too late

Deafen your ears; you need not hear my howling as if at the moon

Let them be merely echoes in the cold dark night

Just go on and save yourself – go on

For the monster has crept in

Leave while you can

For my nightmare has just begun.

…just a simple 'Pen' prick.

©-Jeane Michelle Culp (©#U671zX2456)

Author, an online Bud has asked -Jeane M. Culp to write his "Love Saga". All the Story and poetry posts can now be found in one location, in one Series at: Binding Ink II