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Psychopathic Lovers

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(A short story written by Christian Tanner.)

If Ben and April Wild were around in the 1940’s, Hitler would have killed himself a lot earlier than
April 30th, 1945.

Ben and April were the murder’s murderer. If a trial’s evidence was powerful, but politics got in the way of an accurate judicial decision, well then, welcome to the court of Ben and April Wild. Maximum punishment – suicide.

The Baby Killer

In early 2011, a woman was found not guilty of murdering her daughter whose mouth was found taped shut along with a lethal dose of morphine in her system. She was found behind her very own home, but her mother, Shawn, addicted to morphine and obviously guilty in Ben and April’s eyes, was found innocent. The anger coursed through the veins of Ben and April, where the killer’s killer began. However, Ben and April never killed anyone. Think of them as a morally acceptable version of Charles Manson.

“She has to die.” Ben told April. “She got away with murder!”

“We will finish it, Ben. We have the perfect plan.”

“You’re so sexy when you talk about killing.” Ben told April.

April’s voice cracked, “Ben,” she said, “It’s not killing, it’s suicide.”

“I know, I know. You’re just cute.”

Ben and April were preeminent lovers of black clothing and accessories. April had a lot of soft features while Ben stood out with his bald head. April’s lips were as spongy as a pillow and her clothes and makeup brought of the intricate color of her eyes. Ben’s rough clothes, on the other hand, made him look somewhat like a biker without a bike. All he needed was a black vest covered in patches with a Harley Davidson V-rod Muscle sending 122 horsepower and 86 lb-ft torque coursing through his bones. Ben was a biker without a bike. How he longed for it, though.

April and Ben’s journey through central United States to the outback of Corpus Cristi, Texas was much like the Titan rollercoaster at Six Flags. The thought of killing Shawn shot out at 70 mph and sent them on twists and turns to come up with a plan, however, on the way to Corpus, they hit their peak. During the quick ride on the Titan, half way through you’ll find that the rollercoaster whips you to a peak in the air, and then you fall backwards and go through the waves and spins of the rollercoaster backwards. It’s as intense as murder.

Even though they had hours upon hours to turn around and allow Shawn to have her freedom, they couldn’t do it. Ben and April had made up their minds that Shawn could no longer live after killing her child. The last they heard of Shawn’s whereabouts was on the beach in Corpus Cristi. She was sunbathing. You know, the first thing you would do after being found innocent of killing your only child.

Torture doesn’t always come in the form of pain.

Ben and April arrived, but before they chose a hotel to say in, they decided to scour the beach while the waves crashed at their feet and sand washed over their toes like soap suds at the bottom of your shower. This seemed to be their opportunity thanks to a photographer who took her picture the day before. In the picture, Shawn hid behind large pink sunglasses and she also colored her hair from brown to blonde.

Ben and April paced the beach three times before giving up and trying again tomorrow. Their faces were picture-perfect description for defeat. They both hung their head and mere disappointment was taking over. Depression was about to sink in. Just before they saw her.
“Look, Look.” April tapped on Ben’s arm.

“Wow, it’s her!” Ben said ecstatically as if it were a long lost famous family member they hadn’t seen in years and years.

“What do we do?”

“We watch.” April said. “We watch and we watch.”

“What are we watching for?” Ben asked.

April said in her creepiest voice, “Let’s just let the tension build.”

And the game had begun.

The next day, they woke at 6 a.m. to get a good spot on the beach and watch everyone roll in. The sunrise over the ocean was beautiful and the dolphins danced through the water while Ben and April saw one couple, and then a couple friends. Another couple and then a family. After an hour, the beach was almost full.

The night before, Ben and April followed Shawn to her hotel and then to her room. They acted like a drunk couple, screaming and hollering so they wouldn’t be suspected of anything. Shawn entered her room, room 216, and April and Ben ended their drunken act after obtaining exactly what they wanted.

After two hours on the beach, April and Ben were getting hungry, but their nerves told them they weren’t hungry just yet. That was the moment they saw her prancing down to the beach for her third day. She was just living it up. That bitch, Ben thought.

April said, “Ok, let go to the end of the beach and put on the masks.”

Ben agreed without hesitation and with excitement.

When they reached the edge of the beach where no one was watching them, so they thought, Ben and April put on masks with clown like features and crazy dishwater blonde hair sticking out of the top and the sides of the masks. They slowly walked the beach with their heads down just before they stood in front of Shawn, but keeping a safe distance away. The kind of distance where Shawn wouldn’t ask them any questions. They would prefer her to keep her questions to herself.

Shawn leaned up for a moment to apply more tanning lotion, but she was disturbed when she saw Ben and April, but having no idea who they really were. With the stress of trial and the haunting thought of her dead baby, she grew intensively nervous. So nervous she packed her bags and left.

The glamorous part was Ben and April took off their masks and threw them in the water where they would float to some kids playing in the water. Ben and April had no more use for the masks. After doing so, Ben and April went for a quick run around the side of the hotel that stood right next to the beach. They ran up the stairs to the second floor and waited around the corner, peaking down the hallway every couple seconds waiting for Shawn to exit the elevator. When she did, Ben and April acted like the drunk couple again, but sober today.

“Hey,” Ben said.

“Hi.” Said Shawn.

“You’re the girl from last night. I’m sorry if we made a fool of ourselves,” Ben raised his eyebrows, “we we’re pretty drunk last night.”

“It’s ok, I thought you guys were pretty funny.”

“Thanks, we talked about it all this morning. How we acted like teenagers and stuff.”

“It’s ok, really.”

“Well, good. Thanks.” April said.

And Shawn kept walking towards her room while Ben and April walked towards the elevator.

“Oh shit I forgot my wallet.” Ben said.

“Well grab it really quick.”

“I’ll hurry.”

Ben pretended to walk back to the room while Shawn was opening her door. And in went Ben and April.

The door banged shut, sending a piercing echo through the hallway.

Ben grabbed Shawn and threw her down on the bed.

“Don’t fucking move!” he yelled.

And she didn’t. She was terrified!

April smacked her across her face and jump up and down like a kid in a grocery store begging for her favorite cereal, “You crazy bitch.” April yelled.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Shawn asked. “What are you going to do to me?”

“You whore-whore-whore.” She said with three jumps. “You know what you did you goddamn murderer.”

“No! I didn’t do—“

And in her mouth went a sock and it was taped over.

“Don’t move.” Said Ben as he filled a rag full of chloroform and knocked out Shawn.

She woke to being tied to the bed with right arm duct taped to the bed side table and feeling like ants were crawling under her skin.

“When you have that much morphine in your system,” said April, “It will feel like you’re on fire.”

Shawn twisted and tried to turn, but there was no give. They had her tightly tied. She yelled through the wet sock, but she couldn’t yell loud enough.

“Here,” Ben said, “This is morphine.” (Enough to make Shawn overdose.)

“More morphine should do the trick.” April hinted.

And Ben sat the syringe in Shawn’s hand.

Ben and April began to recite a deadly poem.

“We are the murder’s murder.” Ben began.

April followed, “We are the ones who come as the torturer.”

Ben continued, “We live for those who died,”

“And we do it aside,” April recited.

“Each other until the day we die.”

“Your punishment served no justice,”

“It came bloodless,” Ben said.

“But here we come,”

“The murder’s murder,”

“And your punishment,”

The said together, “Is suicide.”

The Killer Cop

Ben and April stood in front of the Killer Cop who was just found innocent of murdering a young black teenager named Tim who allegedly ran towards the officer. Why cops are trained to kill instead of use pepper spray was beyond April and Ben.

The Killer Cop, Sal, shot and killed a black teenager for running towards the officer after he had just rob a convenience store. He was unarmed and showed no sign of having a weapon, yet Sal shot and killed him anyway.

Sal awoke in a basement of some kind.

The killer cop asked, “Why are you doing this to me?”

“You’re a murderer.” April’s sweet voice answered as she appeared from the shadows.

“Well hello beautiful.” Said Sal.

A faint laugh came from behind April. It was Ben.

Sal had 75 pounds of chain laid around him that locked him in the chair he was sitting on.

“If you admit to the crime, we might let you go and you can have another opportunity to kill someone else. So admit it.”

“I didn’t murder anyone didn’t you see the trial I am innocent.”

April let out a subtle cute, “Ohhh,” and then she looked at Ben. Ben held a tape recorder, hoping to get a confession so once they killed him, the cops might not look as intently as they would if an innocent person had died. Either way, it was unlikely, but it was worth the shot.

“Now you’re a liar, too.” Said Ben.

“I didn’t do it!”

“You’re going to die.”

There’s no such thing as inhumanity.

“Please, let me go.” The Killer Cop cried.

April laughed.

“I bet Tim would have said the same thing, wouldn’t he?”

“I’m sorry for what I did. I was scared.”

“Admit that you murdered him.” Ben demanded.

“Yes, I killed him, but it was out of self-defense, guys.”

“You murdered him because he was black.” Said April.

“Believe me, I didn’t do it like that.”

“Ben, shall we begin?” April asked.

“Not yet.” Ben demanded.

April got a bit upset.

The Conflict

“You’re always acting like you’re the only one in charge.” April stated.

Ben defended himself by saying, “No I don’t.”

“Yes you do. Just like the other times. You were the only one who got to start the poem.”

“April, what the hell? If you wanted to start you could have just said so.”

“I don’t care. I’m just tired of you acting like this. Let’s do it now.”

“We have to get him to confess first.” Ben explain.

“No we don’t.” April replied. “No one is going to come after us for this bastard.”

Ben fired back, “You don’t ever expect what people won’t do, you always expect everything they would do,”

“You act like you’re so fucking smart.”

Ben pulled out his gun and said, “What the hell did you just say to me?”

April pulled out her gun and pointed it at Ben, “I said you act like you’re so fucking smart.”

Ben pointed his gun at April. Their guns were staring into each other’s barrels.

“Pull the trigger, dare you.” Said Ben.

April replied, “You won’t do shit.”

“Bet.”

“Bet.”

The both stared into each other’s eyes.

Ben broke down and lowered his gun.

“Let’s get this over with. You’re right. You take the lead.”

“I’m sorry, Ben.”

April lowered her gun and walked towards Ben and gave him a kiss on his cheek. “Let’s kill this bastard.”

“Let’s do it.”

“I love you.” Said April.

“I love you, too. You’re my sweet little psychopathic lover.”

April showed a wide smile with all her teeth showing and a short but meaningful, playful laugh.

The killer cop cried for his life throughout the poem.

And they recite the poem.

April led this time.

“We are the murder’s murder.”

Ben followed, “We are the ones who come as the torturer.”

April continued, “We live for those who died,”

“And we do it aside,” Ben recited.

“Each other until the day we die.”

“Your punishment served no justice,”

“It came bloodless,”

“But here we come,”

“The murder’s murder,”

“And your punishment,”

April and Ben looked at each other, and then nodded.

“Is murder.”

Ben fired one bullet into the killer cop while April unloaded the entire clip.

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Mental Illness – A List Of Boundaries For The Mentally Ill

Depression is tough and 80% of the population who suffer from depression go untreated, or undiagnosed. The goal here is to help people who may not go see doctors, check themselves into inpatient programs for suicidal idealization or homicidal idealization, or out patient programs for depression and/or bi-polar disorder. These are serious mental illnesses where treatment begins with acceptance and then a list of Life Principles, as I like to call them. Even if you do not suffer from a mental illness, these are still good boundaries to set for yourself. (If you have ANY questions about these, please leave questions in the comments and I will help explain them.)

1.) Put yourself first.

2.) Go against the intensity of any emotion you may feel.

3.) Exercise.

4.) Establish a United Front with your significant other.

5.) Do not take on everyone’s problems.

6.) Take medication as prescribed.

7.) Write.

8.) Eat three meals a day.

9.) Do not lay in bed all day. (Do not isolate.)

10.) Find structure.

11.) No suicidal thoughts.

12.) Bring out the kid in yourself.

13.) Establish a set of coping skills.

14.) Set/write down goals. (Short term, long term.)

Again, if you have any questions about these Life Principles, or you have something to add, leave it below in the comments section.

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Stop Crying, Stop Crying – A Poem

Please, if you like this poem, share it with your friends and family. Also, please leave your thoughts. I absolutely love to read your comments.

 

I don’t like how my mind keeps me awake at night.

To this poisonous feeling I feel, I wish I knew what you are telling me, or I just want you to pack your bags and go away.

I don’t like how you keep me awake at night.

The bottomless pit I feel in my stomach sinks too low.

If there’s a place lower than hell, I’m there.

I’m more afraid of emotional harm than I am physical pain.

But the people I love, the poetry i write,

They help sooth my pain away.

My nerves around my stomach shock my appetite away.

Just at certain uncontrollable thoughts about my past.

Stop crying,

I tell myself,

Stop crying.

My feelings are behind it.

How is it that i know my past, but it feels so uncertain, while my future is uncertain but I feel like I know what’s going to happen?

It’s time to change.

What’s the quickest way into the unknown?

It’s through the door you’ve never walked through because you’re too afraid to go alone.

I keep telling myself,

Stop crying,

Stop crying,

This hurt,

it has to go away before I do.

Put on your shoes, tie your laces, and go for a walk.

You have to shake the shock.

Put in your headphones, stare at the sky and know there is a God.

He’s watching over you and he’s going to take away your pain.

Keep crying, keep crying, and let it all out,

It’s just not your pain anymore.

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Orexa

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A short story written by Christian Tanner

      Never run anywhere with your headphones in your ears. Huge mistake.
      “Where the hell am I?” Wes Solon said before be begun his frantic search for answers.
      Wes was trapped in an eerie room that reeked of decaying flesh. Animal or human, either way, the smell was enough to render Wes unable. He peered back and forth from wall to wall while trying to make sense of the black tar running from the ceiling down each yellowed wall. The room alone gave him the constant chills, but his situation was far more intense.
      Wes found himself in a situation where nearly every person could agree that is one of the most intense and frightening situations of all. He was tied to a well-made concrete chair that was cemented into the ground. Above Wes’ head, well, rather attached to his head was a mechanism that restrained him from looking left and right, up or down. All he could move was his sore muscles in his face and he could move his eyes. That’s it. Everything else was restricted and he had no memory of how it could have happened.
      “You know–” A startling voice appeared from behind Wes.
      “Who’s there? Who are you? And… and… what are you doing to me? Why?”
      “You know, Wes, you should never run with your headphones in your ears.”
      Wes asked, “Why not?”
      “Because then shit like this happens to you.”
      “What are you doing to me?”
      The cocking of a handgun has a very distinct sound.
      Xander Fitz, to put a name to a voice with a gun in his hand, Xander put a small table in front of Wes and then set a clock on top of it.
      Xander asked Wes, “Do you smell that?”
      “Smell what?” Wes replied.
      Xander paused for a moment and sniffed the air.
      “Did you fart, Wes?”
      “What the fuck? No…”
      “It smells like a fart in here.” Xander’s eyebrows rose to a peak while he said, “It’s rude to fart, ya know.”
      “That’s great,” said Wes, “But what the fuck am I doing here?”
      “You’re not here to fart on yourself, I know that much. Control yourself, Wes.”
      Xander turned to face the table and pressed the single button on top of the clock. The clock began to run numbers consecutively, however appearing randomly. The numbers ran together like watching the tenths of a second roll on a stopwatch. They were moving quickly.
      Xander walked to the side of Wes and put the gun to his head.
      “Don’t fucking shoot me, man! Please don’t fucking shoot.” Wes began to cry.
      “Don’t cry, Wes, your eyes will fill with tears and you won’t be able to see the clock as clearly as you need to because what I want you to do is watch that clock and tell me something.”
      “What? Tell you what?”
      “You can’t see them yet, but you will shortly. The beginning number is nine and the last number is one. There are 9 total numbers. I want you to tell me what the three numbers are in the middle.”
      “How? Those numbers are moving way too fast. There’s no way I’ll be able to read them.”
      Xander let out a grizzly laugh and then said, “Look, Wes, when you’re put into a life or death situation, your brain has an intelligent way of slowing down time. If you don’t tell me what the numbers are in the next 30 seconds, I’m going to blow your head clean off your neck. Life or death, Wes, What’s it gunna be?”
      “Please stop all this, I have two kids. I can’t die, not like this.”
      “Now you’re lying to me, Wes. Lying isn’t a sign of excellent problem solving skills.”
      Wes asked Xander, “Why are you doing this?”
      “If you tell me what those numbers are, I will tell you why and you will live. Go.”
      Wes paid close attention to the clock running number at high speed.
      Glimpse of an “8”.
      A “7”.
      “Uh, 8, 7—”
      “Wrong, start over.”
      “Um,” Wes stared intently, saying, “4, 9, and 6.”
      “Close,” Xander said, sounding impressed. “But not close enough. You have 15 seconds, let’s go.”
      Right before Wes’ eyes, Xander was proved correct. The number slowed motion, 9-2-1-4-9-7-6-2-1
      “Four, nine, seven!”
      Xander let out a long impressive whistle.
      “Good job.” Said Xander. “Now that’s how it’s done. You have no idea how many people have died in your chair.”
      “Now tell me why you’re doing this!”
      Ha-ha.
      “For orexa, Wes. It’s all about Orexa.”
      “What the hell is orexa?”
      Xander began, “It’s a lot of things, but most importantly it is the chemical in your brain that control your problem solving skills.”
      Xander opened a drawer behind Wes, revealing a syringe with a long needle and a tube for a syringe tank. It was big. Huge, even.
      “Smart people like yourself have plenty of it. When you’re put into a life or death situation, your brain releases a ton of orexa which is exactly what I want you for. That’s how you were able to slow down time. Now keep your head very still and you won’t feel much.”
      “What?” Wes’ voice became frantic. Scared.
      “Please, don’t do this to me.”
      The needle slid in with ease into Wes’ temple and tears began to rain out of Wes’ eyes. When Xander pulled the plunger, a greenish-blue fluid began to fill the tank. He pulled the needle from Wes’ brain and immediately inserted it into a large vial. Xander was moving quickly now. Anyone who watched him knew he was working under a time limit.
      “You know, Wes,” he said while continuing what looked like a science experiment, “Orexa dies within the minute, so you have to move very quickly.”
      “What the noise is?” Wes asked with a hint of dumbness.
      “Awe, man, Wes, you’re already losing it. Just when I was enjoying talking to you.”
      Xander took another syringe filled with a separating agent and slid the needle into the vial full of brain juice to separate any other brain fluid from the orexa. Within seconds, a clear fluid was floating at the top of the other brain juices that were then green. Xander took out another syringe, inserted it into the vial, plunged out the clear fluid, and then injected the orexa into his arm.
      Xander took off his belt and strapped it around his other arm and then pulled out a vial filled with heroine. He got a different syringe, and he had begun to inject the heroine into himself, but he had one problem – the heroine clogged his needle. It was too thick because it was cut with coffee grounds.
      Xander pulled out a lighter from his pocket and then stuck a flame and put it to the needle, although the needle was still piercing through his skin. The needle became black, and the heroine began to loosen up and flow through his needle. It burned Xander’s arm when he pushed the needle in a bit deeper, leaving a tiny black dot on his arm. When Xander pulled out the needle, he tried to rub off the black dot, but the needle tattooed it in his skin. It was his first tattoo.
      Heroine, it’s one hell of a drug.

The Gas Station

      Xander repeated to himself, “Don’t pull your gun out.”
      Don’t do it.
      Just wait. You’re in line.
      I’m going to do it.
      Not yet.
      I shouldn’t have shot that much heroine, maybe I’m too high to do it, Xander thought.
      Watch his hands, he may already know you’re going to rob him. No, that’s crazy. I’m on a level higher than everyone, but maybe this heroine is leveling me out. Who knows. Don’t do it.
      Xander was next in line, and the person in front of him who was at the register was finishing up his purchase. Nice.
      Get on with it.
      Xander requested, “Pack of smoke.”
      “Regular?”
      “Yeah.”
      The gas station attendant grabbed the pack of cigarettes and shot a strange glance at Xander. Xander didn’t know what to think, did the gas station attendant know he was going to rob him, or did he just know Xander was high? That glance, if only he didn’t look at him that way.
      The cash register popped open, and the clerk fell to the ground. The sound of the gun shot echoed off the bags of chips, the walls, the Styrofoam cups. The packages of gum and candy. The bullet grazed the clerk’s head, ripping out a chuck of skull, but he didn’t die.
      Xander reached over the counter and pulled out all the cash. He lifted the black money tray to retrieve the big bill from underneath, and then shot the clerk once more. The cars at the pump all drove off, and Xander knew he was working under a time limit before the police arrived.
      The hardest problems to solve are the ones that come without warning.
      Xander ran through the back door, hopped into his silver Toyota Camry and headed to the nearest car wash. Within the minute, he arrived. Xander inserted five dollars without hesitating, drove into the car wash and sat back to enjoy his high. Xander planned on it being his last high while he hid from the police.

The Bank Robbery

      There was not a security guard to be seen.
      “Go ahead and put in the code to the safe, and then press the button to call for the police.”
      “What?”
      “Show me your hands. You don’t seem to be the brightest one here.”
      “What?”
      “Show me your fucking hands.”
      The bank clerk, Emily, put her hands on the counter top.
      “Good job, Emily.” Xander said.
      “Now, I want you to listen closely. I know that the safe will open, but it takes two and a half minutes. I have this check here for $5,000. Cash it for me after you put in the code to the safe.”
      “I’ll have to cash the check first in order to open the safe.”
      “Did you already press the button to call the police? Don’t lie to me, you’ll die.”
      “No, I don’t get paid enough to be a hero.”
      “Wow,” Xander said. “You’re smarter than I thought.”
      The fear on Emily’s face was enough to make Xander feel upset, but he didn’t let that interfere with the robbery.
      Emily requested, “Let me see the check.”
      Xander held the check in the air, not over his head, but close to his face.
      “Before I give you this check,” Xander explained, “I need you to follow these instructions. First, stay calm. There’s no one else near us, so don’t make any strange movements to signal to someone that you’re in trouble. Second, go ahead and laugh like I just said something funny.”
      “What do you mean?”
      Xander demanded, “Just fucking laugh, Emily.”
      “Uh, ok.”
      Emily let out a soft laughter and so did Xander.
      “Ok, laugh harder and move a little, but always keep your hands in my sight.”
      They laughed together and Xander then said, “You’re doing great, Emily, I’m proud of you. Now I want you to cash this check and open the safe. Keep your hands above the desk and turn your computer screen towards me and act like your showing me stuff while you cash the check, just so I know you’re not doing anything on your computer to call the police.”
      Emily agreed. “Ok.”
      “You’re doing great.”
      “The safe will open in one minute.”
      “Awesome. You didn’t do anything to trigger the police did you?”
      “No.”
      “Emily, you’re a liar.”
      And Emily was a liar. There’s two ways to open the safe from the computer, and she used the one that triggers the police.
      “No, Really, I’m not lying to you.”
      “Seriously? I can hear the police sirens.”
      “I’m sorry, they make us do it.”
      “I know, but the problem is you just caused some officers to die.”
      “What do you mean?” Emily asked, paranoid as all get out.
      “That’s going to hang over you for a long time.”
      The sound of the safe was heard by both Emily and Xander.
      Xander pulled out a bag from his coat and instructed Emily to, “Put the money in this bag.”
      Emily quickly put the money in the bag and handed it to Xander.
      “Are there any marked bills in here?”
      “No.” Emily answer honestly.
      “Show me the marked bills.”
      Emily reached into the safe and pulled out the marked bills and said, “You know, I’m going to lose my job for this.”
      “That’s going to be the least of your worries.”
      “Why do you say that?” Emily asked.
      “Do you see those police cars behind me?”
      “Yeah.”
      Xander pulled a trigger from his pocket and set off three bombs he place in the parking lot the day before. Emily went into a quick panic.
      “Now you don’t.” Said Xander. “You killed them. That’s your biggest worry.”
    Xander took the bag and walked out the front door, around the bank building, got into his Silver Toyota, and then drove off. Xander robbed the bank without a gun.

The Example

      Heroine withdrawals overpower any of drug when it comes to withdrawals. All the drugs in the world can’t completely mask heroine withdrawals, however, Xander found a high better than any drug. It’s a high that less than 1% of the population of the United States has experienced. Half of that number experienced it incorrectly, or rather became afraid.
      Xander hopped over two cities from where he robbed the previous bank. It landed him about 20 miles outside of Chicago, in Oak Lawn, Illinois, where Xander was preparing to play guitar inside of a bank, reason being, customers have just withdrawn money to give him.
      It’s easier for one person to rob 5 bank registers than it is for a team to rob the vault. It rarely happens and it takes true skill to pull it off. This was Xander’s fifth bank robbery, but his withdrawals were running wild.
      Xander wore an oversized shirt to mask the guns attached to his waist. Xander’s guitar case had two sections and the guitar case was to hide his AK-47. Also, Xander was one hell of a guitar player. After some heavy convincing at the manager’s desk, by playing her a song and a bit of begging, she allowed the charming Xander to play near the door on the inside of the bank because he was that talented.
      It was as if the bank’s lighting dimmed at the first strum of the guitar. Xander’s soft voice over a finely tuned guitar drew a crowd immediately. Even though it was a very small bank, it was rush hour. Customers crowded the bank. Two people walked over and stood in front of Xander while the manager walked out of her office and leaned up against her door frame with her arms crossed, in a trance from the beautiful song. Only a minute went by before everyone stopped what they were doing to listen to Xander play.
      The song was beautiful, but what followed was a different style of beauty all together. It was a beauty only to the criminal minds.
      “Thank you.” Xander said following his song. He forgot about his withdrawals while he played. Everyone inside the bank clapped their hands in amazement, stunned by his talent.
      Xander reached down and pulled out his AK and told everyone to, “Get down!”
      Everyone fell to the ground immediately. The crowd in front of Xander grew a lot of space while everyone tried to scurry away, but Xander didn’t allow it.
      “Stop! Don’t move. Anyone! You listen to me play guitar, you listen to me rob this bank. It could be a matter of life or death. Tellers,” Xander continued, “Put money in this bag while I work.”
      Xander grabbed a pretty woman from his crowd and turned her around to face everyone.
      “Stand against the glass.” Xander told the woman. “What’s your name?”
      She struggled to answer, possibly shocked to the point she forgot her own name. “Jessica.” She muttered.
      “Jessica, fine. Listen everyone. There’s a hero in here somewhere, and he’s going to have to step up in order to save Jessica, here. Looks like all of you seem like pussies, though. Who’s it going to be? You have 5 seconds!”
      From Jessica’s eyes, Xander gun rose in slow motion. At first thought, she was to be her own hero, but her fear overcame her much quicker than her heroic abilities.
      “Four!” Xander screamed.
      “Three.”
      “Stop!” A man yelled on two. “I’m not trying to be a hero, but —”
      The man hit the floor. The shot from Xander’s gun made everyone cry before the realization of the dead body they were all sitting next to. Blood splattered onto two people sitting on each side of the man.
      “Now we got rid of the hero, and we all made an example out of him. Do you follow me? I will not hesitate to kill any of you. Hell, I might kill all of you by the end of this.”
      “Here!” A bank teller yelled, “The bag is pretty much full.”
      Xander had begun to walk towards the teller at the counter while saying, “Wow, that was fast. ‘Pretty much’ will work for me.”
      The feeling of relief fell over all the hostages like a blanket.
      “Ok. It’s time everyone. You’ve seen movies, right? You should know how this goes. I want everyone to run out of the bank, screaming at the top of your lungs, get in your cars and drive off as quickly as possible. Be careful though, the last time I did this everyone made it look like bumper cars outside of the bank. It was hilarious.”

Xander’s Biggest Challenge

        Xander faced his biggest challenge yet. It was a challenge that no orexa could solve. Wes Solon is long dead, skinned, chopped up and cooked. Steak breakfast has nothing on brain eggs and human thighs.
        Xander’s eyes were droopy while he stood over his frying pan, cooking his eggs. Everything he saw had a lag, partly from the heroine withdrawals. Anger fed into his body like oxygen, and for no particular reason.
        He took a shower, washing off the previous day while Xander continued to mentally prepare for the big challenge. He wanted it for his entire life and with enough orexa in his body, he was finally prepared to go for it, or he had enough confidence in himself to achieve his biggest challenge.
        He spent all morning preparing his supplies.
        He laid all of his supplies out onto the table and inserted everything he needed into the backpack he bought specifically for the event, but you should know that everything went accordingly, but it didn’t even make the local news. Xander loved watching himself on the local news. Boy, was he excited when it made national news. Every time he saw his own work on Channel 4 news, it gave him the same feeling as the Zodiac killer watching his own movie. However, the Zodiac killer was upset that not all his murders were seen. Xander watched the news with enthusiasm, seeing how all his work would unfold. And he’s preparing now. Anticipation is a high within itself, and a high was what Xander was after. He sure as hell got it on this day.
        The drive was only 20 minutes, however, it felt like an hour. While he drove, he got upset as the car in front of him threw something out of his window. It was a 6-pack ring that held all the cans together. Littering was one thing Xander wouldn’t accept. How you could litter when you know the plastic is going into our oceans and get stuck on small fish for the rest of their life is beyond me, Xander thought. It deforms the fish. One could imagine, how can a man who kidnaps people – hooks them up to machines and sticks them with huge needles through their temples, kills them, and eats them – get so upset about a man littering. Well, psychopaths have morals, too.
        Xander arrived at his destination. It took place at the closest community college to his house. If all those students had any idea who Xander was, they would be terrified as soon as he stepped out of his vehicle, but they had no idea.
        Xander took two steps out of his Silver Toyota, and slammed his door shut, just before he put on his nicest pair of sunglasses.
        He started walking towards the courtyard, where majority of the students congregated or passed through to go to class. It was the busiest part of the school. Xander knew because he had been to the school many times before to prepare for this day.
        He stood there in the center, watching everyone pass by. The echo of laughter and conversation sounded like the the voices inside the head of a person who suffered from schizophrenia. Words were bouncing off the walls. Xander became nervous, but ready.
        He planned the entire event, but he wasn’t sure how it was going to end. Xander placed his backpack on the ground and pulled out his biggest supply for the day. It was his notebook to take notes. It was his big day. He went to college, something that no orexa could solve, but his problem solving skills were on the next level.

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    Heavily Tormented

    heavily tormented

    Written by Christian Tanner

     

    There’s no sound like the cries of a girl you love who has been stuck in the house for over a week. This wasn’t one of those, “Oh she’s grounded and she can’t leave the house,” type of scenes. She had no bed to sleep on, nothing to eat or drink, nothing, all because she sinned against God’s will, says her sicko father.

    Kelly’s punishment was 10 days confined to their dusty basement with nothing but the walls to cry to, old molded bread to eat and lukewarm water to drink that had been sitting out since the last time she was imprisoned. The only light peered through the small basement window that hadn’t been opened in decades. The shots of low glimmering light only lit up a small section of the basement while the rest remained dark as when you close your eyes. The house was old as a molded penny and the smell was a constant reminder of age. Kelly knew she was in trouble, and she knew there was no hope for an escape. On the other hand, Kelly didn’t think her punishment fit the crime. She thought that just because she didn’t move her hips while her father released his demons, that didn’t call for the basement. Because of that, her longing for escape grew louder with each passing hour. Even if she found a way out, Kelly’s dad told her that God would make sure she found her way back to the basement. God never lets sin go unnoticed or unpunished, says her father. Only sin was created equal, not God’s children, just what his children do.

    Every creek that echoed was a sign of hope that her father might let her out, or give her food, but over time, Kelly lost hope in everything. The sun and the moon were the only way to have any sense of time while their light dragged across the floor, until everything went dark. Her father made a game out of her misery, and the only thing Kelly had to play with were her tears while loneliness sung her basement anthem. Silence isn’t always golden.

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    By The Devil, For The Devil

    By The Devil, For The Devil

    A Short Story Written By Christian Tanner

     

     

    Amy walked out of the movie theater when she first saw Fredrick. He was with another woman named Karen and Amy was on a date with another man named Aaron. The day’s forecast didn’t look good. It was pouring rain when Aaron and Amy walked out of the theater and Amy didn’t have a jacket. Fredrick, the apple of Amy’s eye, he was hovering over his then-girlfriend with his jacket to keep her dry while they both rushed into the theater to see a movie.

    Amy could hear her cry, “Oh my god. Can you keep it over my hair? I mean, seriously, it took me almost an hour.” The door closed behind them and Amy watched Fredrick shake off his jacket and apologize to Karen.

    At that time, it didn’t bother Amy much because she didn’t know him. However, she thought Karen sounded somewhat bitchy. Anyway, Aaron wore a light windbreaker, but all he did was zip it up, throw on his hood, and then he told Amy, “Let’s get a move on.” They had to run from the theater to the car in the downpour. It was cold.

    Three days later, Amy was getting some gas outside of the town she lived in called New Woodlawn. While she was inside the gas station, she searched through candy bars, roaming for the perfect snack, but her eyes landed on Fredrick when he walked through the door to tell the only employee on duty, “Can you fix pump 8? It’s not working.”

    Amy’s heart sunk into her stomach and her cheeks burned hot with anxiety while she watched him wait for the attendant to hurry his situation. Amy brushed her brown hair behind her ear and glasses, and then she told him, “That’s a nice jacket.”
    She rather hid behind the isle so it took Fredrick a moment to realize the direction of which Amy’s compliment was coming from, but his brown eyes inevitably landed on her.

    Fredrick thanked Amy and informed her, “It was a gift from my girlfriend.”

    A loud click came from the bathroom and the door swung open. His girlfriend, Karen, she came storming out and she stomped her way to Fredrick’s side, demanding answers to their situation.

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    Realizing – A Short Poem

    alcoholism

    There’s a door to be unlocked,

    and sobriety is the key for me.

    Consequence would break me,

    But I’m stronger than that.

    Anxiety might break me,

    But I’m coping with that.

    What breaks me is my everlasting memory of the men who got a piece of me and made me so hateful.

    I’ve been unbearably dreadful,

    leaving me unable and disgraceful.

    Taking anything that was once peaceful,

    And turning it into everything that is painful.

    The best part about writing this is knowing that I’m still alive,

    and this is right now.

    Time remains for me to re-frame this situation.

    This situation,

    I’m fighting the problem of regression and turning it into a personal equation.

    No more complication forsaken,

    I’ve left an impression to be inpatient without a replacement for my mind’s invasion.

    My mind’s invasion – Evil.

    At least,

    Priest,

    Please,

    Cast the evil demon in my mind out of my head,

    This hate feast,

    The Devil’s eating like the beast believed.

    This heart-ache conceived by secondary evil,

    achieved by man,

    and yet to be relieved by me.

    Please,

    Pencil,

    Write away my hate.

    Draw away my fear.

    Pencil in my fate,

    And forgive my past years.

    Please,

    Christian,

    Me,

    Think about what you have to live up to.

    Imagine the relaxing blue,

    and know that the most important voice to listen to,

    is you.

    Now,

    Tell me what to do.

    (Thanks for reading and please like, comment and share this poem.)