Reality

What do you think of the scary stories told to you as kids? Do you take them as lies, or do you merely look at them at fun little tales made to scare kids, or maybe you see them as true, as historical events, events you should learn from. Well no matter how you see them, each one is true, or rather as true as anything else, for you see, what you and I call reality could be your imagination, what you call fact could be fiction, everything you have known, do know, and will know is true yet false. Basically,  nothing is true, but all is true. Now tell me how you know reality is real, more specifically, tell me how you know you hand is there. You might say I can feel it, touch, even taste it, but can you really? Tell me how you know that that hand is there, how do you prove its existence to others, or even yourself. You really can't. You can't even prove that your parents exist or you friends or even you... Now let me get back to my original question-- What do you think of the scary stories told to you as kids? Well if you have been paying attention, you should know that they are true yet false. I found this out recently. The events still freshly ingrained on my mind. It was a car accident. The doctors said I was in a coma for about a week. It surprised me. A whole week, just laying there, virtually lifeless. Anyways, the doctors kept me there for a week more after I first awoke. Through that week, I started getting hallucinations. Rarely at first, but each day they became more and more common. I had one every hour. I tried to hide it as I didn't want to worry my parents or the doctor, but I'm pretty sure they could tell something was wrong. They said that I had this terrified look on my face every hour or so. I told them it was nothing, but I knew better. Now these hallucinations were not about weird or funny things, but rather creepy things. Really, there is no word to describe what I saw. Twisted beings from whole other realm, creatures that not even the worst thoughts could conjure. There were multiple creatures, but there was only one that constantly showed up-- The brother I lost in the crash. What I didn't tell you was that I was the one driving the day of the accident. I was yelling at my brother for ruining my relaxation time(I was always picking him up from soccer practice or school). As I was yelling, my brother yelled stop, as loud as he could. I was coming up to an intersection. He yelled it to late and we got hit on the passenger side door. The doctors told my parents that he didn't suffer, but that was of little relief. I didn't think the time I took yelling at him about ruining my life would end his. My parents still don't know that story, but I want, no I need to tell them. Back to the hallucinations. My brother looked like he normally did. He had short blonde hair, green eyes, and some freckles. He just stood there when he appeared. He didn't do anything, but every time I would feel this wave of pain, pain that multiplied up until he left. The guilt was tearing me apart. I would wake up with scratches all over my body. My parents said I would scratch myself in my sleep. They tried stopping me from doing it, but it was no avail. They asked me why I might be doing it and I said I had no way of knowing. But I knew it was the guilt. I hurt him so deeply I felt the only way to correct it was to hurt myself. After a while, even after my brother “left” the pain would stay. The doctors sent me home after that week. I got to the house and jumped into my bed, home at last. The hallucinations became less frequent so I thought it was just a side effect of the medication they were giving me at the hospital. Then, one night I woke up screaming. My parents rushed to my room and flung open the door yelling “Whats wrong?!” I pointed to my dresser in the corner of the room. They looked over, but saw nothing. They looked back over and said it was just a nightmare and to go back to sleep. It wasn't just a nightmare, my brother was in the room. I didn't have the heart to tell them, so I said “yeah, your probably right.” My brother just sat there on the dresser for the rest of the night. He just stared straight at me with piercing, unblinking eyes. I awoke the next morning and he was gone. I thought maybe it was the last time, but I knew this to be false. I was eating cereal when I saw him again. When I finished, he was gone. I saw him again at school, and again on the bus ride home. He wouldn't leave me alone. I tried looking at the bright side, but only one thing came to mind, I was only seeing him, not those other twisted creatures. I saw him everyday for about a month, but one day I didn't see him at all. That night, I awoke to him standing over me, repeating “Why did you kill me David, why?” Over and over again. I screamed as loud as I could. I heard foot steps rushing down the hall and my door flew open. But what came through weren't my parents... They were twisted creatures from hell. They looked humanoid, but were there eyes should have been there was gaping black holes. There nose was gone, and there mouth stitched shut. There skin was pale but illuminated, similar to the moon. They walked towards me. There joints were backwards and side ways, and each movement made a loud cracking sound. One tried to speak, but couldn't due to the stitches. One of them touched me. I got mad and jumped out of bed knocking it over. I ran to my dresser and grabbed my pocket knife. One of them came towards me and held out its arm. I lunged at it, blade first. I stabbed it in the abdomen and opened its mouth to scream, tearing the stitches. It let out a piercing scream. This made me confident. These things could be killed. I jumped at again, repeatedly stabbing it  until it stopped screaming and dropped to the floor. The other one tried running out of the room, but I tackled it, stabbing it multiple times in the back. With each stab, it screamed. I continued till it made no more sound. I looked up to see my brother standing there and he said this one phrase, the ont phrase that brought me back to reality:

“Now you've killed them to.”

What did he mean! I looked down to see my dad with a knife in his back-- my knife. I looked back into my room. My mom lay there in a pool of her own blood, still breathing. I crawled over to her and cried, “I'm so sorry, don't leave me mom, don't leave me. I don't know what to do. I love you mom.” Her last words were “I love you to.” I spent the whole night laying on her body, sobbing. What the hell is wrong with me, I killed my mom and dad. I came back to reality. My brother was still there. He looked straight at me and smiled. I got up and walked towards him. He was at the the beginning of the stairs. He continued smiling at me. I couldn't take it anymore... I lunged at him to throw a punch but he disappeared. Before I could stop the momentum, I tumbled down the stairs and hit my head and got knocked out. I woke up to a knock at the door. I got up and asked who it was. It was my neighbor, Mrs. James. I answered the door, and she looked worried. She asked me “Did something happen last night, I heard screaming?”

“No, we were just watching a sports game, and we get pretty wild.”

“Oh, what happened to your head?”

“Uh, oh I fell down the stairs, I'll be fine.”

“Okay, I was just checking up on you.”

“Thank you.” I closed the door and thought for a moment. Should I tell her. I quickly opened the door again. “Miss  James, please help me.”

“Whats wrong dear?”

“I...I kil... I killed my parents.” Her eyes got wide and her mouth fell open.

“What!?”

“Please don't yell, I don't what to do. Can you help me figure out what to do?”

“We need to call the cops.” I thought for a moment.

“Okay, I understand.” The cops got there quickly and searched the house. The whole time, I waited patiently for them to finish. They almost immediately found the bodies. They read my rights and took me to jail. I stayed there for a few nights before my initial trial. The only people to keep me company were the cops and my brother. Media caught wind of the story and it played on the TV outside of my cell. The headline was “Crazy kid murders parents after killing little angle.” This outraged me, but I didn't have time for that emotion as I started crying. One of the officers saw this and turned off the TV. I thanked him and he nodded his head. I didn't eat or sleep or use the bathroom. I just lay in my bunk, staring straight at my brother and him staring back. My trial came and I was put in a psychiatric ward. I ate very little and slept even less. My brother was everywhere I looked. I started getting used to him, started getting more comfortable. I started eating more, sleeping more and even talking to others. That's when I decided to write this to explain what has happened. Now in the beginning, I told that everything is true yet nothing is true. What does that have to do with the story? Well, these events have happened to me before. Twice to be exact. Each ending the same way. No matter what happens, this is how it ends. I think its actually happened more than twice, but I just started noticing it. I'm typing this to inform you. I still don't know if I'm dreaming, I don't know if I'm dead... I don't know anything but this: Reality does not exist. To think otherwise is foolish. Reality is based on experiences, experiences that are deluded, experiences you can no longer trust. So you can't tell me if your hand is there, you can't tell me if your parents exist... You can't even tell me if you exist. I guess if you don't exist, then I'm writing this for nothing. Anyways, I'm going to post this on the internet and then kill myself... I can't live through this anymore. I hope you never experience what I have.