Reason

Reason, it was once an old object.
I kept that object near and dear to me all the time. She was special to me, having her ever since I was five or six. Do you know what type of object Reason was? A knife. I loved sharp things, to be honest... I loved poking things with sharp objects, too. Reason used to help me out, a lot, whenever my parents were being jerks to me. I would threaten to stab them, and once, I did. Reason, she ripped through their bodies like paper. Blood was spraying onto my shirt and into my eyes and mouth. As I help her stab them, their tortured and blood curdling cries soon faded away.

I love Reason. And she loves me, too.

Ever since I stabbed my parents to death, things have been going rough. Since I didn't have a job, and wasn't old enough to have one at the time. There was no food to eat, but soon I turned to my parents' rotting bodies. Reason helped me cut up parts of their waist, wrists, and face. Cooked those parts of them and ate them.

It tasted pretty good, Reason thought so too.

So we ran out of the house together, or, should I say I pulled her out of the house. Went all around in my neighborhood, sneaking into other people's houses and stabbing them as well.

Over and over.

Over and over.

Over and over.

Over and over.

They tasted wonderful. Some were bitter, though, others were sweet. And some even tasted like the food that my mother used to make me. Yes, my father didn't care if I ate, but she did. They didn't feed Reason though. Never. Never.

But one day, I lost Reason, I felt so ashamed and alone. But one day, these men in long white coats took me to a soft, white room. I liked it there, but I could never get over the fact that I lost Reason...

They fed me, though it never did taste as good as my parents or neighbors. I still remember the feeling I got from stabbing those people, it felt amazing. Absolutely amazing. I missed Reason, I never realized what actually happened back there. How dark Reason truly was.

Until now. I'm 19 now.

I know what sins I have done. But sometimes, I still have that feeling. I want to reach out and grab the nearest knife next to me in the kitchen and...

No, I won't. I won't murder anymore, I swear.

I know now that I was put into a mental-care sort of place. Where they take care of the mentally insane children. I was the youngest child there, five or six. The only one who stabbed their parents, with a dark weapon like that.

Reason.

She—no, it's a knife, it has no gender. I believed one huge lie, the thoughts in my head. I couldn't help myself. Reason made me do it, it made me kill those people. It told me to, I swear. My thoughts...repeating that feeling.

Over and over.

Over and over.

Over and over.

...

One day, I found an old, dirty knife in my kitchen. I felt a jolt go through my body.

This knife...