SATANIC SITE

Episode 5's

I can barely breathe while crying. I forgot how to live. Everything stops. My heartbeat stopped, or I forgot and couldn't feel the beat, after a quick race when I found my mother lying helpless. Every time I find her again, I panic. This time, it started in panic and was followed by an electric shock to my entire body. My mother's hands were cold and stiff. I know it's a sign of the dead from public school. And also I learned directly from the neighbors two houses to the left that were found dead without anyone knowing months ago. Fortunately, it was only a few hours. I saw how the body of the dead was so stiff and empty. Raga was killed by life. It was like he wanted to catch up with my mother. I fell down beside him, crying without a sound. The pain of my mother's death was too great for me to bear.

I always underestimated death. He won't get near me as early as possible. I always thought bad things only happened to people outside my circle. A small circle inhabited only by me and my mother. Like a severe accident on the train tracks, which people in my neighborhood often fall victim to. If there is something that is too often seen circulating on the train tracks, it is certain that the person is again stressed. And it didn't take long for them to be struck by the train. That kind of thing I thought would never come near me. But after dealing with my mother's sad corpse and being made clean by my village people, I became often circulated on the train tracks. Yut Kasmijan often yelled at me to get off the tracks.

I didn't expect more. The management of my mother's body was only attended by the mosque next door. It was Yut Kasmijan who called them. What kind of people in my village would bother. They were funny and I wanted to do it one by one. Dilapidated morals are ostentatious acts of chastity. I could hear clearly when my mother's body was bathed, the deliberate muted chatter of her volume, that my mother deserved to die such a horrible death. Already whoring, taking drugs anyway. They are no better than my mother. Just watch out later you guys, I'll get your one-on-one face, when my hands are bleeding and stinking!

I can't teach. I am not even sure what my religion is. My mother never told me. My mother did not appear to have embraced any religion. All the time I saw in her last days, my mother worshipped syringes and white powder.

I'm the only one who lives in my mother's grave. The tomb without a stake. The people in the mosque who took care of my mother, went straight home after they finished burying. My leg's limp. I can't walk. At least until late at night. Until late at night I cried without a sound. Yut Kasmijan was present for a while, then went to sell crackers again at the crossroad, disguised as a blind man with a stick. Late at night, I was picked up by Yut Kasmijan.

The old man was worried about me. In this downturn of grief, I realized one thing, I was not entirely alone in this world. There is still Yut Kasmijan who cares about me.

God fucking. It makes me even sadder. Because of that one thing I stayed away from Yut Kasmijan. I hate feeling melancholy like this. I want to go back to the fray. I haven't been out of the house in a week. I locked the door and the holes I had patched using duct tape. I do not accept Yut Kasmijan's call. The stock of instant noodles in the kitchen is still there for a week. One pack per day. I'm powerful. In this grief and deprivation I had no interest in eating.

I'm planting a grudge again. This time it was more terrible. This time I want to be better. This revenge must pay off. My goal is that the people I love come to my mother often when I get kicked out. There are a dozen. I'll chase them. I'll make them suffer worse than the bastard.

During the week of locking myself in the house, my hands began to bleed thickly again every morning. This time it even went twice. The first one at two in the morning. The second time at dawn. I let that happen. Don't want to mess it up again. I even tried to enjoy it. The smell of blood and the smell of carrion. I closed my face, I poured blood out mysteriously from my hands. I let the blood dry on my face.

I got a blood tattoo on my face. Quolition with two fingers, like the people of old if you want to fight. My nose is familiar with the smell of carcasses and garbage a thousand tons. I don't want half. This bleeding hand has become a part of me. I will accept that reality.

Nice, idiot!

I ignored the Bocelian Devil. I focused on my right hand. I looked at him like a bloodthirsty man. I even now lick my bloody hand hit in two. I assume it's the blood of the bastards that made my mother tragic. I planned to kill them. I don't think it'll be enough if I just scoop them in the face. They must die. And their blood must be collected. I'm gonna put their blood in a jar and I'm gonna run it and I'm gonna call it. I'll finish every day.

Idiotical! You can't finish them off alone!

No one answered.

The Devil Boy fooled me even more. Talk to me, he said. I ignored him, I don't need the Bocel Demon right now.

I was a fool with the electricity in my dead house. I don't need electricity. I need revenge.

In the dark conditions of the house, the Devil Bocel appeared to him. In accordance with what I have drawn and approved by him. The Bocel Demon was tall and only a reed wrapped in leather. His head was only half. The half is normal and the half is exhausted like a milling machine. The appearance of the Bocel Demon only lasted for a short while. When I asked him to vanish, he instantly vanished.

I don't need the Bocel Demon to avenge this one. Only I can do it, from zero to. Every day I imagine the perpetrators dying in the savage ways I can think of. They deserve it.

But reality says something else. I launched a grudge that I had been holding for a week. However, it was falling apart. My plan was simple at first, I just needed to aim my head. And when they thrash like they see ghosts, they will torment them in various vile ways.

Actually, there are only a few of the young bastards I haven't scooped up. The terminal is where the young bastards gather. What I've had on his face, run like I saw a jurig when I started close to ten meters. The young man who had not been hit, was astonished and looked back and found me. I immediately scooped his face.

Goddamned. I can't believe nothing happened. The young man did not react like my previous victims. Finally, I became their moon. I was slapped, kicked, spat at and also pissed and chided. They made fun of me as a whore boy.

I swear by the most damned demons, my grudges are still burning. But I was too weak to fight. Where's the Devil the Boy when I need him?

Worship me first, you idiot!

I hate to hear the Bocel Demon laugh.