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Every night he imagined getting murdered by a serial killer.

He wouldn’t sleep.

The poor boy stayed up all night trying not to be murdered.

He was only 5 years old.

Someone had left a documentary on the T.V. about a serial killer who murdered little boys.

The boy watched it all.

On this show,

the killer snuck into a slumber party full of young boys,

and murdered every person in that house except for one;

the boy on the top bunk.

He had tried to slit his throat

but miraculously,

the boy survived.

While holding his throat together with both hands,

he walked over to the neighbor's house.

The neighbors called the young boy an ambulance

and that young boy lived.

The boy with the nightmares,

who stayed up all night,

was haunted by the documentary.

No matter how hard he tried,

he couldn’t get it out of his head.

He slept on the top bunk,

just like the one survivor of the slumber party massacre did.

The idea of someone holding their throat together horrified him.

The fact that serial killers were real

and that some of them killed young boys,

terrified him.

He went to his parents to tell them he was scared of monsters.

“What monster’s??”

They would ask him.

He would tell them about the serial killers

but they wouldn’t know what to say.

They would just reassure him that all the doors to house were locked

and that he was safe in his bed.

He stayed up anyways.

He was on the top bunk.

His younger brother slept soundlessly underneath him.

The top bunk was cursed.

He was sure to die.

He needed nightlights to sleep.

Lot’s of them.

His fear was overwhelming.

He hated spending the night at a friend’s house.

Their rooms were too dark.

He hated slumber parties.

And he hated sleeping in his own bed.

He was just five when it started,

but the fear stayed with him for many years.

The overwhelming fear that haunted him.

The fear of another man.

The fear of human nature.

The fear of the psychopath.

The fear of evil.

The fear of the darkness.

He’s not exactly sure when he was able to sleep,

when he stopped being so afraid,

but he must’ve,

because now he is a man,

and now he sips at his drink

and pounds at the keys at night.

He doesn’t worry much about dying anymore.

He understands now that death is a part of life.

And he understands that some people murder.

He understands that monsters are real.

That’s just the way life is.

He hopes he isn’t murdered in his sleep.

He hopes he never has to hold his throat together with both of his hands.

In fact, he really hopes that he dies doing what he loves to do.

But he knows we hardly ever choose when or how we go.

Except for the few that do,

But suicide never seemed like the way to go to him.

He'd just keep on living his life







and try not to think too much about it.


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