Cecil was blind. Although he didn’t realise it. And neither would you if I hadn’t of just told you. He had blinded people himself, that is true. It was his taste and his talent to do so. But now you may be wondering if I mean blind in the same way as I did in the first place, are you? Well, why don’t I just let you figure that out for yourself.
He was blind in many ways. But some may say his blindness was his happiness. He was obsessed with eyes. From his heritage which wrecked his eyes with adolescence and age. From merely the construction and destruction of vision.
He didn’t like people, but he enjoyed people. He had very particular tastes which began as torturing insects as a child, developed towards more complicated life forms. Although he was still prone to impale worms on cocktail sticks in his back garden. Like a minuscule Vlad, he was the prince of torture. Although saying that he didn’t do it with intention, he just did it. Like all people who as a child torture an organism, they just are. Their tendencies are not learned, but nurtured by innate desires.
Many children can do horrible, selfish and hurtful things. But most of us move on, discover our empathy and ‘grow up’ from such tendencies. For others these merely get set on fire with passion and grow. Cecil was that kind of child. As I mentioned before: he moved on quickly. To rodents and amphibians. They were bigger, more detailed inside and out. And showed more pain. He could, and was, seen as a child full of curiosity. But to say that was all he was would be to ignore his nature. He was not being a scientist in the most honest of ways: just wanting to learn more. He was doing that yes, but he was also feeding himself with something that pleasured him and he had no idea why.
Yes, he would take apart an animal and study its organs, its blood, its nerves and bones, and how they connected and reacted with each other. But it was studied for biological purposes, but to find out why and how this animal writhed in pain, in suffering. How such a body even resulted in and shown such suffering. That was what gave him his inquisitive and curious little smirk.
When school began he seen it as a playground to test on more complicated beings: his own. From ‘accidentally’ tripping people over or stabbing with a pen. To over doing play time to a degree where he would have to be torn from the hair of the person he was ‘playing’ with. He took advantage of every situation to experience the power and pleasure he got from subjecting other people to himself.
As he grew he became a bit more refined in his tastes, and also in his self control. He applied logic to his desires to try and make sense of himself, and to try and make sense of the people who seemed not to feel the same as him, or even just hated him for his tendencies.
With growing came his interest in people for other reasons. Attraction, love and sex. But he soon found himself being smothered by his own tendencies once again. Failed relationships went, conversations with parents, police involvement because of what he did to his lovers out of the pursuit of pleasure; primarily his own.
He came to terms with his desires being that of wanting to hurt what he loved, his partners did not. It was only a matter of time before he met someone who actually wished hurt upon themselves. But to his surprise he hated this. It was not so much the fact that he was hurting something that allowed him to feel powerful, but he enjoyed placing what the victim didn’t want upon them. In this manner he was a sadist who hated masochists. He did not want someone who liked pain, just someone who would be willing to let him hurt them but still not enjoy it: to be obeyed.
His encounters escalated but never satisfied. He was intelligent enough to know how and when to hide his real desires. Which led to unhappiness but allowed him to move freely around his friends and society without being hindered in anything except for his tendencies. He learned to keep them back, not reduce or even suppress them. Just not to act on them. By this time he was an adult, working random jobs in order to pay for his small flat and occasionally, just occasionally he would be overwhelmed by his tendencies and go out to act on them.
The problem he seemed to face was that his tendencies were…messy. It could never be clean, or quiet. Which led to several problems which he wasn’t willing to risk. So even when he indulged himself in his tendencies he had to reduce them to more acceptable levels in order to get away with them.
He resolved this with his spare money. He brought a tiny allotment of land in an area that needed severe reconstruction. It was basically just a collection of sheds and an area that used to be used for planting new trees in. It had got wildly out of hand. Now the sheds had just been converted into one huge, creaking, cold, smelly, damp and cobweb-filled shed surrounded by trees that never seemed to bear leaves.
This is where he began to indulge without restraint. He purchased random farm animals whenever he could afford them. Sometimes taking sick and weak ones just because they were cheaper and he didn’t require health, just life. He started small, beheading a chicken. Next he plucked it violently so its skin bled and then simply stabbed it until it stopped moving. He gutted a pig before cutting its throat. He tied a goat down which broke its legs in order to keep it in place while he plunged a knife down the middle of the sternum to break the rib cage open, so he could grab the heart and strangle it with his own hands. Clawing at it like a dog with a toy or a parrot with a beak sharpener.
He became fixated on eyes. Cutting them out post-death. But then becoming bored of such an action and began cutting them out before doing anything else first. With each animal and each action he became more creative and began elaborating on the tortures. He cut the tongue out of calf, and then removed its eyes with his own over-grown finger nails, which he enjoyed because they made such a mess and allowed him to literally feel the damage he was doing with his finger tips. He drove his fingers as deep as he could, pushing them through the slit that allows the brain to connect to the eyes and prodded around with his fingers. He was disappointed by the fact he couldn’t reach deep enough with the length of his fingers to connect to the brain. With mild annoyance he used a screwdriver instead. He was shocked by how the calf was very clearly still alive after being stabbed in the brain multiple times. It seemed more complicated life could withstand far more torture and mutilation.
Again his mind moved back to his own species. His ideas and creativity could be sparked by anything, but his own species seemed to mark a height and pinnacle in this passion. He was unsure how to approach it: to plan meticulously or just to randomly kidnap someone. Meticulously may lead back to him due to his actual plan and that being able to be tracked and traced back. But randomness can lead back to him by virtue of being risky. While there was also a safety in both, they both suggested a danger to him too.
No one was ever even remotely near his land. So he drove out of the area into a place he did not even know. He sat and turned the engine off and waiting for a perfect victim. He violently attacked and grabbed at her face with a wet cloth. Making her jelly in his arms to place into his vehicle. He returned to his shed. He chained her arms and legs so she couldn’t move while she was still unconscious. He cut out her tongue to which she woke up as he placed the scissor blades across her tongue, to which she screamed and then gargled. He then broke her wrist and ankles by standing on them at an angle. He had this first time planned well before the passion took him over. He stuck to his plan even when he felt he had no control. He took yet another set of eyes with his fingers leaving nail marks on her eye lids and eyebrow region. But he didn’t want his fingers to touch her brain, he wanted her brain to be eaten. But not by him. He poured thick, gloopy honey into her empty eye sockets, hoping it would cover her brain too. Even before he left he could hear her sniffs and chokes as her nasopharynx filled with thick honey running into her nose and mouth from her eye ducts. Then he simply left, and didn’t come back to the shed for two straight weeks to see his works conclusion.
This may have been his first time murdering a human, but it wasn’t his last. Nor to my knowledge was he ever caught, or ever stopped. He is blind to anything other than his own passion, blind to other people’s feelings except pain and suffering. He is blind while seeing. While he makes people blind to him. It’s an odd paradox, but he enjoys it. And that is all that matters to him because he is Cecil.