The Murder of Joshua by Jack A. Ling (classic books for 12 year olds txt) 📕

All call me mad. Dare they to call me mad? As the idea ventured into my mad mind, my so called “madness” sprung to action as rapid as the comprehension of this. The very density of my plan crossed the worst of territory. My mind, as the sinkhole in which it is defined, adapted to my sickness. The idea began as a simple spark. This spark expanded into flames. The flames upon my mind implanted the murderer as I am told to be. Until the flame surpassed a point, I was a simple man. A family of many wonders had I. Five children had I. A large home had I. If one has so much, why would thou put all at risk to complete a murder? My mind was gone! Overthrown by the beast I am now! “Quite a genius I am!” thought I as the madman. Not as the man! As the madman! Not comparable to a any madman am I. Only comparable to death in its fullest form! No man was I! No soul had been inside of me! Dare they to call me man! I was only mad! As to the narrative, I was a young man. In my youth, I spent most of my time with my dearest friend. This friend, a man going by Joshua. Joshua not being his full name, he held his name to himself and only he. But, in all objections, we shall call him Joshua. From mere beginnings, Joshua had been of a category known today as immature. As the immature lad that he was, trouble had a unique way to find he. As the dear friend I was to he, I was found in a position of difficulty. This position being that I was always found as aiding him, although a lie this was at the fullest. Eventually, Joshua was required to drop from the school system and move in with I. Even counting the fact that he was a dear friend to me, I began to grow tired of his instability to keep a job and help make his way. As the years past I decided that if he were not to improve his help towards the payments. As to this fact, I ask upon he to meet these requirements. “To what fact presents itself that this is required? My friend, are you not?” Said he as the fool he was. At this statement, I run to my chamber and confine myself to it. “Dare he to say he is not to help?” Said I, “I shall bestow unto he this fact which may disturb the life of he!”. As the words come out my mouth, I begin my terrible decent into madness. Months it took me. Months! As he slept I turned to his room. I awaited for hours until a great realization came to me. Three hours past the mid of night, he awakes to retrieve water. As he awakes, for the first night, I jump to the floor with the sleekness of a cat. As he gets his water, I listen with acute hearing: the sound in which he makes as he drinks. A disgusting sound is this. The squeezing of the bottle! The large gulps me makes as I drinks! A disgusting sound! Glad upon my decision to kill he, I stay to the shadows as he returns to bed. I wait several hours until a sign of his slumber arises: the sound of his snore. At this sign, I gather myself and rush to my chamber. In order to make my plan to his murder, I arrive to his room at the time of his water retrieval to make sure he does this every night. On the fifth night, I bring a knife. As the fool retrieves his water, I grab at his neck and take my weapon to his miserable throat! Oh the blood! How magnificent was this blood! As he fell to the floor dead, I slowly took the knife and cut. Cut. Cut. What is this which I cut? His throat! Without this he could do the world harm nevermore. I took his throat and placed it upon my attic. Days past with no interruptions. But a week after his death, I heard a strange sound from the attic. I walk to the stairs and climb each with caution. I open the door with disgust and horror! How hath hell bestowed upon my soul? My madness? I hear the sound of he drinking water the nights before his death!

Publication Date: 10-04-2011

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