Chapter 657 Guilty Shackles (26) (Add more)
During that period of time, Mr. Shen kept repeating that same dream.
There are atrocious crimes everywhere, and there are people biting each other everywhere.
The red blood in the sky was like an invisible poison, silently permeating his reason and stimulating his brain.
He began to try to kill people in his dreams, and began to try to see his hands covered with blood.
The sticky blood is cold and has no temperature.
Even his fingers seemed to be completely soaked in the cold temperature, which lingered.
He began to experience the thrill of killing, and began to like such a cold and sticky temperature.
In the dream, he felt that he had found what he wanted.
The vague longing in his heart was gradually magnified, magnified, and magnified by his out-of-control rationality.
I can't control it, and I don't want to control it.
He wants to firmly grasp the missing part of himself, so he can only keep killing people, and use the pleasure brought by killing to make up for the vacant part of his heart.
kill... kill... kill...
Dreams began to eat away at his brain, accusing him of killing living creatures in real life.
The more the living body struggles, the more excited he is, the more he can feel that a certain vacancy in his heart has been filled.
But this is far from enough.
If it is just one time, it can only be satisfied for a week.
A week later, the place in my heart that should have been filled up, like a bottomless pit, swallowed up that little bit of satisfaction.
And then there's a bigger hole left, a bigger sense of loss and dissatisfaction.
Like a drug, it needs to be constantly supplemented with pleasure to make the heart less uncomfortable.
Dreams keep reappearing every night, and he keeps killing people in dreams and in reality.
Of course, even if it is murder, as a doctor, Mr. Shen's obsessive-compulsive disorder requires him to cut it completely and beautifully without leaving ugly wounds.
He became more and more insane, and there was more and more blood on his hands.
In the hospital, on the street, in the shopping mall... As long as he encounters a skeleton that he can barely see past, he will do it.
It was as if the dream had merged with him, and it was hard to let go.
Later, he could not count how many living bodies he had tortured.
He is also more and more immersed in this game, unable to extricate himself.
Until finally, one day, he looked at the blood on his hands and the meat in the bucket, and suddenly found that the hole in his heart could no longer be filled.
The joy and excitement of killing people was not what he was looking for in his heart at all.
He just kept using them as substitutes, numbing himself all the time.
But paralysis is always time-sensitive, and even tolerated.
If you use it too much, it won't work.
What does he want?
he does not know.
It seems that the words have come to the lips, but they can't say anything.
He knew that what he wanted was not excitement, nor murder.
He doesn't want anything, just the indescribable feeling.
Like a lost deer in the forest, rampage everywhere, disturbing other creatures, but still can't find home.
He couldn't say what he wanted, and was tired of the disgusting stimulation.
So, he started to stop, started to force himself not to think about that feeling.
(end of this chapter)