writing_shadows

He really hated it when they smiled. It was believed that by smiling at someone could be reassuring or perhaps comforting to them. In his case John despised it. Perhaps it was because his Masters smile was permanently etched inside the recesses of his mind or perhaps he had been burned many times by people who claimed to be ‘nice’.

It was those nice people that had led him here, those nice people who had told him that he was a monster. There he was sitting directly across from a Hob in what could be best described as a caravan park because of those nice people, the ones he had been told he had hurt.

He at first wanted to deny it, to argue the point but how could he. The only things he could remember was someone claiming she was his Mother, her arms hanging limply from her sides and tears pouring down her face as he venting his anger at her, punching her repeatedly until his knuckles hurt.

There were other memories in there, not as horrifying but still terrible ones to remember. He sat there across from the Hob as it sat there smiling at him with a quizzical look on its face. It had asked him a question and he had been too distracted.

“I want my memories gone and I want it to be permanent”