Let the Crazy be the Death of You.

[dohegotthebooty]

They said that Aspen was sick in the head. That he didn't know right from wrong. That he couldn't function like everyone else. They were absolutely right. Aspen had been a demented being since he was around the age seven, when he purposely killed a bird and enjoyed it. His parents weren't worried at all, since they thought it was normal for a kid to go around killing animals. They saw nothing wrong with that, and that's why Aspen grew up to be such a dark person.

Living alone at the age of seventeen, Aspen wasn't like any other person. Sure he had things to hide like any other person, but these things were far greater than a tiny secret. Aspen had skeletons in his closet. Literally. This kid found joy in ripping the flesh of a human being, and hearing the beautiful sound of their merciful screams. This kid had a few screws loose in his head, and he seemed to think that was just normal.

Aspen deep in the wood, in a nice abandoned house. If you were to go inside, you'd see things you'd never be able to forget.

"Hm, It seems it's time to renovate." Aspen spoke to a porcelin doll that had been sitting in the corner of his room, as he pressed his hand against the wall covered with detatched skin, sewn together, resembling that of a quilt, or some kind of wallpaper. Almost every part of his home, had some kind of coating of skin, whether it be lampshades, drapes, or blankets.