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Red Right Hand



I've grown accustomed to the feeling; the loss of authority over my own body, the fear that I would never experience normalcy.  But the worst was the ever present fear of ending up in some lab, being referred to by a number rather than my name.  I longed for life away from people. A place where I could live alone, and not worry about the next horrible thing I'd be forced to do.  "It" had been with me for as long as I could remember. "It" being the evil that's rooted in my right hand. This wasn't simply an impulse to do bad things on my part.  My right hand lay dormant until it chose to spring forward, causing whatever awful act it sought-after in that moment, before giving me full control once again. 

When I was younger it was easier to ignore. I never could control it, but sometimes I was able to suppress it, and most times I succeeded. By my teens I was considered a problem child. I'd stolen from my mother's purse, vandalized the school's gymnasium, and wrote profanity on my grandmother's grave in permanent marker. All bad things but nothing too terrible.  But somehow, the day I turned 23 my ability to ignore the evil impulses of my right hand suddenly became a lot harder. I found myself struggling to suppress it. Even worse, whenever I tried, the more terrible its deed. I learned quickly not to fight it.  By the time I turned 26 I'd stolen everything from money to a child's wheelchair. I flipped off more elderly ladies than I care to count, and damaged quite a bit of property. I'd even been arrested several times. As you can imagine, I try to stay far away from other people. I work from home most days and do the majority of my shopping online. 

Unfortunately there are times when I have to go out, and my right hand is usually itching by then. At this point I let it have its fun. I know attempts to avoid it only aggravates it more. Though it's not normally violent, the last time I tried fighting it, resulted in a teenage barista receiving a scalding cup of coffee to her face. 

So now I simply allow my right hand to satisfy its cravings whenever it needs. That might make me weak or even just as guilty, but I don't have a choice. I need to save all my energy, all my strength for resisting the homicidal urges of my left hand. Because while my right hand has caused a lot of damage, judging by the bodies piling up in the crawlspace my left hand is capable of much much worse.

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