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    Instinct
    Instinct
    Instinct
    Ebook81 pages1 hour

    Instinct

    By Isaac Barrao

    5/5

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    About this ebook

    Uncensored, honest, visceral, bloody and critical: this is an engrossing story that will show you horror at its most extreme, giving you a first-hand experience of the splatterpunk genre in its essence. If you’re a fan of the truth and like to call things by what they really are, this book is for you. Instinct: a natural, internal and irrational impulse that triggers an action or feeling without awareness of the reason for it. Do you think you can dominate yours? Don’t take opening the pages of this book lightly. Its contents might even baffle your mind and alter your reality. But in the end, it’s your decision.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBadPress
    Release dateDec 19, 2016
    ISBN9781507163672
    Instinct

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      Book preview

      Instinct - Isaac Barrao

      Instinct

      Isaac Barrao

      To my sweet Abril

      Everything around me is totally fucking insane. I swear to God. My parents thought that by giving me the chance to go to university, that I’d have a better life than they did. Oh how wrong they were. Lucky they weren’t there to see it: they died in a shit-out-of-luck car accident. Death was awaiting the both of them with open arms. It was a sunny day like any other. They were stopped at a traffic light. The truck in front of them was carrying forklifts, like the types they use at big chain stores. They guy that loaded them didn’t have a fucking clue. A month after hearing the news, they found him hanging in his kitchen. The light turned green for go. One of the forklifts slid off the truck bed, and the shining, greasy forks went through the windshield and impaled my poor parents’ heads. I take solace in thinking that they died instantly, with no suffering. I’m sure that you have no idea what pain is. You bastard. You selfish son of a bitch. I’d bet all of the fingers on my hands that you enjoy the torment of others. It’s in your genes; all that’s needed is to press your exact button to make the instinct come out. Your life is a part of a cliché where there’s a line that divides good and evil, always based on the criteria of your deranged brain trained by society.

      You psychopathic piece of shit.

      You’re a sick fuck that likes to pay to watch others suffer. You stay in the background, watching, without doing anything, as if that let you off the hook, allowing yourself to be entertained by other people’s misfortune. You might not believe it. So, answer me this: why are you paying to hear my story? You’re sick. Damn right you are! Close this book, leave it be, go back to your monotonous routine, and enjoy the brief bit of life you have left, you asshole.

      But because I know that you’re an unscrupulous sadist in the solitude of your mind, you’ll keep on reading, turning each page hoping to find ecstasy in the suffering of others, until you realize that there’s no redemption left for you. Sooner or later, your image of the world around you will vanish. Your mind will step beyond the borders of your reality, created through lies, deceit and fear. In the end, truth will reveal itself to you, inevitable truth, imminent before your eyes. You might not be able to handle it, spilling your own blood to put an end to the pain of disillusionment – a thoughtful gesture on your part. But you like it and I know it. That’s why you’re still reading, wasting the little happy time you have left with your loved ones. You really are a prick! They should lock you up! And you know it.

      Don’t let yourself be deceived, my friend. Truth won’t free you; it will only make an ass of you. But you don’t have to worry about anything. It’s already late... too late. You’re lucky to be here, standing around doing fuck all, like you’ve done all throughout your disgusting and depressing life, because others have made decisions for you. Don’t you see? In the end, your kind are lucky bastards: despite everything, you always revert to your genetic patterns. And I’ve done my part in giving you the chalice so that you can drink to your sins without any guilt.

      This is my story, your story...

      I was heading home, driving on the A-2 from Madrid to Zaragoza. I was around an hour from getting there. I felt strange, different, even more so than usual. I could feel cold, extreme cold.

      Back then, I was thirty-eight and couldn’t complain about the life I was living. I really couldn’t. It would have meant sneering at everything my parents left to me when the died in that car accident. Of course, I mean all of my stuff: a house in the Zorongo gated community, including the Camaro in its garage, and pair of apartments in Zaragoza the capital. But, as opposed to my love for my mother Judith, they were only earthly things that you don’t take with you when you die, even though while you’re still alive, they give you status in a hypocritical society that judges you by what you’ve got. 

      About a year ago, my brother Gabriel offered me a job at the Carlos III Health Institute in Madrid, the same laboratory where he works. I wasn’t at all disgusted by Madrid. I’d lived there with for Gabriel for many years, in an apartment close to the university we graduated from. I remember those years clearly. Life is made up of stages and each of them has their charm. Even so, that sensation of constantly being in the clouds, of seeing the world from a point of view in which everything was possible, and of feeling that eternal love for Judith, the student that worked as a waitress at the bar I frequented to pay for a part of her tuition, and who finally became my sweetheart – those were things I only felt during those years.

      One ring and the car’s touch screen lit up with Gabriel’s name, and another ring and it answered the phone and activated the hands-free.

      What’s up, Gabriel? It’s only been a few hours. Can’t you hold down the fort without me?

      When my brother had called me about the job, I had accepted it. I couldn’t put working as a substitute ahead of a stable job at a firm in Madrid. And the thing is that I went back to feeling like I did back in those days, with the feeling of freedom I had as a twenty-year-old student and with my never-ending love running through the veins of the beautiful waitress. They were a part of me, as if they had never left. I liked it, and didn’t want it to go away.

      I was thinking that we could reveal the bacteria to the public. What d’you think, Marcus? In the end, who’s better than you to explain it to the media?

      What d’you mean?

      We did it! It works! It fucking works, Marcus! he answered.

      "We’ve got to wait and see how things go. One step in the wrong direction and

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