24 May Hoodie (The Hooded Man)
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"Hoodie (The Hooded Man)"Written by Anonymous
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Estimated reading time — 4 minutes
Have you ever been influenced by clothing? I don’t mean confidence by looks. Have you ever been given more control than ever by an item, or a truth, or just a favorite shirt? Have you ever been influenced in the worst way? By showing the truth? The following is taken directly from journal entries. The entries were written by a notorious, but unknown killer. He is notorious in the means that everybody has seen his work. He is unknown because nobody knows that he has done it. His origin is unusual. No troubles, no evil family, no magic or paranormal forces. His life was chosen by him, and him alone. His identity is also unknown. He will be named from here on, as The Hooded Man.
April 3, 2004
It’s been really cold around here. I don’t have anything really to cover myself. All I have are my T-shirts and jeans. So today I decided to get a jacket. I was just in a local store, nothing special. It’s a black hoodie, with a white lining. I think it looks pretty cool, and when I tried it on the attendant said it suits me fine. I said thanks to be polite (common courtesy is so hard to find).
So I bought it. I haven’t taken it off yet. Not only is it warm, but I can really see myself doing amazing things in it. When I look at the mirror, I smirk. I feel amazing. I can’t really explain it, but I like it. I really like it. I feel the need to put my hood up. Something about the hood has a way of masking a person. Even though it shows their face, it hides something…..somewhere. It’s really late right now. I’ve been feeling so great all day, time flew around me. I’ll have to explain more tomorrow.
I’ve had a hell of a week. I felt so great. I walked the halls like a big shot. I’m sure I looked smug. That’s why Jack challenged me. He was so angry. Who never do ignoring an insult was more insulting than responding with shrewd comments about someone’s family. He antagonized me.
He asked for it. He threw a hard punch, and I stood. It stung harder than before when I actually argued with him. I felt so cool all week. My confidence kept me up. I punched him hard in the stomach and I lifted him up with an underhook. It felt so good….it really did…..Parents calling.
Jack still isn’t in out of the hospital. They said he’s in a lot of pain. He spit a lot of blood. His parents told me over the phone. I reflected on it. On how great it felt when my fist connected….how his cracked scream sounded…
“That’s good to hear,” I said blankly.
I don’t care about Jack. I smiled at his pain. I keep staring. I keep staring at my mirror. I’m always wearing my favorite hoodie. It feels so…empowering. My friends would laugh at what I say. They would compare me to Spiderman and his black suit. Spiderman threw his power away. I don’t plan on doing anything with my source of confidence.
“Jack has gone to a better place.” The words rang through my ears.
He’s dead. He lost too much blood. his father told me the day I visited, that he was losing blood due to a personal health condition. But the way his mother looked at me told me the real story. I killed him. I still remember the satisfaction of hitting him. I never wanted to kill him. I need to think about what I’ve done…..right? That’ll fix my feelings. but what is there to think about. regret is a foolish emotion. I don’t need regret.
Dad has been avoiding me lately, and mom just tells me she loves me. They both want me to feel endless guilt, but I won’t, or rather, I can’t. I can fake it for the public, but the truth is, I’m not sorry. Spiderman’s story is starting to make me think more. but why would a “cursed”, or “possessed” hoodie, land in my possession? Everybody who knew Jack glares at me.
Everyone who I would talk to have transferred themselves out of my class or went to a different school. Teachers don’t look at me much, or get onto me if I’m breaking any rule. Today, I threw a pencil at my history teacher, it hit his shoulder. He just froze for a second and continued what he was doing. Everyone either hates me, and probably wants me dead, or they fear me. My writing is the only comfort I have. I can be at peace and let myself go.
They provoked me. They threatened me. I had no choice. They would have killed me. My hood protected my face. the knife naturally moved from Rob’s hand to mine. I didn’t mean to (the writing was a short line at this point).
5 days. 5 days being interrogated, and sleeping in a cell. They decided I was only defending myself. I can hear mom and dad talking. They want me gone. They’re both scared. I was an idiot to think that this jacket of mine was possessing me, or changing my personality. It’s just a really cool jacket. I love how it looks. I feel like such a badass.
I remember how I put the hood up. I put it up when Jack challenged me. I put it up when those guys tried to kill me. I feel no remorse. I feel indifferent. I am in control. I have finally come to realize insanity. I wanted to kill them. all of them. I needed only a push, and the confidence to fight. I got it. Mom and Dad are irritating me. They all irritated me.
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