### <center>Author's note:</center>

<div class="text-justify">

>_"The Grim Death" it's a first-person story that tell us the most darkest thoughs of the John Lennon's murderer, Mark David Chapman. I wrote this when I was 13 and is my greatest pride in literature until this day. I hope you really enjoy and feel all the pressure and paranoia that the killer used to feel in that moment._

# <center><div class="phishy">"The Grim Death"</div></center>


<center>https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmQTXJpetLaGjUsniTkJSjPyr8d9WW5wyBM2YGC89BM5E9/THEGRIMDEATH.png</center>



### <center>Part one:</center>

***<center>(Lost in a throwback)</center>***

>_-Dad! Dad! Stop! You gonna kill my mother... Dad! Please! No..._
>_-Get the fuck out, you stupid! I'm gonna kill you too  if you keep crying!_

***<center>(...Cries and loud voices...)</center>***
***<center>(...Heavy silence...)</center>***

<center>https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/433356992522878976/473542629414535238/SEPARADOR_B.png</center>

#### _<center>December 8, 1980</center>_


_<center>Ugh, my head. So much pain...</center>_

I was ready. A revolver and a shield's book that I was holding among tremors while I was studying the road.The walking of the passers-by was cold, fast. The Christmas's gifts, the laughing people, the whispering lovers, the singing children and the old people reading.

Meanwhile, I was walking slowly. Tired, dead inside. I stopped a couple of times to look at the snow, but anxiety annihilated any chance of peace. My thoughts were shouting to each other. Many times I was twisting from the headache, and dark voices in my mind numbed my common sense, sealing a definitive death. All my life i've been fighting against these demons, but they never stopped. They only intensified much more in this day. Not even God, Manson, or hell have saved me from my reality. I'm living my own hell.

I'm so fucking tired... But the voices don't let me sleep. Everyday, a copy of "The catcher in the rye" is sleeping next to me, it's my protection, but Holden is disappearing from myself. Where is Holden? I don't wanna be the catcher in the rye or protect the children from evil people. I just want to discover, understand. Where is God? Help.


I want to understand. I need to comprehend why idiots who pretend to be talented are more successful than truly intelligent people like me. I must find out why overrated musicians are greater than a good man devoted to religion.

<center>https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/433356992522878976/473542629414535238/SEPARADOR_B.png</center>


My head hurts and I feel like throwing up. My skin is getting numb, more than usual. I'm about to scream and tear off my brains to kill my thoughts... yet I can't talk; I don't have anyone to or intentions to do it. My only purpose it's right there, in The Dakota. Maybe it's a good idea to chat with him just a little before his end.

Suddenly, the photographers began to pile up at the outside part of Dakota's building. Then I was getting closer to John, calmly, but my chest began to puff up because my heart was beating really fast. But a lot of repeated questions were in my mind giving me anxiety and a more intense headache. "Where do the ducks go in the winter? Where do the ducks go in winter? Where do the ducks go in winter?" I have to ask him.

<center>https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/440952644035674123/473552607894437908/unknown.png?width=323&height=474</center>

When I saw him walking down with Yoko at his side, I started to feel very bad for every step he took. The gun inside my bag was bothering me. I was feeling depressed, but I kept walking. I got closer and felt shocked... He seemed distracted, sad; did he know he was going to die? I approached with emotion and I asked for an autograph. He was so kind to me and so gentle that I began to feel guilty for my thoughts. 

Then I whispered to him:

–Where do the ducks go in winter? - I asked him with a little psycho tone. - The man was scared. He looked at me confused, and smiled at me, bringing his ear closer as if he was waiting for me to repeat the phrase. I did not answer anything and I went a little closer. "I have to kill him, I need to kill him", I thought. So, I checked my bag and took out the gun. When he was on my back signing other autographs, I extended the revolver, I closed my eyes and with trembling hands, I shot him 5 times. "He shot me!" - His body collapsed on the cold floor. People piled up and I heard a lot of shouting. I was scared of myself.

<center>https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/433356992522878976/473542552188878858/unknown.png?width=331&height=473</center>
<center>https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/433356992522878976/473542629414535238/SEPARADOR_B.png</center>

In the middle of the hustle looking for a heart-warming response and breathing hard, I opened my book "The Catcher in the Rye" on page 55. Howitz answered Holden about the ducks in the winter: "How could I know that?"- He replied. There are no answers. I closed the book and I began to whisper my own questions while I swinging myself as a child. Yoko was screaming. "It's him, it's him, help me!”. The police fired in my direction and I speed up the way. The book fell down on the floor, surrounded by disaster, blood and the bustle of people.

<center>https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmccBJPJ7aZiSUsgbvsxyjBWWQZkFBFWouY8QgsiBv5N6M/image.png</center>

Then the police began to follow me with a big speed. And for some strange reason, I felt that they would not be able to reach me, because I would be faster. I was clumsy but faster, rational. I already learned to live with fear, running away from many other demons. They didn't know where the ducks were going in the winter, but I would find the answer. This time I would be a duck sailing away from the cold.


<center>https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmRnRJbbVauRxx2sppwetgTYm8ewyBKtaNLqPy3BA14GbK/theduckdead.png</center>

<center>https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/433356992522878976/473542629414535238/SEPARADOR_B.png</center>

><center>Artwork: @exzorltg and @aidarojaswriter
>Original story by @aidarojaswriter</center>


## <center>Some of the artwork process made by us:</center>

<center>https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/433356992522878976/473541571514728449/unknown.png?width=715&height=473
>The duck</center>

<center>https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/433356992522878976/473541827581181954/unknown.png?width=713&height=474
>The duck in the winter</center>

<center>https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/440952644035674123/473554012789145621/FullSizeRender.jpg?width=356&height=474
>Yoko Ono's process</center>

<center>https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/440952644035674123/473553605908103178/IMG_2459.JPG?width=356&height=474
>About John and his process</center>
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<center>https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/433356992522878976/473542629414535238/SEPARADOR_B.png</center>



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>Original artwork, worked in watercolor and colours. Edited in Lightroom and Photoshop.



#### <center>Thanks for reading! Tell me in the comments what do you think about the story, what's gonna happen? What about Chapman and his thoughs?</center>
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