Twisted
Let me start off by telling you that when I say I am not insane, banana blueberry waffles. I’m sorry, I meant to say I am not sane… insane. My words become mixed up when I remember the murders I committed. I guess you could say they make my heart race, just like the last time when I… never mind, I should stay on topic shouldn’t I. Anyway, let’s go back to the night of my first murder.
There was a marvelous woman; she was beautiful in every aspect. I killed her just because I could and I felt like it. After only one day of getting to know her inconspicuously, then I confronted her the next day and asked her on what she thought would be a date. Oh was she wrong about what I had planned for her. I let the first date go how she wanted it, and the second, and the third.
On the fourth date I was going to kill her, but she asked a question that changed my plans greatly. She asked if I was a B or a D, she had no idea what she was getting into with that question, but I gave her my truthful response, I was a D. It turned out that she was a B, so my plans for her worked wonderfully all because of her; she had brought it upon herself, she could have had an easy death, but because of her tastes, she died while receiving pleasure and release.
She can’t complain against me now, she’s not here to complain, she died in only fifteen minutes, I wanted it to last forever, but she only lasted for a short time. I guess she couldn’t handle my domination tactics of hanging her by the ankles on a tripod and slitting her throat. I guess not all people are built sturdy.
Moving along, I did what you may call stalking of a fine specimen of a woman. Looking at her I would fantasize doing what you would call horrible and psychotic, but I found it amusing and pleasuring. After only the second day of “stalking” her I knew almost everything about her, so I had decided to let myself into her home, and kill her. It much easier than you would have thought. The door opened smoothly, no alarms went off, no guard dog, stairs never creaked, I must say that she kept her house in pristine condition, that is until her blood was splattered across many walls.
I made it a hunt, a hunt which only happened inside her house. I made her blood pump, I made it a game to see how much I could get her blood to pump, her heart to beat, how big of a splash I could make on the wall. I tell you, making a gash very suddenly on the jugular is very effective, but it doesn’t make much of a splash. So I decided from there, to change my way of homicide, to make it more of a game, to see how high and far I could make a splash. So I experimented on the next several “victims” you would call them, they weren’t victims though, they were part of an experiment! My experiment!
After concluding these experiments, I had found the biggest, longest, and highest a single slash would get to. By simply decapitating them with a cheese wire trap, I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before! Cheese wire is so sharp that it cuts giant blocks of molded milk, so how effective is it on the human flesh and spine? Very effective. Setting up the traps without them waking up was very hard, but it was well worth the show. The bodies falling; the heads decapitating with a look of part horror and part surprise; and the best of all; the gigantic spurt of the hot, crimson, liquid coming from the neck. I got it to go all the way to the ceiling from their neck, oh how I was overjoyed at the time.
Only a few days after my huge success of splattering the ceilings, the police took the initiative to get warrants to search all the houses, I was sure they wouldn’t find anything in my house. I felt perfectly confident they would find absolutely nothing.
They came to my house, I felt fine, except disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to try any more experiments until they were done with their searching. They entered the house and questioned me. I was confident, but when they got to my room, for no reason I started to feel uneasy. I had no reason to, they weren’t going to find anything, but I started sweating, and my heart started beating faster. The search of my house finished, but I still felt weird, I think it may have been fear, I don’t know why. I just don’t know. Then I saw all my victims, all at once, looking down upon me with the face of death. I was truly scared, so shocked that I couldn’t move.
I must have screamed, yelled, or done something of the like, because the next thing I knew I was on the ground. I didn’t realize why I was on the ground, but then my panicking stopped. I looked down and saw my hands covered in blood, I was again shocked, how could this have been happening? I blinked and the blood was gone, then I saw my hands in handcuffs, then they were behind me. I don’t know what happened but I could indistinctly hear myself confessing to all the murders. The police escorted me out to the police car, when they closed the door I saw all 42 of my victims staring at me from my front lawn. I blinked but they were still there, they seemed to follow the police car—no, they were following me. That was the moment I felt that I was starting to go insane. The District Attorney’s office put me in the court; I knew I had already lost, so I confessed in front of the jury and the judge. The judge sentenced me to execution by the electric chair.
I thought about all of this as I sat strapped to a chair, my 42 victims had haunted me every day while I was in prison waiting for the day to come when I would become executed. I knew that I was going to hell, when I died, but I thought that I would at least be free from the tormenting of my victims once I died. I saw them flip the switch, everything went black, and then it felt like I was falling through nothingness. I passed eight layers of something before I landed on what I thought was the ninth layer. I don’t know where I am, what I am doing here, but I definitely know one thing for sure. Killing 42 people is definitely not the answer to the universe.