I can certainly recall the first kill that I had ever made after stepping out of the bowels of Hell. Her name was Diana and she was the loving mother of three children. Two boys and a girl. Her will to live, unfortunately, was her weakness and therefore, I stepped out of the darkness. She didn't know who I was and didn't know what I was going to do, but perhaps the way I stared at her gave some sort of hint. I had run into her in a small alleyway with my weapon of choice at the time. A simple steak knife. I confronted her, told her I knew she was turning to drugs and alcohol, told her that I knew she was losing grip on her life and that she wanted to stop living this hidden life. She seemed to know where she was going, starting to plead with me that she didn't deserve to go.
Fresh out of Hell, I didn't waste my time. I was a blood thirsty creature back then and I don't deny it. I came at her and cut her up like a holiday dinner. I made quite the mess in that alleyway that night, leaving her entrails strewn about like a child's finger painting. In all, what would now take me about ten minutes to enjoy a kill, took me less than two minutes to completely mutilate the young woman. At the time, it wasn't as enjoyable. I never used to take that much time when I first started, but I can only imagine what the cops were thinking when they stumbled upon the grizzly death trap. Though I care not about their thoughts or experiences, the element of surprise is never ending with myself. In what I do and who I do it to.
I can even recall one human being. A middle-aged man with no family or friends. He was the CEO of his own company and making as much money as a Wall Street tycoon. Yet, he was unhappy and wanted to die. He came up to me after witnessing a kill by my own hands. I hadn't even put the scalpel away when he grabbed my shoulder, spun me around and begged me to take his life. I had asked him the reasoning and looked into his eyes, my mind racing into his for the answers and wondering if he'd tell me the exact truth. In which he did and proceeded to beg me. I didn't feel anything towards what was happening, but I didn't take this man for granted. Another soul is another soul to Satan himself. So I killed the man with little effort, ripped out his heart and went home with two good meals that night.
I must admit, none of my victims tend to be the same sort of people. They will however, either beg for life or accept their fate at the will of my blade. I will never tire of killing, but I've killed more than 1,500 people since I first came to be. This is my life's work and it's safe to say that I will never forget any one of my victims.
Coriander Sinzire · Fri Aug 08, 2008 @ 05:55pm · 0 Comments |