I knew I wouldn't be able to get out through the parks one entry, kittycorner from Miller's house. Scrambling over another fence was asking for trouble, since all the noise of police and ambulances there was no question everyone on the block was awake.
At that moment my only comfort was the fact that since I hadn't been able to hold a job since my mom got sick, I'd been supporting myself through identity theft. They had my van and my fingerprints, but the van wasn't in my legal name and I'd never been charged with a crime. I'd never been finger-oh damn. Not only had my mother had me fingerprinted when I was a kid during the child abduction/molestation panic of the early eighties. These would have been the very police who did it.
That certainly made this a bit more urgent. I began to scramble around frantically looking for a way out. I found a shed and hid.
I was there long enough to doze off. I don't know why they didn't check there. Perhaps it was coincidence. Perhaps the local police are just that shockingly incompetent.
When I woke up it was completely dark and I was feeling pretty dizzy. I don't know why I slept so long, I suspect it was the open chemical fertilizer had some sort of effect on my brain.
There was a cop car patrolling the park, but I was able to evade them and sneak away. there were a few unfenced yards and empty lots I cut across. So it didn't take long til I was far enough away that it would be at least five blocks to a police car limited to the streets. I relaxed a bit but continued to try to put as much distance between the scene an myself.
I eventually found myself at the gas station by the freeway and decided that this was the best place I was likely to get a ride.
I had been hitching for about half an hour when a beat up Volkswagen Vanagon stopped. It was brown and probably twenty-five years old. It had several political bumper stickers that were far left liberal and one that said 'Human Milk for Human Babies' which I certainly agreed with. I definitely was opposed to wasting human milk on animals.
The driver was a girl of about twenty three. She was average looking. Which at twenty-three is quite pretty, but in a nondescript common way. When I was seated in the car I saw the clock said 11:20. If that was correct it was almost midnight. "Is this clock correct? I asked.
She glanced at it and said, "Yeah, give or take a few minutes. You runnin late?"
I knew then that I'd have to kill her to make my deadline. "No I'm on time still, but I'm cutting it pretty close. What's your name?"
"Free, Free Johnson."
Do you see what I did there? I titled it 'Barely Got Free.' So you, the reader, would think I meant I barely escaped the police. But actually I escaped the police almost ridiculously easily, and what I barely managed to do was make my kill before midnight. And the person I 'got' was a girl named Free.
I punched her in the face as hard as I could. I knocked her against the window, but she was not even near down. I just kept punching her as she swung at me blindly with her left arm. trying to hit me but also trying to make me move and spoil my aim.
After three solid punches to the face she had pulled over to the shoulder. She was still not out but she had stopped fighting. She was dazed, and quite aware that she couldn't beat me. She was biding her time while she decided her next move. "Why are you doing this?" She said as she sobbed.
"It's just your unlucky day," I said as I broke the knob off her gear shift and pulled her suddenly down upon the jagged spike of plastic and metal. She struggled as I lifted her off and slammed her back down. I swung her head up to the windshield then back down on the metal spear.
I hit her head on the dashboard, then again into the windshield. All this happened very quickly, but finally she passed out or fainted or went into shock. She stopped struggling and stopped fighting, and I was able to choke her to death before midnight. I then spent ten minutes with the car's lighter trying to mar any finger prints I left on her with criss crossing burnt circles.
I got back on the road and drove into the city. The broken shaft biting into my hand with each gear change. But as long as I was gentle and methodical it hurt but didn't quite break the skin.
I'm sure her repeated impacts dulled it from it's initial sharpness.
Tuesday, 26 April 2011
Tuesday, 19 April 2011
05/10 Mr. Miller
I met the dawn driving into the town where I had spent my childhood. Ages 6-12 at 237 Pueblo Rd. Driving through brought old Mr. Miller to mind. Not old really, he would have been about my age now. But he was a nasty old man even then. He was always yelling at us and telling our parents to keep us quiet. By 'us' I mean all the neighborhood kids. I never had friends really, there was never any 'us' in that group of friends way. He also used to sick his dog on us. A yappy cocker spainel even a 12 year old could fight off with one good kick. Which meant another visit to our parents and threats of police involvement. As if he hadn't started it. But none of us was ever hurt and he insisted that his dog never left his property. Again there's that 'us'.
Anyway I say he did leave his property but it was close enough that it was my word against his, and he was an adult.
As I thought of him the idea occurred that it would be fun to make him today's kill. He might be quite spry still. There was no way he'd be over seventy and I've met some seventy year olds who could probably fight for their lives quite viciously. But he was a smallish effeminate man and I doubt he would have been a match for me in his prime.
When I pulled onto the street the memories came flooding back. When I got to Mr. Miller's I was immediately sure he was still in residence. All the plants were in handmade pots. If not the same pots from my childhood, certainly made by the same artist. Miller himself.
I took my first ceramics class at nine and because of this shared hobby I wanted to like Mr. Miller. He did some amazing work. But when I brought him a pot I made and asked if I could ask him some questions. He told me to 'get that ugly piece of crap out of his sight and get off his lawn'. I was obviously standing on his porch when he said this.
I was trying to decide how to break in quietly when I found that the door was unlocked. Yay for suburban trust! Actually a little surprising when I think about what I know about the man.
I found him in his kitchen filling the coffee urn with water. I grabbed him around the throat with my right arm. He swung the urn up and hit me in the head, but it didn't break. I yanked it out of his grip with my left hand and threw it.
I had him. But what to do with him now. He was trying to scream and I was trying to tighten my arm enough to silence him, but the angle was bad and it didn't work completely.
With a flash of inspiration I turned on the garbage disposal in the sink. I tried to grab his arm but he just thrashed against me waving his arms around trying to beat at me and evade capture by my own grabbing hand. I leaned my weight against him, pinning his hips between my hips and the counter. I grabbed a heavy coffee mug and smashed it into his face. The pain stunned him enough I was able to finally get a hold on his forearm and start feeding his hand down the garbage disposal.
The trick of death by disposal is to not feed the hand in too fast. you'll break the disposal or at least make it freeze up.
It wasn't long before the pain put him into shock or made him faint or whatever, he went limp against me. But I had to keep it up because I wasn't trying to injure someone until they faint every day. I had a goal.
I finally dropped him to the ground and cut his throat with a kitchen knife when I saw the flashing lights of a police car through the kitchen window. Someone must have seen or heard something.
I ran out the back of the house and jumped the fence to the local park behind his house. I saw an officer sneaking around the back as I slunk away through the bushes.
I probably left finger prints everywhere and I left my van behind. It would seem I was in some pretty big trouble.
Anyway I say he did leave his property but it was close enough that it was my word against his, and he was an adult.
As I thought of him the idea occurred that it would be fun to make him today's kill. He might be quite spry still. There was no way he'd be over seventy and I've met some seventy year olds who could probably fight for their lives quite viciously. But he was a smallish effeminate man and I doubt he would have been a match for me in his prime.
When I pulled onto the street the memories came flooding back. When I got to Mr. Miller's I was immediately sure he was still in residence. All the plants were in handmade pots. If not the same pots from my childhood, certainly made by the same artist. Miller himself.
I took my first ceramics class at nine and because of this shared hobby I wanted to like Mr. Miller. He did some amazing work. But when I brought him a pot I made and asked if I could ask him some questions. He told me to 'get that ugly piece of crap out of his sight and get off his lawn'. I was obviously standing on his porch when he said this.
I was trying to decide how to break in quietly when I found that the door was unlocked. Yay for suburban trust! Actually a little surprising when I think about what I know about the man.
I found him in his kitchen filling the coffee urn with water. I grabbed him around the throat with my right arm. He swung the urn up and hit me in the head, but it didn't break. I yanked it out of his grip with my left hand and threw it.
I had him. But what to do with him now. He was trying to scream and I was trying to tighten my arm enough to silence him, but the angle was bad and it didn't work completely.
With a flash of inspiration I turned on the garbage disposal in the sink. I tried to grab his arm but he just thrashed against me waving his arms around trying to beat at me and evade capture by my own grabbing hand. I leaned my weight against him, pinning his hips between my hips and the counter. I grabbed a heavy coffee mug and smashed it into his face. The pain stunned him enough I was able to finally get a hold on his forearm and start feeding his hand down the garbage disposal.
The trick of death by disposal is to not feed the hand in too fast. you'll break the disposal or at least make it freeze up.
It wasn't long before the pain put him into shock or made him faint or whatever, he went limp against me. But I had to keep it up because I wasn't trying to injure someone until they faint every day. I had a goal.
I finally dropped him to the ground and cut his throat with a kitchen knife when I saw the flashing lights of a police car through the kitchen window. Someone must have seen or heard something.
I ran out the back of the house and jumped the fence to the local park behind his house. I saw an officer sneaking around the back as I slunk away through the bushes.
I probably left finger prints everywhere and I left my van behind. It would seem I was in some pretty big trouble.
05/09 Emily
I notice that my last two kills were people who looked like someone else. Well okay, one person who looked like someone else, one who I just mistook for someone else because I didn't really know what he looked like. I am still enjoying a complete lack of police pursuit. And that is not going to continue if I become the 'mistaken identity slayer'.
I still find myself upset; angry and sad specifically that I don't know who fake warnke is. I was tempted to kidnap one of his entourage and make him tell me. But what if I got someone who didn't know. At what point do you differentiate between don't know and don't want to tell.
I promised myself that I would find out all I could about whoever I chose today. I saw a girl sitting at the bus stop as I walked around downtown, having parked my van at the mall. I said, "I see you've got a cinnamon roll there where'd you get it?" By way of a conversation starter.
She looked at me, confused, "What? Oh yeah, I got it at Schendley's Bakery. It's over on the corner of fifth and C."
"Really," I said, "Is it any good?"
"Oh yes, quite nice." She said.
"I just came here from Springfield, do you mind if I sit beside you and talk for a moment." I asked, pausing a moment to let her answer.
"Be my guest." She said indicating the bench next to her.
I sat and talked to her for about forty five minutes. Her name was Emily, she was a student at the university. She'd gone back to school as an adult. Although she was only thirty two so she had her whole life ahead of her. She was two years short of her Master's in Psychology. She didn't know whether she was going to stop there and be a counselor or if she would continue to the psychologist level.
I left her with my thanks, telling her I was going in pursuit of a cinnamon roll of my own. But I waited in the bushes watching her. When her bus came, it was swarmed by students from the university going home after morning classes. I was able to follow her onto the bus without being seen. Luckily her stop was popular enough that I was again able to follow her.
I finally got ahead of her and dragged her into a construction site. It was empty and conveniently placed, I planned to follow her to her apartment, but this was better.
When she saw it was me and she saw my knife she tried to reason with me. She tried all her counselor tricks. Maybe they would have even worked if I was a crazy person. But I wasn't doing this out of insanity, I was trying to accomplish something.
When she asked what I wanted with her and I told her, she screamed. I stabbed her in the throat. This silenced her quickly to a gurgle, but sprayed me with far too much blood to conceal. I stabbed her a few more times and then she was dead.
As soon as she was gone I realized I'd forgotten to rape her. Which is not to say I would have raped her. I just didn't consciously decide not to, I forgot to even consider it until it was too late.
I had to wait all day in that place because I was too bloody. I fell asleep and finally at two am I was able to walk the two and a bit miles to my van. I was seen by a couple people and I had a ticket on my van. I just had to hope that since I planned to be out of the state in a few hours, I could leave all this behind me.
I still find myself upset; angry and sad specifically that I don't know who fake warnke is. I was tempted to kidnap one of his entourage and make him tell me. But what if I got someone who didn't know. At what point do you differentiate between don't know and don't want to tell.
I promised myself that I would find out all I could about whoever I chose today. I saw a girl sitting at the bus stop as I walked around downtown, having parked my van at the mall. I said, "I see you've got a cinnamon roll there where'd you get it?" By way of a conversation starter.
She looked at me, confused, "What? Oh yeah, I got it at Schendley's Bakery. It's over on the corner of fifth and C."
"Really," I said, "Is it any good?"
"Oh yes, quite nice." She said.
"I just came here from Springfield, do you mind if I sit beside you and talk for a moment." I asked, pausing a moment to let her answer.
"Be my guest." She said indicating the bench next to her.
I sat and talked to her for about forty five minutes. Her name was Emily, she was a student at the university. She'd gone back to school as an adult. Although she was only thirty two so she had her whole life ahead of her. She was two years short of her Master's in Psychology. She didn't know whether she was going to stop there and be a counselor or if she would continue to the psychologist level.
I left her with my thanks, telling her I was going in pursuit of a cinnamon roll of my own. But I waited in the bushes watching her. When her bus came, it was swarmed by students from the university going home after morning classes. I was able to follow her onto the bus without being seen. Luckily her stop was popular enough that I was again able to follow her.
I finally got ahead of her and dragged her into a construction site. It was empty and conveniently placed, I planned to follow her to her apartment, but this was better.
When she saw it was me and she saw my knife she tried to reason with me. She tried all her counselor tricks. Maybe they would have even worked if I was a crazy person. But I wasn't doing this out of insanity, I was trying to accomplish something.
When she asked what I wanted with her and I told her, she screamed. I stabbed her in the throat. This silenced her quickly to a gurgle, but sprayed me with far too much blood to conceal. I stabbed her a few more times and then she was dead.
As soon as she was gone I realized I'd forgotten to rape her. Which is not to say I would have raped her. I just didn't consciously decide not to, I forgot to even consider it until it was too late.
I had to wait all day in that place because I was too bloody. I fell asleep and finally at two am I was able to walk the two and a bit miles to my van. I was seen by a couple people and I had a ticket on my van. I just had to hope that since I planned to be out of the state in a few hours, I could leave all this behind me.
Sunday, 17 April 2011
05/08 Fake Mike Warnke
I don't know why I was so excited to go to this book signing. I hadn't even heard of this guy since the eighties when he wrote a book called the Satan Seller. It was about how he was some satanic high priest before he found Jesus. My mom loved this guy and this book. I later found out that he flat out admitted he made it all up. But maybe he is rescinding his honesty because I saw a flyer showing he would be coming today to a local Christian bookstore.
I waited outside the back door hoping he would come out alone and when he did I fell upon him with a hammer.It was so cathartic just beating and beating on him. The first two blows had him on his back on the floor and with the third strike I smashed his larynx, which noticeably affected his ability to breath when it started swelling up.
Before I was finished I realized it was't him. I should have gone to the reading. But I couldn't bear to listen to that lying sack, tricking more people. In the end it was my foolishness. I'm lucky my van was parked at such an angle that I was blocked from view by the real Mike's little entourage. Even ten people talking can mask the sound of a hammer striking meat, so I knew they wouldn't hear anything.
Later I had a delicious roast beef and cheese sandwich from a local deli.
I fantasized Mike would have no reason to find the body in his trunk before it had swollen and burst in the heat. Stinking it up in a way he could never get out.
I waited outside the back door hoping he would come out alone and when he did I fell upon him with a hammer.It was so cathartic just beating and beating on him. The first two blows had him on his back on the floor and with the third strike I smashed his larynx, which noticeably affected his ability to breath when it started swelling up.
Before I was finished I realized it was't him. I should have gone to the reading. But I couldn't bear to listen to that lying sack, tricking more people. In the end it was my foolishness. I'm lucky my van was parked at such an angle that I was blocked from view by the real Mike's little entourage. Even ten people talking can mask the sound of a hammer striking meat, so I knew they wouldn't hear anything.
Later I had a delicious roast beef and cheese sandwich from a local deli.
I fantasized Mike would have no reason to find the body in his trunk before it had swollen and burst in the heat. Stinking it up in a way he could never get out.
Saturday, 16 April 2011
05/07 Not Gary Coleman Eddie
I had a chest x ray a few days ago and the technician said my lungs don't even show the expected amount of scarring for someone with my medical history. She said that she is actually suprised at how good they look with how prone to respitory infections I am.
I am still dealing with my meds. The doctor has taken me off the anxiety medication and has more than doubled my insomnia medication and I still can't get to sleep before three or four am and then can't get up until 11 or 12 oclock. First two days I slept 16 hours a day then she changed it and I didn't sleep for two days then she changed it again and it startted on the current pattern with the not being able to sleep until super late and then not being able to awaken . She changed the meds again after that but it had no effect on that. I also have been having serious equlibrium problems but instead of beijng dizzy it is an up and down kind of vertigo where it feels like I am on a boat in a storm or on a slow roller coaster. the most recent med adjustment helped some with that although it didn't effect the sleeping issue. Without the anxiety meds I have been having some pretty bad depression and anxiety issues. So hopefully we will be able to find something that will work. My doctor has given me a referall to a mental health specialist but I have to wait for an appointment.
I'm thinking I need to just stop taking them. Insomnia will be a positive if I want to use all that time driving. Everyone says it's so bad to go cold turkey off anti-depressants, but I don't see how I could feel worse.
I was parked at a light and this short black guy walked in front of my van. He looked like Gary Coleman, but after a second it was obviously not him. So I gunned the engine and ran him down. I paused the van when I was on the hill of his chest and let the weight of the van pop him.
I put it in park and jumped out. I ran to him crying and screaming apologies
I told him I'd get help I asked his name. It was Eddie
I jammed my hand in his mouth into his throat and though it was hard, I made a fist and knelt there until he suffocated
I knew he wasn't Gary Coleman.
I am still dealing with my meds. The doctor has taken me off the anxiety medication and has more than doubled my insomnia medication and I still can't get to sleep before three or four am and then can't get up until 11 or 12 oclock. First two days I slept 16 hours a day then she changed it and I didn't sleep for two days then she changed it again and it startted on the current pattern with the not being able to sleep until super late and then not being able to awaken . She changed the meds again after that but it had no effect on that. I also have been having serious equlibrium problems but instead of beijng dizzy it is an up and down kind of vertigo where it feels like I am on a boat in a storm or on a slow roller coaster. the most recent med adjustment helped some with that although it didn't effect the sleeping issue. Without the anxiety meds I have been having some pretty bad depression and anxiety issues. So hopefully we will be able to find something that will work. My doctor has given me a referall to a mental health specialist but I have to wait for an appointment.
I'm thinking I need to just stop taking them. Insomnia will be a positive if I want to use all that time driving. Everyone says it's so bad to go cold turkey off anti-depressants, but I don't see how I could feel worse.
I was parked at a light and this short black guy walked in front of my van. He looked like Gary Coleman, but after a second it was obviously not him. So I gunned the engine and ran him down. I paused the van when I was on the hill of his chest and let the weight of the van pop him.
I put it in park and jumped out. I ran to him crying and screaming apologies
I told him I'd get help I asked his name. It was Eddie
I jammed my hand in his mouth into his throat and though it was hard, I made a fist and knelt there until he suffocated
I knew he wasn't Gary Coleman.
Thursday, 14 April 2011
05/06 Gas Marty
I didn't expect to do today's kill so quick on the heels of Steve.
I was driving on I-15 at around three when I decided to stop for gas. I didn't plan to do anything. If it hadn't been after midnight I wouldn't have done anything. I take this thing seriously. One kill a day, not just butchering my way across the country.
I pull off at the first open gas station. It was a deserted little mom and pop. Didn't look for that, was just what I found.
I really needed to pee so when I saw the door was locked and there was a sign saying to go to the window for service after midnight. I banged on the door.
Marty walked over. He was about twenty-two in a red bowling shirt style uniform shirt with his name and the store's logo.
"Marty, buddy, you gotta help me out." I said. "I've been on the road since six thirty and I really need to take a leak."
Marty smiled apologetically and said, "Wish I could, Sir, but it's against the rules. I can't open those doors from midnight to five a.m."
I looked at my watch and said, "It's almost four, Marty. Can't you open a little early? Be a pal, buddy. I really need to go."
"Sorry. I just can't." He did look honestly sorry.
I thought a moment and said, "If you let me in Marty, I will promise to buy 50 bucks in stuff in the shop. Do you ever sell fifty bucks in merchandise in this graveyard shift?"
"No. But it's not about that. I just can't. Why don't you go take a leak behind the dumpster. I need to hose down the lot in the morning anyway." He said, it was obvious he hoped he'd found a solution."
"Marty, I can't. I know it's crazy but my mom would beat the shit out of me if I ever pissed outside. Now I physically can't. Seriously, Marty, I'll be in and out in a minute or two. Please."
Marty unlocked the door and let me in.
I went into the restroom and peed. When I came out I made good on my promise to get fifty dollars worth of stuff, even though Marty kept promising I didn't need to.
They had Coke in the glass bottles. How's that for perfect. I grabbed two. I grabbed a half dozen candy bars, two microwave burritos, a pair of sunglasses and a ball cap with an amusing phrase. What really pushed the bill over fifty dollars is I bought a gascan. Preying on stranded motorists, companies jack those things up. I have never seen a five dollar gas can sold in a station for less than twenty.
Marty rang me up. It was $51.73.
I broke the bottom off one of the Cokes and jammed the jagged remains into his neck. I twisted hard as I stabbed and followed immediately with a couple slashes.
The broken bottle is more a slashing weapon than a stabbing weapon.
It was a moment before he even tried to get away. By then I had the gaping mouths in his neck opened wide enough that no amount of ineffective grabbing with his hand was going to slow things down. I slashed the backs of his hands and his wrists anyway to discourage it. He was mostly just screaming but I'm pretty sure he asked 'why?' in there somewhere. And really that's the question isn't it Marty, why?
Before I left I went around and pushed Marty out of the way. I couldn't remember what pump I was parked at so I just turned them all on. I checked the register. There was fifty seven in bills and a roll of quarters. There was probably another twenty in mixed change but I just emptied the quarter cup. I wasn't going to stand there and count change.
I walked out opening the second bottle. It's amazing, Coke really does taste better out of a glass bottle.
I was driving on I-15 at around three when I decided to stop for gas. I didn't plan to do anything. If it hadn't been after midnight I wouldn't have done anything. I take this thing seriously. One kill a day, not just butchering my way across the country.
I pull off at the first open gas station. It was a deserted little mom and pop. Didn't look for that, was just what I found.
I really needed to pee so when I saw the door was locked and there was a sign saying to go to the window for service after midnight. I banged on the door.
Marty walked over. He was about twenty-two in a red bowling shirt style uniform shirt with his name and the store's logo.
"Marty, buddy, you gotta help me out." I said. "I've been on the road since six thirty and I really need to take a leak."
Marty smiled apologetically and said, "Wish I could, Sir, but it's against the rules. I can't open those doors from midnight to five a.m."
I looked at my watch and said, "It's almost four, Marty. Can't you open a little early? Be a pal, buddy. I really need to go."
"Sorry. I just can't." He did look honestly sorry.
I thought a moment and said, "If you let me in Marty, I will promise to buy 50 bucks in stuff in the shop. Do you ever sell fifty bucks in merchandise in this graveyard shift?"
"No. But it's not about that. I just can't. Why don't you go take a leak behind the dumpster. I need to hose down the lot in the morning anyway." He said, it was obvious he hoped he'd found a solution."
"Marty, I can't. I know it's crazy but my mom would beat the shit out of me if I ever pissed outside. Now I physically can't. Seriously, Marty, I'll be in and out in a minute or two. Please."
Marty unlocked the door and let me in.
I went into the restroom and peed. When I came out I made good on my promise to get fifty dollars worth of stuff, even though Marty kept promising I didn't need to.
They had Coke in the glass bottles. How's that for perfect. I grabbed two. I grabbed a half dozen candy bars, two microwave burritos, a pair of sunglasses and a ball cap with an amusing phrase. What really pushed the bill over fifty dollars is I bought a gascan. Preying on stranded motorists, companies jack those things up. I have never seen a five dollar gas can sold in a station for less than twenty.
Marty rang me up. It was $51.73.
I broke the bottom off one of the Cokes and jammed the jagged remains into his neck. I twisted hard as I stabbed and followed immediately with a couple slashes.
The broken bottle is more a slashing weapon than a stabbing weapon.
It was a moment before he even tried to get away. By then I had the gaping mouths in his neck opened wide enough that no amount of ineffective grabbing with his hand was going to slow things down. I slashed the backs of his hands and his wrists anyway to discourage it. He was mostly just screaming but I'm pretty sure he asked 'why?' in there somewhere. And really that's the question isn't it Marty, why?
Before I left I went around and pushed Marty out of the way. I couldn't remember what pump I was parked at so I just turned them all on. I checked the register. There was fifty seven in bills and a roll of quarters. There was probably another twenty in mixed change but I just emptied the quarter cup. I wasn't going to stand there and count change.
I walked out opening the second bottle. It's amazing, Coke really does taste better out of a glass bottle.
05/05 Pizza Steve
Did you ever see something and suddenly your life changed. You aren't looking for a change. You're miserable but content in your misery. If I'd taken a nap like I'd planned, I would be in my bedroom in the house I inherited when my mom died, cruising employment pages looking for a job.
Instead I watched a very interesting documentary on 'suicide by cop'. Apparently there is a certain sort of criminal. That lacking any way out of the mess they've made does something to make the cops kill them.
My first instinct is to act like this is some protest, or some demented art, but it's not. I want to die. I want to take as many people with me as I can. I don't hate the average citizen and if I'm going to be honest I don't know why I've decided to do this. The likelihood that I'm going to score chicks with this plan is pretty minimal, I'm not even using my real name.
All you need to know is I'm going to kill one person every day until someone stops me. I decided to do this because today is my thirty-ninth birthday and I absolutely refuse to turn forty. I felt old at twenty-one, by twenty-eight I felt my life was over. Today I can hardly look at myself in the mirror. I'm disgusting.
I noticed today I'm losing elasticity in the skin on my neck. I'm starting to get those wrinkles that go across. There are only a few so far, and I have to hold my head right for you to see them. But I know they're there.
As I walk down the street I fantasize that I'm Edward Norton in American History X. I just want to make people bite the curb and stomp on their necks and kill them. Lately though, in these fantasies It's not a clean break with the first stomp. They break their teeth or their jaw, and I have to keep stamping and kicking to kill them. Blood pouring out of their mouth from the broken bone tearing their flesh. I want to be an efficient killer, an angel of death. But in these fantasies the worse it is and the longer it takes the more I like it.
I don't mean it turns me on when I say I like it. I'm not like that. I mean I get a feeling of satisfaction from taking care of these people, getting rid of them. There are too many people.
I know I have to just do it if I'm going to do it. The first one's always the hardest. I guess, if I'm honest, that's just a cliche to me.
I worked up my nerve and called the pizza place, and put a baseball bat behind the door. When the delivery guy came I almost scrapped the whole thing. This was not my regular pizza guy. He said his name was Steve. For a moment I wondered if this was God trying to tell me this was a bad idea. As soon as I thought that though, I knew that it was a message from God. But it wasn't saying to quit. It was warning me that if I was committed to doing this there would be days when I couldn't get the person I wanted and I would have to take what I found.
I told Steve I didn't order any pizzas. When he asked if he could use my phone to call his supervisor I opened the door wider and invited him in.
Steve said this was his first day on the job.
I'm five foot eight and two hundred and seventy-five pounds. My belly hangs over my pants and I get tired pretty easily. But I also am strong enough last month when I replaced my washing machine I nonchalantly threw the old one up on my shoulder and walked it a few blocks to the landfill. When I picked up the bat beside the door and swung it at the back of Steve's head, his skull not only shifted but it bent so much a little piece of bone pinged off the edge of the wound and almost hit me in the eye. He still didn't drop right away. Even though I was swinging with all my weight behind it and aiming for the same place each time it took four swings and three solid tags before he stayed down. He dropped the moment before the third swing connected and that one only glanced off the edge.
He kicked and twitched and lost control of his bowels, just like I expected. But I was planning to clear out Steve's pockets and hit the road in my van, so I didn't worry about cleanup.
Steve had thirty seven dollars. Jerk.
Still, free pizza.
Instead I watched a very interesting documentary on 'suicide by cop'. Apparently there is a certain sort of criminal. That lacking any way out of the mess they've made does something to make the cops kill them.
My first instinct is to act like this is some protest, or some demented art, but it's not. I want to die. I want to take as many people with me as I can. I don't hate the average citizen and if I'm going to be honest I don't know why I've decided to do this. The likelihood that I'm going to score chicks with this plan is pretty minimal, I'm not even using my real name.
All you need to know is I'm going to kill one person every day until someone stops me. I decided to do this because today is my thirty-ninth birthday and I absolutely refuse to turn forty. I felt old at twenty-one, by twenty-eight I felt my life was over. Today I can hardly look at myself in the mirror. I'm disgusting.
I noticed today I'm losing elasticity in the skin on my neck. I'm starting to get those wrinkles that go across. There are only a few so far, and I have to hold my head right for you to see them. But I know they're there.
As I walk down the street I fantasize that I'm Edward Norton in American History X. I just want to make people bite the curb and stomp on their necks and kill them. Lately though, in these fantasies It's not a clean break with the first stomp. They break their teeth or their jaw, and I have to keep stamping and kicking to kill them. Blood pouring out of their mouth from the broken bone tearing their flesh. I want to be an efficient killer, an angel of death. But in these fantasies the worse it is and the longer it takes the more I like it.
I don't mean it turns me on when I say I like it. I'm not like that. I mean I get a feeling of satisfaction from taking care of these people, getting rid of them. There are too many people.
I know I have to just do it if I'm going to do it. The first one's always the hardest. I guess, if I'm honest, that's just a cliche to me.
I worked up my nerve and called the pizza place, and put a baseball bat behind the door. When the delivery guy came I almost scrapped the whole thing. This was not my regular pizza guy. He said his name was Steve. For a moment I wondered if this was God trying to tell me this was a bad idea. As soon as I thought that though, I knew that it was a message from God. But it wasn't saying to quit. It was warning me that if I was committed to doing this there would be days when I couldn't get the person I wanted and I would have to take what I found.
I told Steve I didn't order any pizzas. When he asked if he could use my phone to call his supervisor I opened the door wider and invited him in.
Steve said this was his first day on the job.
I'm five foot eight and two hundred and seventy-five pounds. My belly hangs over my pants and I get tired pretty easily. But I also am strong enough last month when I replaced my washing machine I nonchalantly threw the old one up on my shoulder and walked it a few blocks to the landfill. When I picked up the bat beside the door and swung it at the back of Steve's head, his skull not only shifted but it bent so much a little piece of bone pinged off the edge of the wound and almost hit me in the eye. He still didn't drop right away. Even though I was swinging with all my weight behind it and aiming for the same place each time it took four swings and three solid tags before he stayed down. He dropped the moment before the third swing connected and that one only glanced off the edge.
He kicked and twitched and lost control of his bowels, just like I expected. But I was planning to clear out Steve's pockets and hit the road in my van, so I didn't worry about cleanup.
Steve had thirty seven dollars. Jerk.
Still, free pizza.
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