I liked killing them.
I enjoyed watching the light slowly fade from their eyes as my grip around their neck tightened. Never in my 45 years of living in this damn shithole have I found something else that could entertain me the same way. Their wailings, their gasps, their cries and those rivers of tears running down their cheeks pumped my adrenaline through my veins like a crazy lion who hadn't eaten for a month.
Preys.My preys.That's what I called them.
It was a high school student. My first time. I was high on alcohol when I stumbled upon a girl lying on the ground with blood oozing down her knees and crying for help."Some car hit me",she kept on saying when I bent down to look at her. The street light was flickering in the narrow street and I could hardly see her face.
"Mister, please help me",She kept on whispering. And I wanted to help her. She looked like she was in pain.But I don't why or how it was,I slowly reached for her neck. That moment,all I could see was her exposed throat.
Nice. Something inside my head whispered.
"Let me help you" I said, as she grabbed my hands when I tightened it around her neck.
My fingers,safe and sound inside the warm leather riders gloves, found the right place where they fit in for the first time. Her wailing filled my ears and I felt adrenaline rushing through my veins.
It was fun.
And as I mounted my bike and took off from the lane I felt a satisfaction I have never felt before.
Even when I found the news about the incident in the next day's newspaper which I managed to grab even before my parents woke up ,I didn't feel any remorse.
I was 20. My first time.I killed a person.
The second time was 2 months later when I was coming back after hooking up with a random chick I met in the bar and smelled like sex. It was a man,a drunk middle aged man named Isaac.I found it in his back pocket which was written on a crumpled paper along with a 'if found please return' writing which I assumed to be written by his wife. He didn't protest when I took the initiative to help him and he didn't protest when I left his warm-yet-soon-to-be cold body lying on the cold ground.
That was fun too.
I was a perfectionist. I didn't like it when things were messy or when they were not in their right places. I never decided my prey before hand.I just killed when I felt like it. The only time I planned and killed was when I helped Roger,my colleague at the office I used to work at. He was often bullied by our Manager for not being efficient enough and I came to know that he has a weak heart. And suddenly I wanted to make him forget his worries. And that's how one day I went to his apartment uninvited and saved him from all his concern. Suicide, that's what they concluded it was.The police.For they didn't want the town to learn that another killing had taken place for the second time that week.
Even if it hurt my self esteem a lot,I decided to let it go since I only cared about the fact that I helped my fellow colleague.
Traces.I never left them. Relationships:I had enough to not be suspected.
I changed places a few times when I got bored of the hunting grounds.
Once there was this granny whom I met during a client meeting,who told me about all her worries. And that night I went to visit her and she happily welcomed me in. But I guess I wasn't lucky enough. While we were watching television together, she passed away due to a heart attack and I had to leave the house hungrily. I couldn't sleep that night as I kept on thinking about her. She was the first prey I missed and it fucking made me feel like a loser.
From police officers to doctors, I had helped many.I never cut them or tore them. All I did was use the Russian Martial Arts techniques my father had taught me when I was young.I made sure I didn't put them in intense pain for a long time. Because I didn't want to hurt them a lot.
At 38,I had to fake cry at my parents funeral who had died in an accident caused by a drunk driver who could hardly keep up with the sign boards on the road. Deep inside I was glad that they died without being a liability to me. And I was beginning to doubt at that time that my mother got wind of something because I noticed the difference in the way my dairy was kept inside my table.She rarely visited my apartment because of her busy schedule as a designer who owned a boutique.
Maybe she was shocked by the fact that her son was nothing but a murderer who acted all innocent outside and rarely hurt even an insect.
And now sitting on my couch at my house,I glanced right at the high school student who lied unconscious on the floor. She had nice long hair and plum lips which would have attracted any men who came her way. And I knew she was my prey the second my eyes landed on her. But little I knew,I couldn't do anything to her. I had lost the urge, the urge to kill and save them. I had become a broken vessel. Something that has lost its purpose.And there was nothing else in my life that could Keep me moving forwards. From drugs to sex,I have been trying to find joy. But I couldn't. I just couldn't. That wasn't me.
And so I have decided to end everything the same way I began them.
It's ridiculous, I know. But I didn't care.
And that's something I am damn proud of.
I heard the clock striking midnight and picked up the package of cyanide I had placed on the desk earlier. Some black Market guy who was desperate for money had saved my ass. Slipping it into the booze bottle in my hand I glanced once again at the young girl who had now begun to stir despite the strong effect of the drugs I had slipped into her drink earlier.
"I am sorry,I couldn't save you", I whispered into the darkness outside. Closing my eyes,I took a sip of the drink. The helpless faces of my preys flashed before my eyes before I felt something inside me exploding.
It was fun. Indeed.
