Like a Kid in a Candy Store

The Twelfth Victim

I finally sever the carotid artery of my 12th victim with the grin of the Cheshire cat. I watch as the blood violently splatters, scrutinising the colour of my victim fade away, as its soul drifts off this planet. I admire my work. Oh, how beautiful it is. I hurry to dismember it, taking the scalpel and precisely carving around the ball and socket joint of the upper limbs. Then making my way down to remove its lower limbs, and then to the object I appreciate the most, it's head. I haul my precious cargo back to my beloved collection. I'm like a kid in a candy store, examining my work on the plethora of shelves. I cautiously place the head of my 12th victim on the shelf I previously prepared, followed by its limbs dangling off butcher hooks. I stood there with euphoria circulating through my body. I get lost in my thoughts as if I'm in a maze of relaxation and glee. I adore this feeling. I quickly snap back to reality, realising I need to inform its parents. A challenge I have yet to fail. 

I make my way back to the hospital, preparing myself to explain the cause of death. 

"My condolences, Mr, and Mrs Whitlock. I did everything I possibly could to save your daughter."

 I examine the nature of the parents' reactions, observing the distraught facial expressions. Something I have yet to master. They begin to sob hysterically, and Mrs Whitlock collapses from despair. I hide my grin, withholding the information that their daughter's stunning head and exquisite limbs are situated in the dungeon of my home. I am ecstatic at the notion of taking another victim. I offer its parents the option to see their "daughter" in the morgue, my favourite room in the hospital. Surrounded by the dead, in a stone-cold room. So relaxing. I can't help but smirk as I escort its parents to my second home. They think I'm taking them to see their daughter. But little do they know; I'm taking them to see a fake. A mannequin. A mannequin that appears to be their daughter. I guide them to the "body", where I support them as they say their goodbyes, and then escort them from the morgue. 

How could they be so stupid! I cannot believe they were fooled by a mannequin... well I can believe it... they're imbeciles, and I never fail. I am unstoppable. No one will take this away from me. 

I make my way home to my prized possessions, overjoyed with what I achieved today. I stand there in awe, praising my beautiful work. Now I must wait. I must wait for my next victim. I anticipate grace and delicacy in my next victim. It must be perfect. An uncommon yet satisfying occurrence. I await my next victim with passion coarsing through my body. Oh, how I cherish taking lives.