Thrifty

Prologue

Blood is gushing as I slit my victim's throat from behind with my right hand, and her screaming is muffled with my left. As I feel her struggles ceasing, I held her in place until she went limp. I released my hold on her, and she plopped harshly onto the cold pavement.

I made a beeline down the alleyway we were in; hoping my out of shape body can get me away from there. I stopped in front of a dumpster far away from the crime scene. Panting, I scan the area to be sure no one is around before removing my rain poncho, latex gloves, and disposable mask I purchased at the store.

My fare skin dimmed in the moonlight as I ruffle my sandy blonde hair. Then I proceeded to throw the items in the trash and set it on fire. The flames reflected brightly onto my blue eyes as I watch the evidence burn to the point that it can't be identifiable.

Afterwards, I rushed to a 1990's Oldsmobile parked a couple streets from the dumpster. It's got green paint peeling off accompanied by rusty spots. A gift, courtesy of my grandparents. I opened and shut the door and removed a throw pillow from underneath my t-shirt. By adding the pillow, I hope to make my physique look different to throw people off. As I struggle to click the seatbelt into place, I was interrupted by tapping on the window.

There's a thug with a gun demanding I get out of the car. Panicking, I stepped on the gas peddle. Shots are being fired, making me scream in a high-pitched tone while I go eighty miles per hour. I sped through town and turned onto the highway.

I screeched to a halt on the side of the road. Once I calmed enough I stepped out of the car with my legs feeling like jelly as I check the damage. Much to my surprise, there's no bullet holes. Ha! The sucker missed. I found myself jumping up and down joyously before pausing. Wait a minute. Why am I so happy? I stared at the hunk of junk car that is mine and felt like an idiot. Even though I felt tempted to drive back and give it to the hoodlum, I got back in and decided to drive home, vowing that the next time that happens, the bastard can keep it.

I parked in the parking lot of an apartment complex. It's beige and looks older than my car. I got out and walked upstairs to the efficiency I reside on the third floor, and when I was unlocking the door, my neighbor across the hall from me opened his door accompanied by two sexy women. He is a party boy with shoulder length black hair, brown eyes, and dressed like he's from Saturday Night Fever.

He grinned when he saw me. "Yo Jeremy. Come and join us. I'm sure one of these gorgeous ladies wouldn't mind entertaining you for the night."

I put my hands out and smiled sheepishly. "Very tempting, but I've got work early in the morning. Maybe next time." I said before rushing into my apartment, shutting the door, and sighing in relief before taking the pocket knife out of my pocket and cleaning it with bleach.

My name is Jeremy O'Conner. I am twenty-two-years-old, have no self-esteem, no social life, no dating life, I hang out with my mom and grandparents a lot, and I'm a cashier by day, and a serial killer by night. I don't know why, but it relieves stress, and I find it addicting.

When I finished, I placed the knife on the counter to dry as I toss the bloody rag into the trash can. No worries. It is red, so it matches the color of blood. Feeling satisfied, I stretched and headed to bed for the night.