This Is Weird

Serial killer

I was a peculiar child, always fascinated by the intricacies of the human body. I would spend hours poring over anatomy books, studying the complex systems that kept us alive. I was particularly drawn to the circulatory system, the way blood flowed through our veins, carrying life-giving oxygen to every corner of our bodies.

It was during one of these explorations that I discovered the beauty of blood. The rich, deep crimson hue, the way it flowed so effortlessly, the life it carried. I was entranced. I would often sneak into the bathroom and watch the water turn pink as I washed my hands, imagining the blood coursing through my veins.

As I grew older, my fascination with blood only intensified. I began to experiment, first with small animals, then with the occasional stray cat or dog. I would carefully slice open their bodies, marveling at the way their blood flowed out, painting the ground with its vibrant hue.

It wasn't until I was in my late teens that I took my first human life. I had been wandering the streets of Lusaka, lost in thought, when I stumbled upon a man who had been mugged and left for dead. I hesitated for a moment, but the allure of the blood was too strong. I leaned down and pressed my lips to the man's neck, tasting the sweet, metallic tang of his lifeblood.

In that moment, I felt a connection to the man, a bond that transcended the physical act of taking his life. I felt his pain, his fear, his desperation. And yet, I couldn't stop. I drank until there was nothing left, until the man's body lay cold and lifeless on the ground.

I knew then that I was different, that I had a dark secret that I could never share with anyone. I continued to take lives, always careful to cover my tracks, always seeking out the perfect victims. I found that I preferred those who were already suffering, those who had been abandoned or forgotten by society. It made the act of taking their lives feel almost... merciful.

As the years passed, I honed my skills, becoming more adept at hiding my true nature. I learned to blend in with the crowds, to mimic the emotions of those around me, to appear as normal as possible. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never escape the crimson whispers that haunted my dreams.

One night, as I stalked my latest victim through the darkened streets of Lusaka, I felt a sudden chill in the air. The atmosphere around me seemed to shift, as if the very fabric of reality was being torn apart. I glanced around, searching for the source of the disturbance, when I saw her.

She was a woman, dressed in a flowing white gown, her hair cascading down her back like a river of silver. She stood at the edge of the alleyway, her eyes locked on mine. I felt a strange sense of recognition, as if I had known her in another life.

'You are not alone,' she whispered, her voice like the rustle of leaves in the wind. 'There are others like you, others who share your... affliction.'

I stared at her, my mind reeling. Could it be true? Were there others who shared my dark secret?

'Follow me,' she said, beckoning with a slender hand. 'I can show you the way.'

I hesitated for a moment, but the allure of the crimson whispers was too strong. I followed her into the shadows, my heart pounding in my chest.

As we walked, she told me of a hidden world, a place where those like me could find solace and understanding. She spoke of a community of killers, bound together by their shared desire for blood. I listened, entranced, as she revealed the secrets of this dark underworld.

When we finally reached our destination, I was shocked to find that it was a grand mansion, nestled in the heart of Lusaka. The woman led me inside, where I was greeted by a group of men and women who shared my affliction.

For the first time in my life, I felt a sense of belonging, a connection to others who understood the allure of blood. We spent our nights together, sharing stories of our kills, reveling in the crimson whispers that bound us together.

But as the days passed, I began to realize that this newfound community was not the sanctuary I had hoped for. The others were cruel and sadistic, reveling in the pain and suffering of their victims. They spoke of their kills with a twisted sense of pride, as if they were gods bestowing mercy upon the weak and helpless.

I knew then that I could never be like them. I had taken lives, yes, but I had never enjoyed the act of killing. I had always been driven by a deep, primal need, a desire to connect with the lifeblood that flowed through us all.

As I prepared to leave the mansion, the woman who had led me there appeared before me. She smiled, her eyes filled with a cold, calculating light.

'You are different,' she said, her voice like the hiss of a snake. 'But you are not strong enough to resist the call of the blood. Sooner or later, you will succumb to your true nature.'

I stared at her, my heart heavy with the weight of my secret. I knew that she was right, that the crimson whispers would always be a part of me. But I also knew that I could never become like the others, that I would always be haunted by the ghosts of my victims.

As I walked away from the mansion, I felt a sense of sadness wash over me. I had found a community, a place where I could have belonged, but I had also discovered the dark, twisted heart of this hidden world.

In the end, I knew that I would always be alone, forever bound to the crimson whispers that haunted my dreams. But I also knew that I would never give in to the darkness, that I would always strive to find a way to live with my secret, to find a balance between the light and the shadows that lived within me.

And so, I continue to walk the streets of Lusaka, my eyes always searching for the perfect victim, my heart forever torn between the allure of the blood and the desire to be something more than a monster.