What goes up must inevitably come down. Experiences are like potent drugs; eventually, you either exhaust the supply or reach the pinnacle, only to descend into the bleak monotony of existence. Boredom is a relentless predator, gnawing at the very essence of one's soul.
Killing once provided an intoxicating thrill-a sharp, exhilarating jolt at the mere thought of it, or when inflicting pain. But over time, it has become a hollow pursuit, leaving me with nothing but emptiness. I've claimed so many lives that they've blurred together-names and faces merging into a single, indistinct mass. Even if I tried to count them all, I doubt I could recall each one.
Yet, I remember her-my daughter. Since that day, everything has changed. She deserved her fate for daring to challenge me. She ended up with the same fate as mine, so perhaps it's better she's gone. How do I feel about it? It was a twisted form of a mother's love; she needed peace, and so did I. Since then, any lingering shred of hope or humanity within me has been obliterated. Now, I am wholly a predator, devoid of any capacity for connection.
I loved her-or at least I think I did. Emotions stirred within me because of her presence. She relentlessly pushed me to my limits. Perhaps hatred and love are two sides of the same coin in this case. But she never loved me back. During those fleeting years we spent together, I worshiped her. Did she miss me? Not in the slightest! She replaced me without hesitation. Imagine opening your heart, being vulnerable, dedicating years to someone, only to become nothing to them in the end.
To hell with her and to hell with feelings-the hunt is my true essence. I've never fully embraced who I am, and I wonder what I'd transform into if I did.
This week, I'm venturing deep into the heart of the Canadian wilderness-to unleash my true self. To kill with abandon, destroy without remorse, and tear apart anything in my path. To sprint through the forest naked as I did in my childhood days. To torture and howl at the moon like a primal beast. To undergo a metamorphosis and be reborn in blood.
I surrender now, completely and utterly to my true nature-come what may.
YOU ARE READING
BORN TO KILL
Mystery / ThrillerThe journal of a young girl who grew up to be the worlds most prolific psychopath serial killer.
