If not in Real Life.

The Bipolar Murder.

We have some brilliant characters, some brilliant actors, and some brilliant screamers hiding their insanity with a barrier of what makes one righteous and not. "It is wrong," they classify my methods of expression. Apparently, the dogs weren't enough to prove my point; a point that simply wanted to show how humanity is going nowhere. Just like the corpses of my dogs.

Ideals and ideologies set by men deemed to have a deep understanding: the intellect of how this world should run. How we, as a nation, must govern and set rules so as to ensure a smooth flow of administration. That's how it goes at least. However, the conundrum; me, us, we, and an entire gene pool of excessive modes of survival.

Nicotine, alcohol, and any other form of intoxication, things that should typically provide a temporary escape from your current reality. I have tried all of these. But nothing... NOTHING! Haha! Nothing makes my fingers tremble, pushes my heart to beat a few ticks faster, blissfully unsettling my eyes, and force my lips, tongue, and mouth to work up a strong grin; nothing ever gives me such joy than to see my fist in the chest of another's, feeling their heart beating in my hand, slowly, softly, warmly. Such good intent does the heart have for you. For it beats for you. Even as I gently stroke it with my thumb, it continues to beat. I follow the tempo. I stroke it with my thumb, pacing until I finally lead my other fingers into a chorus and pierce them into the still beating organ. A Crescendo follows. Would I have been an artist? Could I have been? No. Red will bore eventually.

I've heard that different people have different ways of getting a high out of life apart from the usual intoxicants. It doesn't vex me that others don't empathise with my high, I guess not everyone has the heart for this. Especially this woman I just... Well, you get it. I cover my eyes and mouth with my bloody hands and uncontrollably snicker. This woman, before she ended up on my bedside stand, had one of these different-varieties-of-getting-a-kick-out-of: stealing. She seemed well off, clearly well-fed, pretty, and quite smart. I know all these because I know her. It's much more pleasing to carve on to someone you know prior. Don't ask me why. It's just more dramatic this way. "OH MY GOD, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?! I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!" 

Ah. It really does please me so. I will tolerate a lot of things, honestly. But steal from me will you?

Disclosure of names really isn't my job, let's leave the gravestone that credit. We're good friends, him and me. I've heard stories of people like this and they are amusing—to anyone. And obviously, I had to get a hold of one of these specimens. What luck! I was introduced to a few people at a party recently. Yes, I maintain a social life thank you very much, and gossip travels fast at such gatherings. If you hear a rumour once, let it slide. The same rumour comes around, same instances and different people, keep alert. And as for the third time... What third time? As I made my way to converse with this character, my inner evils were bubbling with ideas like a wild bonfire of a bonfire. Now now, that would be too quick, she needs something worth stealing the spotlight.

"Hey, hope you're enjoying the party..." I start.

"Hi! I've heard quite a bit about you!" she said and smiled, but her eyes slowly dimmed down, "I'm sorry about your dog, I heard he got scurvy."

"Scurvy? Huh, no. I killed him." I said with a smile, to my delight, I've been mentioned earlier and she was seemingly interested in this character of me. Also, no one knew of the other two dogs. Gullible.

"Haha, sure you did. If he was still here, I'd have-"

"Robbed him from me?" I interrupted and laughed hoping she'd joined. And she thankfully did. We got to talking; my inner evils, me, and her. A little more alcohol, she'll be ready.

"So, wanna head back to my place?" I asked, after talking her up a good amount and she gladly hopped on board with the idea. Well, that was easy.

And that brings us to:

"OH MY GOD, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?! I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!" 

"Calm down will you, it'll all be over painfully soon."

Her fear and disbelief were priceless. No matter how much she stole, it wouldn't add up to the golden red moment this was turning out to be. She's strapped to my wall. The how is left to your imagination. She looks beautiful. Ribs?  Not yet I reply to my inner evils. I can feel them scratching on the walls of my skin. I do not cook, so knives of fine quality aren't what I usually go for. I am artistic but...careful? You don't ever have to be! Ensure my inner evils.

I  grab some tape and shut the thing up. As much as I love the screaming, it does get repetitive. Her grunting is satisfying enough. I then pick up my watch and ask her if she would like to have it. Her face wore the most scared and perplexed look I had ever seen. It was enticing. I guess she really would want to wear the watch. Give her something to wear. I look around and find my zip ties. I felt all warm and fuzzy inside—like I was in love. I grabbed two and tied one on her left hand. I walked back and threw the other one aside. I didn't need it, I went back to her and tightened the zip tie already on her hand. She shivered with the pinching pain it momentarily caused her. And I did not seem to want to stop.

I picked up my garden chisel and slashed her left palm open, leaving the fingers for the experiment later. It bled swiftly, a clean gash. She chirped. I began to test my strength with the zip tie. I tightened it over and over again until FINALLY! She stopped bleeding and like a tap running out of water, the blood stopped oozing out. Barely a few droplets.  But it stopped. She looked like she was in pain, clenching her fists. Her other palm bleeding from her digging her fake nails in too deep. Something had to be done of these nails. Tsk tsk, something must be done. Pull her nails out along with the fake? No, that's too obvious. She expects that. Saw them off, just the tips, though.

Hmm.