I was eighteen when I started killing. Now I’m known as the silent murderer- I have my ways of killing and no sound being made (except the sound of a knife entering the victims’ body). The rooms I enter are as dark as my black hair. The atmosphere is always serene, so serene that it becomes exasperating.
I guess you’re wondering why? Why would an eighteen year old girl kill arbitrary and virtuous people?
Stress. People handle stress in many ways: listening to music, exercising, reading and etc. I do it by killing. I can still remember my first time. It was my eighteenth birthday and a bitter winter night. My old best friend, Gwen, I caught her kissing my ex-boyfriend Lucas. I felt weak in my knees, but on the inside I felt vigorous. My body was burning with rancour, and I could just imagine fire behind me and my eyes red, like in cartoons when a character was angered or simply malign. The next thing that pops up into my memory box is us on the burning with bitterness snow, fighting; I couldn’t stop punching, kicking and scratching her. Just a few minutes later when my body wasn’t able to hurt any longer, I realised she wasn’t breathing, moving, nothing. She just laid there like a dead dog. What amazes me till this day is that I didn’t feel guilty. I felt buoyant.
From that winter night, I killed people in the town of Louth, Lincolnshire. I left my room at 3:00am, and would come back at 5:00am or 6:00am. I’d kill a maximum of four- but a four doesn’t happen often.
No one knows about my secret. No one knows who the silent murderer is, except me. Mother always told me ‘‘every good thing that you do, is one brick for your house in heaven’’, unfortunately I’m building a house in hell from the bad things I do. My mum was never proud of me; I was just a nightmare in her reality. Each time her eyes met mine, they told me how disappointed she was with me. I never did my homework, never had many friends, never had pleasing grades, never was near perfection.
It was May twenty-fifth; our house was once again going through a war. The words she said haunt me every time I think about her. Hearing her say ‘‘I wish I left you to die the second I gave birth to you!’’ was enough for me to grab a knife and go for a hunt.
I ran out the front door and stood in the middle of the empty street. I had no clue where I was going, but I knew that it was somewhere away from this house- and somewhere where humans live. My feet took off and I ran as fast as possible. I was so focused on getting away that I didn’t even realise the pain that my feet were going through. Minutes later my feet stopped to allow me to catch my breath. Once my breathing and pulse were back to normal I started running again till I found the right house.
My body made me climb up to the window on the left side of the house. As soon as my feet made contact with the friendly carpet in the room, I felt eyes watching me. I turned around softly and quietly, and realised that there really were human eyes staring at me. There was a boy, sitting on his chair in the blackness of his room. Not a sound escaped his mouth; I wasn’t able to hear him breathe. I stood there paralysed. The amazing murderer career I had was now ruined- Unless…
I commanded my body to relax. It relaxed so much that I swear it could be mistaken for a jelly, but that was the point. I started to sway softly and close my eyes a little to look drunk. My fake drunk voice then spoke to him.
‘‘Whoah, what’s a guy doing in my room?’’
‘‘Excuse me?’’ he questioned
‘‘What. Are. You. Doing. In. My. Room?’’ I asked him with my drunken tone of voice.
‘‘It’s not your room. I think you’ve climbed up the wrong wall’’ He stated, his eyes not leaving me for a second.
‘‘Oh damn. Not again!’’ I exclaimed and collapsed to the floor of his room.
