15 was when I started my killing spree. It started as a young teenager boy (me) inside the crowded and dirty mental institution. I hated it in there. Every time I tried to do something, they would always trap me down, put me in a straight jacket, and keep me there for hours on end. I would scream, thrash around, to no prevail. One day, I put an end to this.
It was a gloomy afternoon, perfect for a murder scene. I got up out of my solid bed, went to the cafeteria and sat down. I don't recall what was happening to cause the workers at the mental institution to attack me, but I know I didn't like it. As they surged forwards to pin me down, I took my cutting knife, pointed it out in front of me and stabbed the first working. The blood dripped down like a beautiful waterfall that secreted out of his heart. The feeling of murder gave me a rush of adrenaline that felt like a drug. I was addicted.
The second worker came at me, I swung my knife, slit his throat, and again watched as the blood came at me. The squirt of the blood on my face was such a good feeling, at this point I knew I would live a life as a murderer. The third worker came at me, I ducked, and threw my knife at his heart.
I ran as fast as I could, jumped through the open window, and ran. I ran and ran and ran. My count was 3. One guy tried to stop me, I knew he wouldn't shoot me. He ended up shooting my leg. But I kept running; and stabbed him with my breakfast knife. 4 was the count of victims now.
YOU ARE READING
The Story of a Killer
Mistério / Suspense15. The number of when I snapped. When it all started. When my life turned around. I was only 15 years old when my life led the life of a murderer. Crazy with infinite mental illnesses, I have spent the past 5 years on a ruthless killing spree, the...
