I sat for so long, you wouldn't believe.
You'd think I was mad for how long I sat. Plotting.
Letting my disease grow, plotting.
Waiting until the day she saw my eyes and knew.
Waiting until she felt my cold hands against her throat.
Waiting until she felt the pain I felt. Plotting.
I felt my soul might burst, how much effort it took to keep patient. Waiting.
Finally the day had come. The finishing details were place atop my plan like the cherry on a sundae.
I watched her that day, I was never nicer to the woman than on the day I killed her. I waited until after supper, when her company left.
I sat on the stairs, watching her hands run through the steaming water. I imagined the water turning to boiling hotness against her skin, boiling the flesh off of her bones like a mid winters chicken. Her screams pleased my ears.
But still I sat. Fighting my desires. Plotting, letting my disease grow. Plotting.
The whites in her eyes turned red as oxygen was with held. I straddled her flailing limbs. Her fingers pruned and still wet had no tract on my strong arms. Her breathing was more of choking and I laughed. Inside my heart laughed as I watched the woman's eyes roll into the back of her skull.
The fighting stopped. The breathing stopped. I placed my fingers to her unbeating heart and smiled.
Now, you may have thought through this story that I had lost my mind. That I found some sort of sensual sensation while doing the deed.
But I assure you my friends. No. No sensual desires arose from strangling the woman. For only peace and assurance of my happiness arose from the depths of the darkness crowding my brain.
I had to hide the body. Nothing like before though would satisfy. No more hiding bodies under floor boards, or in walls. I might give her the proper burial seeing as she did give me life.
That's it. I'd bury her body in the back by the pit.
I drug her limp corpse through the mud, satisfied at how cold her face looked. How the look of fear was frozen on her face, forever there until devoured by maggots.
Remember friends. I am not mad. For if I was mad, I'd have gone on a killing spree. Seemingly similar to a rehabilitated coke addict. Once more the taste of the drug and you go insane! I with held. My urges for another victim. Another claim for how I am not mad. I seem to need to prove myself to you.. I don't, but I will. I don't kill for nothing. I kill for reasons. This parental figure to me my entire miserable life gave me reasons. Justifiable reasons. No one should doubt. For if I unveiled these reasons, one with a weak stomach might feel the need vomit. For I do and I can handle mounds of gore.
So back to the dragging. I drug her through the mud as symbolically her name. Nothing was more pleasing than to see the woman who had created this disease dead. Now this might be the only cure of this disease.
I strained to dig the hole big enough not to have to dismember her. Almost out of satisfaction faltering from happiness to fatigue I crammed her body into the Earth. My boot leaving prints on her corpse. I quickly and calmly showered the hole with a thick layer of dirt and fled the scene.
Satisfied with my work and fatigued from the digging. I laid my head on my feather pillow. Relieved from Waiting and Planning.
Less Waiting
Less Planning.
Waiting and Planning... For next time.
