Dear Diary, Book 2, Bitter Sweet...

Monday, 2nd January 2017 - Slayer: Returning Home

Monday, 2nd January 2017 - Slayer: Returning Home

Dear Diary

Everyday when I wake up, the first thing I do is examine my knife. I normally have my hand wrapped around the holster, with it under my pillow. It is always close to me, wherever I go.

Almost religiously, I always slowly remove it from its storage place and inspect its blade and handle, making sure that it is not tarnished or beginning to blunt. My knife is rather old. When I first got it, it's condition was poor. However, years of maintenance and repair have managed to make it look as if it had just been purchased.

After making certain that the knife was in it's best condition, I carefully ran my hands across the blade.

The first time that I had done this, I cut my hand open enough to bleed. However, I was far more confident and skilled now, and I barely felt it. Doing this everyday reminded me of the raw power that it's blade had, and the potential that it had.

I pulled it closer to my face and smelt in as much of it as I could. It was intoxicating, the smell exhilarating. The only thing that smelt better than this was everything I had experienced yesterday.

I craved the smell again, and breathed in the knife again to try and feel the feelings again of dismembering the animal. It was faint, but still there.

Yesterday, when I had returned from slaughtering the animal, my mother had also smelt my triumph. I knew that she would never appreciate what I had done in quite the same way that I had, so I told her that I had found an old carcass. Technically it was true. The look on her face told me that not only did she believe me, but she wasn't going to question it further. Already, she was disgusted. I had been so tempted to plunge my knife into her at that point, but I refrained. It wasn't due to any compassion or desire to keep a human life alive, it was instead so that the smell of the knife would not be ruined with her stench. She disgusted me.

I had wanted to record my work so bad, yet she had refused to buy me any form of recording equipment of any sort. That was something which had been worth saving, and was now gone forever, save for the smell which remained on my knife. I desired these surveillance devices so that I could keep every piece of footage and every sound which went with these deaths.

My mother and I had spent the new year's camping, and we were returning home today. The car drive home was rather long.

All through the drive I relived the experience of ending the animal's life through my mind. I do believe that it was the best car journey that I had ever experienced.

I did not dare to smell my knife again. My mother did not know that I had it, and I wasn't going to risk her seeing it and taking it away from me.

She just doesn't understand.

That night, I made dinner. I often make dinner around the house. My mother tells me that she is so proud of me for making an effort around the house, and doing what I can to help. The truth is, I just want to cut up the food.

Cutting food such as vegetables isn't quite cutting meat, or a recently dead animal, but it still felt so very good.

The way the knife slid through the softer vegetables, and sawed through the meats and harder vegetables. It was a unique and still satisfying experience.