Edited by: a very lovely @jgfairytales
Can you love a serial killer?
No?
Why not?
How would you know they were a serial killer?
It could be your neighbor.
It could be your friend.
It could be your lover.
Do you actually know the people around you?
T...
"Even psychopaths have emotions, then again, maybe not."-Richard Ramirez
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February 14th, 2014
A groan escaped from my lips as my fist collided with the edge of my desk. I banged my head on my computer keyboard. My boss and my computer probably hated me because he kept giving me more work to do and my computer kept acting up.
I ran my hands through my hair down my face; stubble was present. Bags beneath my eyes. The only thing that remained was for me to start begging for money, then I would look like a vagrant.
Sleep had been the farthest thing from my mind for the past five days. Coffee became my best friend and companion.
Files stacked on my table that I hadn't started working on. He still went ahead and booked me for another job. He must be insane.
Thank God for my last victim. Thinking about her kept me sane. Her reactions, the way she begged and cried, gave me butterflies in my stomach.
To make matters more interesting, the police were after me. Well, they had no clue I was the one responsible. All they knew was that they were searching for "The Midnight Killer."
The name made me seem mysterious, and I liked it. Every time I remembered why the media dubbed me 'The Midnight Killer', it sent me into a fit of laughter.
Apparently, I killed and disposed my victims between midnight and early hours of the morning. Who would have guessed? Did they think I would be hauling a body around town during the day? Such ignorance.
"Skinny, don't you have somewhere to be?" my boss shouted from across the room, interrupting my thoughts.
Anger coursed through my veins when he called me such an outrageous name. No matter the number of times I hinted to him about my hatred for the name, he still wouldn't stop.
