7: 59 pm; her last words: "I won't be sorry of what I've done, because I freed them from wickedness, worries, oppression and fear; Now, I'm leaving with the pleasure of had been the last person that they looked at her coal eyes".
8:00 pm; the hour when the air stopped running through her lungs.
9:31 pm; they went to loot her house, throwing away the things that they didn't care about and taking the ones with higher value: A gun, a knife and a pair of silver forks. 9:50 pm; once I verified that everybody had gone, I decided to go into the house. My mom tried to stop it (Since she found me, she has become an overprotective person, despite, I'm not from the same blood) but I convinced her with the argument that maybe I could find something with a lot of value in the madman house. 9:52 pm; the door was destroyed, so, coming into the house wasn't a problem. That place was dark and I had to trust in the few shadows I could see. 9:58 pm; I arrive at the room that it used to be my neighbor's bedroom but I hadn't seen anything decent to be taken. I made a turn and I saw on the table a leather notebook and a small bottle of ink on which a pen was and that reflected the little light on the bedroom. I heard noises downstairs, it was a clear signal to go away, because clearly a lot of people has the same idea to come and take a risk in this hovel. I took the notebook and covered it with a rag that a found there. I go away through the window.
10:30 pm; I didn't avoid a scold from my mom after risk my own life for nothing. But I decided to discover what the notebook has inside. Maybe she could find higher value things than the little things that the looter obtained.
11:00 pm; "mom" came to tuck me in like always but I think that it's really childish for a nine year-old boy. When she left the room, I lighted a candle that gives me enough lighting to read the handwritten hidden under my bed. 11:10 pm; I'm ready to read, I hope this won't be just a bad joke sent like divine sign from the madman to tell me again that I'm an idiot, he always told me the same, every morning. 11:11 pm; I opened the notebook and I found a very peculiar and... bracing letter.
o January 30, 1814:
What I felt today can only be described in the wise words of Shakespeare. "The blow of death is like the grip of a lover, who hurts and desires" ... That man was a genius. I've always wondered how many people did he killed so he could understand that and express it in the most poetic way?
Today a beautiful woman came to town. Surely she comes from the city; I hadn't seen so much beauty in my life: ebony eyes, gold hair that formed perfect curls, a slender and pale figure, all wrapped in a delicate white dress with pink details. Perfect beauty. I decided to follow her to the place where she was staying, however, within a few meters she managed to find a carriage and I could not follow her anymore. I returned home and tried to take a refreshing nap, although I could not fall asleep; I could not stop imagining that beauty: with my hands in her beautiful blond hair looking at her while shouting my name, shouting and pleading for her life while I submerge her head in the waters that have seen many more people die, but, those waters must be clean, she deserves it ... Upon awakening from that beautiful trance, I was sure of something: she must die. I do not know how it will be, nor when I will commit the act; beautiful crimes are carefully planned. Until then everything will be like a dream, a hope.
11:15 pm, after reading the first page of this diary, something strange happened; I remembered that day a year ago, when I learned to kill and took my first life ... and suddenly it did not seem strange or bad, I began to share, in some way, the perspective of this unfortunate being: in truth, one does not know how it is the enjoyment of adrenaline in your body until you see blood in your clothes, until the bodies in front of you begin to pale and cool. Maybe that's why this guy loved to kill, he needed to kill, as much as a viviparous needs to breathe, metabolize and reproduce. 11:20 pm, I checked the diary, found plans, love poems, drawings and even explicit images of how the madman imagined his victim succumbing to him in the most beautiful and sinister way ... a very educational reading. I then found some strange things: on November 16, 1814.
o November 16, 1814:
I do not believe what my eyes saw; even though I know it's true, I can't believe it. I followed her to the canteen where she worked (she was beautiful as always: in a beige dress that made her eyes stand out more than usual) I sat in a place near her window, so that she didn't notice my presence. I stared at her for a couple of hours, until at 5:00 p.m. my attention was diverted to a man who entered to the place, he didn't look like the kind of scum that always enters to that place: he wore an impeccable suit, well combed, smiling and sober. When she saw him arrive, her look changed completely, small tears ran down her cheeks and a huge smile marked her face ... she ran to see him, hugged him and kissed him ... kissed him ... my heart broke into a thousand pieces. NO, SHE DOES NOT DESERVE TO DIE CLEANLY. She is not an angel; the angels do not enjoy it while the mortals who venerate them suffer. She's just a demon who played vilely with my heart. I loved her and she despised me. I must kill her before she hurt more people, before she hurt that poor man. Her existence will end even if it is the last thing I do.
11:50 pm, I have already read several parts of the diary; after that November 16, everything changed, the style of writing changed, the clean was replaced by dirt and debris of human waste, and love, or rather obsession, turned into hate, horrible plans of death and terrible ways to get rid of body. 00:00, I found the pages of January 25 of this year, a day quite extensive and special for the man: the day in which he would release from her bodily prison the woman, who, in his history, has been an angel and demon ... The day of the murder.
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Author's Note: Hello again dear readers. A pleasure to write again. What did you think of the second episode of this series? This chapter will be divided into two, so wait for the second part the next Saturday. Happy week and sweet nightmares.
-TheAgentOfMistery
-TheProudGodness
YOU ARE READING
Stories of the last breath: A series of stories of murders and their misdeeds
Mystery / Thriller"Where I'm from, we believe all sorts of things that aren't true, we call it HISTORY" -The Wizard, Wicked Yes, we believe that what people tell us is true, we get carried away by the gossip and arguments of the majority, however, have we ever bothe...
