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...
"Let the torture and suffering in me end."—Ronald Gene Simmons
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As I placed her body on the table, the towel I had wrapped around her came loose. However, I did not care. Actually, I liked it. There was this kind of fear that grips a person when they wake up to find themselves naked. Moreover, I wanted her feeling every kind of fear possible to man. I wanted her crying, begging, and thrashing around like a chicken about to be slaughtered. Above all, I wanted her to die an excruciating death.
I wished I could send her to hell, to dwell in the bosom of the devil, and to be tortured by his demons. To you this might sound hypocritical of me, considering I kill people. However, abuse of a child is on a different level. Ninety percent of the time, children that turn out to be killers, thieves, and every other kind of criminal out there is as a result of childhood abuse, either physical, emotional, or whatever floats your boat.
Her fair facial features called unto me. Judging by her looks, one would think she was not capable of hurting a fly. Nevertheless, behind that wall of beauty sat a soul trapped in an abyss with no possibility of coming out.
My mind wandered back to the activities that occurred earlier and I realized that I had written a letter. Do I have a thing for letters? Because here I am, writing this letter to the media. If I include all the other letters I have written to the media, the letter I made my second victim write and the one I left for the boy's parents, that would be many letters.
The only thing that occurred to me was that I enjoyed writing and it was a way of riding the demons in my head. Then it dawned on me that the act that seemed honorable wasn't as it seemed. It was never about confessing or about wanting to be caught. It was about freeing myself. I gave a voice to the demons thinking they would leave me be. Instead, they made my mind their dwelling place. That is the reason I keep killing. I need them to shut up.
On the bright side, I realized my humanity remained. To an extent at least. My soul had not been consumed by the demons. That is why I kill bad people. The first victim was an impulse kill. Like a hungry lion sighting a deer not knowing it was a trap set by poachers. However, in my case, my impulses did not drive me into carelessness. One could say that two personalities dwelled within me. One driven by the demons and the other driven by the human. However, this two personalities overtime have learned to co-habit and satisfy the other's desires. The desire to kill and the desire to help children.
