A Serial Killers Diary

Petty

He was going to kill her, no. This was more of a scare than a kill. He needed to show her what was going through his head, what he was thinking. Because an argument that they had was stupidly petty. But she should already realize that it's hard for him to take jokes. His Aspergers were a bitch that way. He didn't know what was a joke or not, especially when it was written out in a stupid little chat-box. Not everyone understood how hard it actually was to understand things and jokes were one of the things people like him didn't really take in they way they were meant to.

Now, he wasn't blaming his Autism for this. He was blaming the fact that he couldn't take a joke, even though what was said didn't seem like that much of a joke. It wasn't funny because it was directed towards something that he took obvious pride in because he'd done so much based around the subject. He rarely ever took pride in anything, and the exceptions, meant too much to him. He took it to heart.

He wanted to scare her mouth shut, because he knew that if he started talking casually, or try to, she'd shrug him off and not listen, like every other typical person on this fucked up planet.

He stared at her, watching her closely from the other end of the room. He had a mask on, so his vision was actually a little limited, but he could see her from where he was standing. She just couldn't see him, since she had a thick fabric wrapped around her eyes and a gag around her mouth. She couldn't see or talk. She could simply only listen and squirm. She wasn't chained or tied to a table or anything. She was just tied at the wrist and legs. So she couldn't go anywhere.

He huffed, his shoulders slouching a tad and he saw her flinch, seeming to only then realize that she wasn't alone in the room. He yawned, not making any noise with it apart from inhaling and exhaling.

A few more minutes and he shook his head, deciding to get started on what he'd been planning. He took a step away from the wall, seeing her squirm and then strode evenly until he was a few feet away. That was where he crouched, his knife in hand and he reached up, pulling the gag from her mouth. Again, he was meant to scare her.

"I don't take jokes as well as other people," he started simply. "My Aspergers has been the blame for that for years now. And I know that you wouldn't understand that," not a lot did. There were different levels to Autism and from what he could tell, he only had a mild version of it, and even with that, it was so hard to take jokes like a normal person. He had to really think, and by then, the joke was done and over with. It wasn't funny anymore at that point.

"This is all because you can't take a fucking joke!?" she yelled, her body hard and tensed with what he could tell was rage. She knew who was talking to her at least. The mask was unneeded then. But he liked it, so it would be staying on his face.

"Yes, and thensome," he growled through gritted teeth. "I'm doing this because you wouldn't listen if I just wrote it over a fuckin' chat-box," he shot back. "At least this way-," he held the tip of his knife against her throat, watching her flinch and try to shift her way back away from the sharp utensil. "I can shut you up when I feel like it," he kept it against her neck as she tried shifting away.

"Why?" she almost whimpered and it brought a smirk to his face, though it couldn't be seen.

"Because you're a stubborn bitch that likes getting the last word. This way, I can easily keep you quiet," he let a short laugh pass his lips and drew the blade back. She knew that he had a knife now and there was no way she could get away. She was tied up with her back against the wall and he was crouched in front of her, where was she going to go?

"It was a fucking joke," she hissed, though her exterior was a bit more... squirmy, like she was anxious or something. And she should be. She wasn't leaving without a reminder of this. Get on his bad side and you get cut. That should really be a motto or something. Welp, it was his motto now. He would be writing it on a shirt if this worked... When this worked.

He tapped the tip of the blade against the forehead of the mask, hearing the light thudding vibrate through it. She was being a pain and not listening, so the gag was going back on.

He reached down and replaced his knife with the thick fabric, lifting it to her face and he instantly wrapped it around while she struggled against him. He knotted it tight, jerking her head and she stopped, huffing lightly, panting maybe. He leaned back again, picking up his knife.

"Yeah, may be. But you really seriously don't get what I'm putting down here," he shifted to sit crossed-legged in front of her, but far enough away that she couldn't reach him if she kicked out. "The fuck d'you think I'm trying to say?" he waved his arms out incredulously, his tone louder. "Yeah, I can't take a fuckin' joke, but not because I'm stupid or don't get it!" he yelled, watching her flinch again. "Asperger's make it hard to understand when someone's joking," his tone was softer again, his knife returning to tapping his forehead. "You can't just make a joke with people like me,"

She just stayed still, listening? Maybe. He could see her swallow, her jugular shifting slightly and he just huffed through his nose. "Besides, dissing something that I take pride in makes it worse. That was what got me. Regardless of you joking," he even made the quotation gesture with the word 'joking'. "It just makes you a dick," he shrugged casually, almost child-like with his movements.

He was enjoying this. He had control, he had motive and he was enjoying that he could finally shut her up, and not behind some stupid chat-box. He had her in front of him and he had the high ground. He's been watching Star Wars recently, the quote fit nicely as an example. Shut up, don't judge.

He stared back down at his knife, turning it in his hand. Screw what he decided earlier. He was put in the mindset to kill. His urge was there, not like it was when he thought that he could just scar her and let her go. His darkness was there, rearing it's beautiful head and encouraging him.

Looks like she wouldn't be learning any kind of lesson today.

"Sorry..." he smirked behind his mask. "Actually-, no, I'm not," he laughed, his tone rising until it sounded like a short, high-pitched, maniacal laugh. "So, I decided earlier that I'd let you go after I just scrape you up, buuuuut-," he cut himself off, staring at his blade like it meant everything to him, or if it was like badass dragon on Dragon-City. Don't judge him! It was an addictive and great little app game! And he was talking about this purple and yellow dragon. He was badass and he even named him Hawkeye! So fuck you.

Her squirming and whimpering and whining drew his attention from his Dragon-City thoughts. He glanced up and already saw the tears wetting her blindfold and dripping down her face. She seemed to understand what he was saying. Good for her... sort of... well, not really. It's not like she'd be alive any longer.

At that point, he pushed himself to stand and grabbed at the thick rope wrapped around her ankles. He pulled and dragged her to the centre of the room, hearing her muffled screaming echoing off of the walls. His arm was being forced around by her insistent writhing and struggling. Wouldn't do her any good now. Seriously, she should just give up.

He abruptly let go, her legs hitting the floor and she started struggling harder until he forcefully turned her to stay on her back. He dropped down on her, his thighs holding her hips and waist still so she could go anywhere. She was just whaling and screaming and his laugh got louder while he just watched her. She wasn't giving up. Her flight or fight thing was still overworking her and she was really trying. But... it no good.

He grinned, teeth showing. He raised his blade high, both hands on the handle of it. He waited excitedly, her shrieking still filling the room.

He thrusted his hands down, feeling his knife break through bone, muscle, cartilage. It scraped against the broken bone, a grinding sensation rubbing against the side and vibrating through the metal of it. A beautiful feeling.

He beamed as the blood started flowing, her whales having dulled to choking gasps that soon stopped and silence gradually began to fill the room, just like the red liquid that was now pouring over her sides and to the floor. There was some smoothly sliding down to where he was sitting. So he stood and stared, the blood seeping and splaying everywhere. The underside of his boots were definitely covered. He was standing in it.

"At least there was one thing that was beautiful about her," he laughed again, tilting his head as he watched the blood continue. She was dead, lifeless. Her eyes were still open, unnerving to others, definitely. But to him, cold, dead eyes were the best to see through. You could see what was actually there when they didn't react. Or that was his opinion anyway. But what did he know? He just liked dead people. They didn't talk much or interrupt and they weren't as annoying as the live ones.