The Thoughts of a Serial Killer

Chapter 1: "Thanks Mom"

How much love could I child receive? I never received my fair share of love, quite the opposite. I got something more along the lines of hate from my family. Then they wonder why I ended up the way I did. A cold blooded killer. What a beautiful woman my mother was, I still remember her punching, scratching, stabbing, and at the end killing my father. Who knew an argument over the wrong wine bottle could end in such an event. You'd think I would react poorly to the murder of my father, on the contrary I thought it was quite fascinating. His blood was thick, reminded me of some kind of paste for it did not spread easily. I assisted my mother is dismembering my father limb by limb and throwing his parts all in the dumpsters behind the apartments. Bones are difficult to cut through, the movies are extremely misleading. No emotion was shown by my mother nor me that night. After this of course we had to relocate to a new state, California. The scene in the apartment of my fathers blood and other fluids I couldnt and still cannot recall remained. My mother believed no one would suspect her as the killer of my father, even though she was the only other person in the apartment apart from me, her 7 year old son of course. Who knew my fascination with my father's recently slaughtered body would be the beginning of an obsession. Im sure all my future therapists will have figured this out. I still recall my mother instructing me on how to cook a meal, using that very same knife she had used on my father. Ah yes, I am damaged for my mother has and continues to poison me till this day. Thanks Mom.