The Conscience Killer

Awakening

Dear Detective:

Is the sinner among us? The killer? The perpetrator, we can never find him we always look further than the obvious suspect we create these lies to ourselves talking to our own reflections telling them that we can't possibly know or be him.

But what can I say I love the rush; the slashing, the cutting, the feeling of a person's life leaving their body, but you wouldn't be able to understand. Of course profilers and psychologists say they could but in all honesty they can't, they don't know the thrill the impulses that go through my head, or the ones that came before me, Gacy, Dahmer, Bundy, B.T.K, they all were different they were all driven by different types of impulses but non the less the enjoyed it the felt so calm doing it.

I'm assuring you more will die, more will be victims of me and my intense desires, my love for seeing flesh and blood all over the place. Don't mistake me for the same monster as the people before me for I'm also a profiler. I take caution with my psych, but I'm also a doctor a surgeon; if I'm exact I do work on their bodies and mine is just precise, beautiful. If I'm exact.

But now this is a see you later not a good bye, I'll be back for more. I'm still hungry and I need to feed, if not I'll grow hungrier and I don't know what might happen.

-Sincerely the conscious killer.

I put the pen down and so it begins. There's no turning back now; I'm allowing this city to know about my existence, about my art. I look out the window, taking a sip of rum and revisiting my life back when I was only 8. I can still hear my sister Keisy calling me: -Lets go Jay mom and dad let us go don't be slow! - we were running to the lake with our dog Loki, ahhh yes being young and happy.

My mother Amanda Miranda Lorenzo and my father Jesus Antonio Lorenzo were "examples" you can say as both abused drugs and alcohol. My mother was a great mother but when she was high or drunk which was 70% of the time she was insufferable. My parents argued a lot and fought a lot as well, I still remember when I was 10 my mother was diagnosed with schizophrenia and my father left, saying "that he didn't sign up for this". This was one of the saddest moments of my life, but I didn't care, wasn't able to care because now I was the man of the house, the support. I was taking care of my sister and my mother, so I couldn't show emotion ....

Oh dear! I'm going to be late! - I hop in the shower and start getting ready, I have a date tonight with this gorgeous girl named Isabel. I met her at a store she has a gorgeous smile, dimples, golden-brown hair and brown eyes, she's perfect!! Too bad she must die, but I'll make sure she enjoys it and adores every minute of it.

Fix my suit, spray on some cologne and out the door I go, driving around the city playing those old songs and remembering happy times. Back then there were happy times. I was the outcast in high school, the kid that would give you the creeps to be sitting with or to have lunch with, I was a nice-looking monster and always over protective of my sisters. They were always bullied by this jackass named Jeury, he pushed them around pulled their hair... but that was until one day my sister got home with a scar on her arm and I couldn't control my anger. I stormed out of the house and I rode my bike all the way to the place where he usually meets with his friends and from a far I could see the red... the beautiful red colored dress that Isabel is wearing, her hair straight and that gorgeous smile completed with those dimples and big meaty lips she was perfect.

Date is going well but back to the story... I arrived to the place and to my amazing surprise Jeury was alone. It was destiny that saved this for me, laying on his red car smoking. I didn't talk I didn't give him a sign I just jumped him from the back with a rock laying him out cold, the voices in my head getting louder and louder Keisy calls them my jiminy cricket. I tie him to a tree and gag him with his own underwear; I figured that would make him feel exposed and worthless. I brought my own knife and when he woke up I started to slash his flesh. Listening to him scream and watching him cry was perfect he showed his true colors, showed how much of a little bitch he is and so I kept going. How can I forget that beautiful night, that perfect night when I was free...?