sanguistantum.

october 9th, 2018; entry one

A wretched shriek shook through the walls of my apartment, blood splattered like the turbulent rollers resting at the bottom of a waterfall, and my sigh of obvious frustration rang louder than them both. Who knew murder would be this loud?
The man in my arms shivered and whimpered as he bled, and yet he still was no closer to death. Aggravation festered as time ticked on and I tapped my foot as he too noticed that he should be dead by now. Most of my victims bled out quickly, around two to three minutes after the initial wound. Mr. Iscale, an extremely overweight man I killed last March, died after ten minutes. However, nearly twenty minutes had passed and this man still had not even fallen unconscious.
I realized he wasn’t going to die forty minutes later. My frustration had become so evident that I was shaking, while his shivering had diminished long ago. He never stopped bleeding, however, a steady flow having maintained. My entire laundry room floor had become covered with nearly an inch of blood and it continued to rise.
I don’t know if this man is a vile creature of some sort, or perhaps a scientist self-experimenting, but what I do know is that he is violating all known natural laws. Prior to this entire grotesque encounter, the only things I knew about him were his knack for stone sculpting, that he has quadruplet daughters (and a bastard son) and he married his second wife November of 2015. His manager, Florence Tiorra, hates him with such a enveloping passion that he hired me to kill him. What he did, I do not know, but asking questions posed at empathy for the victim jeopardizes my ability to carry the action of murder out.
Luring him was quite easy; rich, closeted, homosexual men in unhappy relationships favor prostitutes to carry out their desires without fear of attachment.  I’m not particularly attractive but I’m assuming he was a bit desperate for he agreed to come to my apartment despite that being an incredibly illogical decision.
Now here I lay, writing this out on my cellular in confusion and contemplation. He is currently bandaged and tied to a chair, still gagged but I will question him later. How I will clean up the mess on my floor I don’t know, but I feel like the issue of this mans impossible ability is a much more disturbing and pressing matter. I pray it doesn’t reek my apartment though, it’s quite the lot of blood.