The Taste of Death

Chapter 1

          A pin drop would kill the silence in this room. I can't help but stare, I finally did it. There's no way to make this right but I did it anyway. I don't feel regret for doing it. Then again, I'm not happy about it. I murdered a man. How does one control himself like this? Am I going crazy? Surely not, I've always been different, but I wouldn't say crazy. I walked away from the body in the cold and grimy room. My stomach was rumbling but not out of disgust, out of hunger. "Now that we're done here, I can go and enjoy my dinner. Don't let the door hit you on the way out," I said. I always spoke to people I kill, it helps me accept the fact that I kill people for a living.

          I felt like I should've put the body somewhere, or I could've made a confusing scene for the police to deal with. I loved the confusion. So, messy room with stained weapons it was. I'd say I'm pretty intelligent so there were no weapons with any type of my DNA on them. Humorously I put his prints on all the bottles and blades. I left the room and didn't bother to lock the door, it was going to be a while before anyone found him.

          I got in my car and couldn't help but think about why I killed the man I killed, then it hit me. He was a murderer and a rapist, more qualifications to be killed than me, and that's saying something. I chuckled softly to myself as I started my car and began to drive an hour back home from the middle of literal nowhere. As I drove home, I began to wonder why I thought so much about why I killed him. I called myself crazy for the first time in a while.

          I loved it when I started to think, it was like I could feel the gears shifting in my head. I did a lot of thinking, for obvious reasons. I am a killer, after all. I didn't want to get caught, that's something I thought about a lot. Speaking of catching, I remember how hard it was to catch the man in the cabin, he did nothing but struggle. I had to hit him a couple of times so he'd stop moving so much. He was basically dead when we got to the cabin that I had neatly decorated for him, with pictures of all his victims and their favorite toys and books. Come to think of it, I forgot his name, as I do with all my victims. I think my brain does it on purpose, and I like it like that. I normally refer to all my victims as simply numbers or letters... Here's to number 6.

          I eventually reached my heaven, the place I go to when I need closure, Stanley's Sub-Shop. The meatball sub is my go-to, it always has been. Stanley's is in a pretty dangerous area filled with gang affiliates and drug abusers, but I do love a good sub.

        Danger didn't seem to be attracted to me. I seemed to be the one running at it like a linebacker, ready to risk it all for one good hit. I walked into Stanley's and the first thing I see, the first thing anyone would see, is how run down the building was. This building had been there since the early 1900s. There were two tables with two chairs at each of them, both were run down and had a tinge of an ugly yellow color. I couldn't imagine how they got like that. The counter of the restaurant was the cleanest looking thing due to it being the newest purchase made by Stanley at the time. Although it may have been dingy-looking, I'd choose this place over anywhere.

          The owner, Stanley, noticed me almost immediately. "Hey there, the usual?" The old man asked. "Yeah please, I could use one of your subs right about now," I answered, followed by a little smirk as we shared a little bit of banter. "You know, after all these years, you've never told me your name. What's up with that?" Stanley asked as he pulled my delicate meatball sub out of the little old conventional oven with steam slowly rising from it, as if it were the key to my dark and twisted heart. I gave Stanley's statement and question a little laugh due to it coming almost out of nowhere. He wrapped the sub in its Stanley's Sub-Shop paper and handed it to me. I gave him a 10 dollar bill, 5 for the sub and 5 for the tip jar. As I was walking away, towards the door, I turned around and gave him a little smile followed by, "Well Stanley, I appreciate your concern about my name." Truly, I couldn't care less. "It's Damien, next time you want to know something about me though, offer me dinner first."