I ran the knife slowly across the upper side of my leather glove, prying at a loose thread. Cheap dog leather no doubt pulled off the body of a still living creature. All that and this fucking thread comes loose. It always seems that the little things bother me the most. The sounds of panting and painful groans came from behind me. What a joke. I turned back to see my fine specimen trying to gather what little strength he had to escape the inevitable. With his Achilles tendon severed he was reduced to a blabbering idiot capable of no more than a feeble crawl across the pavement in a parking garage at midnight. I didn't bother with all the security cameras before waiting in the shadows for the next unlucky victim to walk into my line of sight. My clothes hide my body shape and face very well. Now all he is doing is trying to escape. I watched him crawl away while thinking, why do they run? Out of all the 376, make this number uncertain, my suggestion is: of the 300+ kills I have made in my 20 some years of life, why has not one of them ever tried to fight back? Is it because they are afraid of death? I am flesh and blood just like them. I am nothing more than a man. Surely they would fight back if they had an inclination that they would win. I'm forgetting why I am never caught for my attacks. They never stand a chance, it's the element of surprise that gives me the upper hand. Yes, that's it. I gazed back that the man still trying to crawl away. He may have a family. A wife. A good job. Does he deserve them? For all I know he could be just like me. Either way I didn't care. I got up and walked toward him. It was not a time to be thinking. It was a time to be doing. I grabbed him by his hair and drug him into the shadows as I pull him up, exposing his neck to my blade, ready to strike. He begged and pleaded for his life, fruitlessly trying to push himself away. With the knife still in my hand, the fluorescent lights gleamed off of it, dancing around the subterranean structure, so beautiful. I swing it down deep into the man's jugular. He stopped squirming and choked. I took the knife out, slowly admiring that sweet sound of fresh and blood splattering against the asphalt. That metallic smell from the iron in his blood. I stepped away from him. He contorted, flailing his arms in a manic ballet, trying to stop the flow of blood shooting from his neck. Finally after the show was over and an eternity had passed. He stopped and lay still. The slow feeling of satisfaction and warmth ran over me like a junkie shooting up for first time in week. I had found my vein, I had injected my poison. Now to taste the sweet euphoria. Tonight was a good night. The knife was still bloody. I wipe it off and toss it. After all I found it in his car. I made one last sweep of the building searching for any evidence I had left behind. I don't know why, there is nothing, there is always nothing. I am the best. I must be the best. I noticed things better after a kill. The night seemed darker as I walked back alone. I fear nothing, I am invincible. I am a god. I am a predator. I do not fear, I am something to be feared. I don't fall victim to the petty grievances that most people have. My interests always did seem to be different from everyone else's. My car, as always, was parked far away from the scene. Another soul released from this world of torment. I am a servant to humanity, and I serve it well. Tonight was a very good night.
