To be Loved
- Reads 43
- Votes 9
- Parts 3
The more of them I kill, the less they think I am capable of murder. I don't know why I was born with this craving. I need to experience the life draining from my victims. Every ounce of their humanity slowly trickling out, like the blood dripping from a soon-to-be happy meal's sliced neck. It's amazingly fascinating. My superhuman abilities make it easy to cover up the murder while still getting in a nice meal. Sure, I may sound morbid, but the more insane I am, the easier it is to let go.
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You think your dead-end retail job is bad? You think the worst job ever could be found under the Golden Arches? You think your boss is a jerk? Try me. I'm a grim reaper, one of billions. It's still not enough, so we're all overworked--and I'm new. So, like any newbie, I get the jobs nobody else wants. Like cleaning up after the really crazy people. Like finding sunken submarines. Like going through the children's ward at a hospital. Make no mistake. Your job is heaven compared to mine. Made mature for language and mentions of death, violence, murder, and suicide.
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