The Serial Killer - Part II
It all happened too fast for me to really enjoy most of it, that first time. So I had to do it again. I waited a good six months before I tried again. In the mean time I practiced with stray cats and dogs. I didn't want it to be so fast. I wanted the next victim to know what was going to happen to her. I had to see recognition in her eyes. I craved for that look of utter despair, when someone knows exactly what's going to happen but also knows there is not a single thing she can do to stop it from happening.
At home my strategy changed. By now I was a teenager and had been biulding up my body for quite some time. Father stopped beating me up because he got scared with the possibility that I might answer back. Mother kept screaming, but that was all she ever did these days. As for the kids at my street, they stopped peckering me altogether, when one day I decided to run inside the house and get one of those curtain hangers from the living room. What I did with it to one of the kids wised up all the others. That one never showed up again in the surrounding area.
The hate was replaced with a kind of satisfaction that became addictive. It was fun to inflict pain on others. Particularly because when that happened the smirk on their stupid faces would disappear completely and they would regard me with respect. I told myself it was all an experiment. But I knew better. It was more like a drug, and I needed it in increasing dosages as time went on. There was a buzz, a thrilling feeling of excitement, that would almost resemble a sexual discharge, every time that stick would come into contact with somebody's skin. When the cheerleader went down on her knees, blood trickling from her head as her legs wobbled, unable to sustain the weight of her unconscious body, I almost had an orgasm just looking at her.
People became like lab rats that I would study carefuly. I was never much of a talker and I had always kept to myself. I was a great observer and so I started using that for my experiments. There's a hell lot of good information you can pick from others just by keeping your mouth shut and your ears wide open. The fact that most people never even noticed I was around, helped me to become utterly invisible. If you didn't step on my toes, it was as if I didn't exist for you. If you did, I would make sure you noticed me and depending on the degree of your intrusion, there would be consequences you would never forget.
The second time I killed was after a bar fight. I hadn't planned it. Some drunk idiot started teasing me and so I waited for him outside the bar. He was alone, which was even better. I grabbed his throat while he was pissing and cut his dick off while he struggled beneath my arms, my hand covering his mouth. He looked me in bewilderment, while I stuck the knife in his stomach and let him bleed to death before I vanished. Death is a messy business when you don't have much experience. Watching the white in his eyes take over was one of the most powerful feelings I had ever experienced in my entire life.
I would soon learn to make a clean kill. It takes time and patience and a lot of practice, but I had all the time in the world and a will to learn every single trick. For me it was as if I had discovered some new territory which no man had ever stepped on. I was a scientist, an explorer, excited with the prospect of excelling in my trade. School was boring and there was nothing in it that would tease my brain. But this, this was something else. This was a sort of shangri-la, a mystical, exciting, dark, eery new dimension only I knew about. In it I was a king, a prince of darkness, a powerfull being who acted like a god, deciding the fate of others, choosing life or death. This was my world.
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário