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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Dark · #1478423
One serial killer kills another
Death Monologue
Josh Fink

Look at you. Pathetic. Then again, I can understand. Everyone goes a little death happy in the beginning.
Tighten those chains down harder. Yes, I know I’m not struggling. JUST DO IT!!! You don’t understand. But you’re young. You’ll learn. More knives. Push them in farther. Yes, slide a few between my ribs.
Well, I won’t live long now. You might as well pull up a chair and talk for a while. I’ll explain everything to you.
Why is it that you kill? For the pleasure? The thrill? The blood? Whatever, young one. You need a purpose, as you will learn later. Mine was to drink their silver souls. So succulent, moist, dripping with pain they were. Drink their blood, and you drink their soul. Here, prick my nipple with a needle and suck at my breast. Draw the life out of me just like you did when you were young. There you go.
You are young. So, so young. You have much to learn. What will your purpose be? Cleansing the earth of the wicked? Hunting down those who don’t deserve life? We are the ones who keep the world safe. We strike at those who endanger society. So society hunts us, brands us as psychotic. Pathetic idiots. Turn the music up. No, not metal. Give me Tchaikovsky. There we are. Beautiful. A man should listen to something beautiful as he dies. Yes, you may drink my blood again.
We aren’t crazy, son. We know. We know what must be done. If we must fulfill the needs of our souls while we are doing what is necessary, so what? We all have the slight twinge of evil after dealing with it so long. Oh, the movies! Freddy, Jason, Michael, Hannibal… pathetic. Jigsaw, though, he knew. Jigsaw understood what must be done. And the people love those movies! Yet when it is done, the government hides it, saying that it is fiction. IT IS NOT FICTION! WE KEEP THEM SAFE!
Fuck them. Fuck all of them. They can all die. No, do not listen to me. I am dying. I pass the cup to you. Oh, you didn’t know I was like you when you took me from the street. A seventy-something year old man, how could you know? Who would have thought? But I have always done this. Since I was younger than you.
Goodbye, my son. Carry on with what you do. But remember, they must not know what we know. They can never possess the secret.
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