Diary of a serial killer

January 21, 2009


I’ve heard that you get used to the screams. I hope to hell I never do; it’s the part where I find the most satisfaction, where I get my release. Without them it would be like what most people would think of eating a cake without the frosting, all of the texture but none of the satisfaction and really, who wants that? Not me, I’m all about the fucking frosting, chocolate, vanilla, even those fucking coloured flecks, I don’t give a shit what it is, just pile it on.
Tonight I had a screamer. I’m talking a from the gut, hold nothing back, leave sound indentations on your ear drum screamer. It was exhilarating. I found this one downtown; she used to walk past my office everyday and there was just something about her ya know? It was the way she walked, I think, she had this swagger. Not the kind you see coming off of the 5th avenue whores who think every man wants to screw their brains out, it was more, what would be a good word?..... Hesitant? Like she had it (whatever “it” is), but was afraid of it, afraid of the power she could possess if she allowed herself. I pictured her on Sunday morning as the image of grace, hands folded in her lap, intently listening to the priest claiming her soul for god while her ass squirmed on the rigid wooden pew as she wondered how big his cock was. Silently chanting Hail Mary’s and denying the moisture building up in her white cotton panties. The eternal struggle between good and evil; I wanted her instantly.
Evil. What the fuck is that? That really isn’t the question is it? What we should be asking is what the fuck is this “good” that everyone kicks the crap out of themselves to be? There is no such thing; anyone with a brain will tell you that. Everyone is working for themselves; we are all in it to win, no matter what the cost. Even the priest is skimming from the top and I’d like to see the bastard that can prove otherwise. Besides, it’s the supposed existence of the “evil” that allows them to have their precious wet dreams about the Good. They owe us. Fuck them all.
This one was a screamer, but not at first. She tried all the usual tricks. Pity and pleading. I’d heard them all before. “I have children,” “I won’t tell anyone,” “I can give you money,” yada yada, yada, blah, blah, blah. All this “Humanizing” shit actually makes me laugh; can you believe they teach this bullshit? “Look them in the eye” “Talk to them about your life” “Let them know you as a human being” Christ, yes please humanize yourself for me, because if you don’t tell me how many children you have then I think I’m gutting a pig. People will believe anything that will help them buy into their little white picket fence fantasies. Demographics, region, mental illness, gang wars, drug money, there is always some reason, something the “victim” did to bring it on, some reason why it couldn’t happen to them. Some people just get off on chopping someone up, there isn’t always a reason. Sometimes it’s just good timing. Do I ask for justification on this playing pinochle epidemic? No, I just accept that this is the way the world runs, I don’t like it, but I don’t waste my fucking energy trying to justify it either.
Apparently this one’s name was Julia, it’s a pretty name really. She was a pretty girl, well she was passable. When I’m done with them they all look the same so it doesn’t really matter to me how they start out. I know a lot of my colleagues have preferences but I’ve never understood why someone would put themselves in a box like that, the world is my goddamn oyster and I intend to take full advantage of that. I had been watching Julia for sometime, it takes a while to set up the foundation if you want to do it right, thank god I am a patient man. For the past month I have been taking my coffee break just before 10 every morning to “accidentally” run into her as she goes by. For the first week or so I would just look at her, the important part is to make sure she notices without creeping her out; it has to be just a passing glance; just a “Hey I noticed you” moment. After a while I add the shy smile. If this is done right then she gets the impression I think she is cute and then she starts to believe she is something special. Isn’t it funny how people always assume the best about themselves? Soon she is walking a little straighter, taking a little more care styling her hair, it doesn’t take long, people spend all their time looking for any tiny inclination of them being better than they are and they run with it, and they are all the same. To me it seems exhausting. The reality of the situation is she isn’t special at all. None of them are. I am of course but only because I am not a stupid dimwit that goes around thinking I am, that’s one of the differences between me and them. Behind those glances and shy smiles are is nothing to confirm this egotistic illusion, behind those glances is my lingering hunger to taste her blood. I would stare into those smokey grey eyes and imagine them in that moment she realized there was nothing more she could do. When the hope does the eyes change, the window to the soul people say, well people’s souls are fickle.