Dead.

“I would call myself a psychopath. Ever since I was young, I had the admiration of Serial Killers. I
would go on the internet and search for famous Serial Killers. My favorite was the Tool Box
Killers. The two were compatible men who lured 05 young women into their van. They would take them to vacant places before raping, torturing and murdering the women. I always wondered what it would be like to have a partner in crime. Would we be compatible?" I question in thought, "I would love a partner some day...“ My mind went off.

She cried out, but only let out muffles through the rag stuffed in her mouth. She kicked towards me, her make up was smeared from her tears. I walk over and continue, “Baby, you’re wild. I love wild.” I grinned before walking behind the chair that he body was tied against. Her legs were free because I honestly like the thrill of my victims squirming. I brushed my hand through her blond hair. I smiled lightly, “Your hair. It’s so soft.” I walk over to the wooden unstable table and grabbed her wallet that was laid out. I read her license, “Brianna Jay.”

I can hear her cry out loudly behind me.

I walk over and press the kitchen knife against her throat, “Don’t cry, why bother? Baby, we're far away from your little town.” I stare up her dress. When she noticed I was staring, she shut her legs together. Her brown eyes stared into mine in silence. I reached over, the knife still pressed against her throat, and opened up her legs.

She froze.

I became more curious of the female body. I reached my hand inside between her legs, touching her vagina lightly. It was warm. She moaned in aggression as I continued to put my finger inside. I wasn’t enjoying it as much as I thought I would. Maybe rape wasn’t my forte.

Abruptly, her leg kicked up, smacking her knee against my face. There was a sudden black scene before I managed to regain my vision. I can see her struggling to untie her ropes-and she did. She got off the chair frantically, running for the door.

“You fucking bitch.” I growled. I got up from the ground and reached out for the frail of her dress, yanking her back furiously.

She shrieked out before her back hit against the ground. I climbed on top of her making sure she had no where to go as I grabbed the knife from the ground. I rose it up over my head before piercing her chest. Her eyes widen in shock. I continued to stab her, making blood splat onto my shirt, onto the ground, around her body.

I panted, dropping the knife and giving a loud smirk. Her body was still, lifeless.

I would call myself a psychopath because no one would feel this good, taking the life of someone else.

Notes