The Aftermath
If you thought I was done, think again. With a wild smile on
my face, I watched my mother in pain—and I loved it. Don't judge me; I want to
see more people suffer. Seeing her in that condition made me happier.
The aftermath of my hospital stay still haunted me. The
memory of my mother's pained expression as she watched me suffer was a constant
source of twisted joy. After two weeks in the hospital, I was finally released.
That time was enough for me to concoct my victim list, and it's long. Should I
start from the top or the bottom? It doesn't matter—they're all going to die
anyway. But this time, it'll be slow, so I can savor my happiness.
The Sickness
It's like I'm sick. I often have these strange urges to do
bad things, and I want to act on them. I just wanted to be loved, but no—I was
pushed, beaten, mistreated. I don't think I need love anymore. I'm done with
it. Let them feel my pain, slowly.
As I followed my first target, I couldn't help but think
back to the hospital bed where my resentment had festered. Each step I took was
fueled by the memories of every beating, every harsh word.
The First Pose
The time had come to go after the first person on my list.
One of those so-called boyfriends of the dead girls. The ones who acted so
heartbroken, shedding crocodile tears at their funerals. It made me sick.
He worked at a local coffee shop, a quaint little place
where he spent his days serving lattes and pretending to care about the
customers. I had watched him for weeks, studying his routine, learning his
habits. He was always so predictable, closing up the shop every night at 9 PM
sharp, walking the same route home through the deserted streets.
Tonight would be no different. I waited in the shadows
across the street, the cool night air biting at my skin, heightening my senses.
My heart pounded with anticipation, the thrill of what was to come electrifying
my veins. As the clock struck nine, I saw him turn off the lights inside the
shop. The bell above the door jingled as he stepped out, locking up behind him.
I followed at a safe distance, silent and unseen, like a
phantom in the night. The streets were empty, save for the occasional passing
car. He walked briskly, unaware of the danger lurking just behind him.
He took his usual shortcut through the alley, a narrow, dark passageway that cut between two old brick buildings. I quickened my pace,
closing the gap between us. As he reached the midpoint of the alley, I made my
move.
A swift, silent rush, and I was upon him. He barely had time
to react before I had him pinned against the wall, a knife pressed to his
throat. His eyes widened in terror, and a strangled gasp escaped his lips.
"W-what do you want?" he stammered, his voice shaking.
I leaned in close, my lips curling into a cruel smile. "I want you to suffer," I whispered, my voice dripping with malice. "Just like
they did."
With a swift, practiced motion, I slashed the knife across
his cheek, leaving a deep, bleeding gash. He screamed, the sound echoing off
the alley walls. But no one would hear him. No one would come to save him.
The flickering streetlight above the alley reminded me of
the dim, sterile hospital lights. Both witnessed my transformation, from a
victim to a hunter.
I reveled in his pain, savoring the moment. This was just
the beginning. He would be the first of many. And with each victim, my
happiness would grow.
"They all think they're safe," I muttered under my breath,
my voice barely audible over the sound of my footsteps. "But they'll learn.
They'll all learn."