"Have I ever told you why it pisses me off?" I said excruciatingly. My therapist only listens, but refuses to talk about my problems. As I was sitting there, trying to explain to him why I feel these anger issues, he interupts me for the first time since this session. "Jane, may I tell you what your problem really is? You don't think. You may be calculative and intelligent in some areas, but your anger is a problem we have to work on." Shit. This bastard was looking at me. I was so digusted at the fact that he was sitting there, judging me. Treating me as if I was someone different. It annoyed me to no end. "Well, that's the end of this session. Come back next time." He looks at me with no real intent. Of course, I can tell exactly what this fool is thinking of. He just wants money! My money! Little did he know, I'm basically poor. I'm not paying this little motherfucker! Of course, he just had to rush me out early, and I decided to leave early anyway.
As I walked through the streets, I could only think about myself, dwelling in my own thoughts. My name is Jane Doe. Age 23, born in april. I never had any romantic interest. I'm entire asexual, and have no extensive feelings towards anyone. I prefer not to take showers, and some people tell me I smell bad, although my good looks make up for it heavily. I hate to brag, but i'm absolutely stunning. People would be blind not to notice. Walking through the street in the middle of the night, I realized this was a neighborhood I had to get out of as fast as possible. Just as expected, a man wearing a sheisty ran towards me, with a gun in his hand. Shit! I thought. As expected, I was being robbed. As he shoved the barrel of the gun in my face, something struck me. Fear...
The bloodcurdling fear of being close to death. Something only a gun could give someone. Of course, I was an easy target. A small woman with nobody next to her... I carried pepper spray, but I couldn't do anything to someone with a gun. I looked to the side. I can make it. I might be able to run. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I immediatelty expelled the idea. I slowly walked towards the mugger, ready to give him my wallet. I pulled open my purse, and immediately sprayed him in the face. As I heard his screams, I pulled out a small knife from my purse. The knife had already been used, slightly rusted, and had splotches of blood on it. I had intented to throw it away, but putting this knide in the trash would lead to some potential problems in the future. As he's screaming from the pepper spray, I use the bloody knife to slit his throat, and as he fell, I started stabbing, and stabbing, and stabbing. I started to laugh, crazily, as the knife slid into his body like butter. The feeling was amazing, orgasmic. "Finally! It's been too long!" I thought. I didn't expect him to pull a gun, but I did get a satisfactory outcome. It made me giddy seeing how the splotches of blood covered my face, and how he didn't realize he was dead until it was too late. The soreness in my arms pained me, but it was all worth it in the end. Yes. It feels good!