Chasing a High
I’m not the first person to commit murder. Not by a longshot. Hell, theres probably someone out there right now killing somebody. Right now. And now. And five minutes from now. The reasons may be different, but we’re all a part of the same something bigger than ourselves. A community. Of killers. We have an addiction. I have an addiction. It transcends the mundane quench of alternate means of killing; hunting, squishing, and jerking off. There are times that I just have to have a fix. It eats away at me until I make the kill. Then theres the aftermath. The covering of my tracks. No one can know. I would be ruined. What would they think if they knew me? What if they knew what, no; WHO I did, behind closed doors?
They’ll be missed. They always are. The good ones are always missed. I feel the pain every time. Thats part of the thrill. The rush. It’s not just taking a life, it’s taking memories, relationships, love. I get to kill, steal, and borrow it all. And I’m good at what I do. Targeting, tracking and taking.
Sweaty palms, a rolling stomach, restless toes, shriveled sack, but steady hands. Thats the trick. Steady hands. Steady focus. I hone in on my prey and work my magic without a flinch. They never see it coming. Its all part of the preparation and picking. If they figure it out, its too late. Therefore, DONT LET THEM FIGURE YOU OUT. Its bad for business.
