I don't bother to compare myself to anyone or try to find meaning
in others. Why should I? No one understands me. Not as if anyone is
actually alive to me anyway. They are all just ghosts. Just empty shells
walking around thinking they are alive or matter to me. The truth is,
nothing matters to me, except killing. I've killed many, many times.
Mostly teenage girls. They like to fight and their screams are music to
my ears. Breaking them is my art. My passion. The final death blow is
my climax. Doing this is the only thing that gives me pleasure. I mean
real pleasure. Ultimate pleasure.

I've held several jobs during my 32 years. By several, I mean I
don't work for 3 months then quit, like all the other mindless fucks who
can't dedicate themselves to anything, too caught up with their trivial
immature drama. I spend years at my jobs. I was hailed at each and every
one as the "perfect employee", often ending up as a trainer at whatever
department I was in.

Is any of it real? Do I truly care about these people or these
jobs? Of course not. There is only one thing real to me. Pain. Not mine,
but the pain I find myself completely unable to resist inflicting upon
girls. I stopped trying to explain to myself why many years ago shortly
after killing my shrink. I stalked her all day, she was young too. In her
early twenties, a newly appointed psychologist and I was one of her first
patients. I ended her pitiful life after hours of continuous torture on the
eve of my 17th birthday. She was my very first.

Doing her daughters was quite fun too and I killed them both right
in front of her. Just out of reach of her too, I mean a few inches, teasing
the cunt as her arms and legs were free but her neck leashed in such a
way she could not get free no matter what. She howled as I did it,
screaming and crying hysterically. It was much better than the crap they
show on TV now-a-days.

They were teenagers. Twins, both being a ripe 18. I obviously
raped them multiple times. Fuck, what else is there to do with girls of
that age? That was fun. They cried and sobbed as I spent hours
destroying their fresh, teen twats. I made the one eat out her sister as I
raped her in the ass doggy style and without lube. As she licked her
sister's cunt like a pro, I came inside her then reached around and slit her
neck so deep it cut halfway through. The blood exploded and covered
the one sister's entire body. I tossed away the dead whore then just
fucking stabbed the remaining cunt with a butcher knife probably in
excess of 85 times. She perished rapidly but suffered horribly as I
laughed.

After that, and the amazing orgasms and sense of god like power it
gave me, I was set in my ways. I wasn't a human anymore. Not that I
ever was. To this day I'm still not sure what I am, but at least I've found
what makes me happy and gives me excitement, actually makes my heart
beat faster. Anger is thrown into the mix too. I tend to be an angry guy
but have this odd ability of nearly complete control of it. I do know that
when I select a victim and finally have her, I become enraged. I don't
mean being upset in the way someone may feel after a bad day at work,
or because their car broke down. I mean rage that few, if any at all, can
understand. I certainly know that none can comprehend it. I barely
can. So much anger. It seems to have warped me. Twisted me into a
monster who switches back and forth almost constantly. To be perfectly
honest, I kinda enjoy it. No, I totally fucking enjoy it.

I am always very careful too. Even my first time. I never leave any
evidence unless intended. No fibers, no clues, again unless sending a
message. Sometimes not even bodies unless I want someone to see what
I had done and laugh at their reaction to the purest and darkest form of
expression I can think of. I do this not because I watched some stupid
forensic show but because I enjoy killing and never want to stop or be
stopped. It makes me feel truly alive. But even despite this, if somehow,
someone found out and I felt the grip around my throat of the FBI or
whoever else they'd send after me at whatever motel I was staying at, I'd
kill myself before going to jail or wasting away waiting for a court date
and the years they'd spend appealing the decision to gas me. When it's
time for my own death, I will chose how.