- Local time
- Tomorrow 7:17 AM
- Messages
- 140
- Age
- 29
The first thing to be said about psychopaths is that they are, indeed, psychopaths; in every essence of the word. There's always a tangible, metallic taste in the air if you're here long enough to smell past the overpowering scent of bleach.
There's one thing I don't understand though, through so many years of getting acquainted with each other; his victims are always changing. There's no variable, and with it, his weapons too. My neighbour always insisted that after the first one there was a pattern to be formed, and as if nature defied itself, he couldn't be any more wrong.
The most recent was barely eight, the fruits of spring yet to be enjoyed, and she couldn't escape, no one has been successful in doing so yet, and though I hate to admit this, I am soundproof. Would I be charged if we ever got caught, in aiding and abetting a murderer? Her throat was dry, and I was tired of swallowing so many screams, but she was persistent. The screams turn into soft whimpers though, body racking with sobs as green orbs scan the room helplessly.
He'll be back any mo- annnndddd, there he is. I didn't know it was possible for someone to look so terrified, but fear encompassed itself in humans differently each time and before thinking twice, she flings herself in his direction, knocking over a vase. Restless and confined don't make a rational couple, nor the recipe for escape, and now, he's angry.
Not only will he kill you tonight, but he'll take his time too; you'll feel his anger in every incision, he'll torment you, perhaps with the bat, perhaps with the scalpel, maybe with that electronic pen, oh, how I hate that pen. The smell of burning skin isn't the best. I'm sorry for being so crude.
Blood.
I can feel it; it's wet and slimy; he can be so meticulous at times, but careless other times, like right now, letting it splatter all over me. I wish you had fallen and cracked your skull open in your feeble attempt to escape. It would've been better for the both of us that way.
People don't walk by often, but when they do, they know not to stare too long. Because who knows who his next victim will be?
There's one thing I don't understand though, through so many years of getting acquainted with each other; his victims are always changing. There's no variable, and with it, his weapons too. My neighbour always insisted that after the first one there was a pattern to be formed, and as if nature defied itself, he couldn't be any more wrong.
The most recent was barely eight, the fruits of spring yet to be enjoyed, and she couldn't escape, no one has been successful in doing so yet, and though I hate to admit this, I am soundproof. Would I be charged if we ever got caught, in aiding and abetting a murderer? Her throat was dry, and I was tired of swallowing so many screams, but she was persistent. The screams turn into soft whimpers though, body racking with sobs as green orbs scan the room helplessly.
He'll be back any mo- annnndddd, there he is. I didn't know it was possible for someone to look so terrified, but fear encompassed itself in humans differently each time and before thinking twice, she flings herself in his direction, knocking over a vase. Restless and confined don't make a rational couple, nor the recipe for escape, and now, he's angry.
Not only will he kill you tonight, but he'll take his time too; you'll feel his anger in every incision, he'll torment you, perhaps with the bat, perhaps with the scalpel, maybe with that electronic pen, oh, how I hate that pen. The smell of burning skin isn't the best. I'm sorry for being so crude.
Blood.
I can feel it; it's wet and slimy; he can be so meticulous at times, but careless other times, like right now, letting it splatter all over me. I wish you had fallen and cracked your skull open in your feeble attempt to escape. It would've been better for the both of us that way.
People don't walk by often, but when they do, they know not to stare too long. Because who knows who his next victim will be?
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