the story pretty much explains itself. the opening consists of a serial killer pouring his thoughts down through a letter and the story can pretty much take off from there . . .
I’ve never been like this, promise. At one point I was a nice guy. Not that I’m not one, now but I s’pose that’s not for me to decide. Allow me to introduce myself. The name’s Chuck: serial killer by name and serial killer by nature although if you’re reading this, odds on that you know that already. Original isn’t it? Oh! I can just imagine you reading this now and thinking in you’re puny little minds that I’m just one sick freak. Well I am. But what are you going to do about it?
I suppose one of the people reading this is Detective Carter Well Detective I think you’re in some order of congratulations. I honestly thought that you’d be so frightened after the first few killings that you would hide behind your little badge and run away. It’s not the first time I’ve misjudged a person’s character. Remember that girl in the club? It was one of my earliest killings if your mind can’t go back that far. A bit messy, but what do you expect from a beginner? She carried on fighting like an animal even though id given her a dose that would knock an elephant out. Hmmmm maybe that says something about her, she was rather large if I remember correctly. Apologies, I digress.
I suppose you would quite like to know my motives and here’s the part when I say that I have none I’m just one really really sick guy. Jokes. 6 years ago a young woman was stopped in Central Park. She was then mugged, raped beaten to a pulp and when I got the call that my baby sister was in hospital destined to spend the rest of her ‘high flying business career’ attached to multiple tubes with an oxygen mask keeping her alive; unable to move as her legs were paralysed. Unable to eat: her cuisine consists of goop for breakfast lunch and dinner. I just wanted to hunt the person that did this down and burn the bastard.
Need I go on? But that’s when it started. I refer to it as the urge. It’s like one of those cartoons with the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other trying to persuade the protagonist to do the right or wrong thing. But in my case the angel disappeared a long time ago. For the uneducated souls that are reading this Samuel Johnson (a writer) once described revenge as an act of passion. It might have been passion once for me but that niggle turned into a need which turned into an urge which consequently produced 25 dead bodies and a large amount of rather angry people. But you cant please everyone can you?
So that’s it. I quit my multi thousand dollar a week job, dumped my plastic Barbie doll of a girl friend; if you’re interested you couldn’t actually see how she was feeling she had so much botox in her face, and I became a killer. Incredible isn’t it when you think about it? It was just so easy I don’t understand why everyone doesn’t take up the sport; it’s just so good for relieving stress I definitely recommend it. It’s not like it’s inaccessible, anyone can do it. They make it look so hard on the television shows. N.B to anyone out there IT’S NOT! All you need to do is employ a bit of brains and realise that every forensic analyst isn’t Grissom from C.S.I Seriously who believes that rubbish anyway? They wear casual clothes walking through a pile of blood and dead bodies. Erm have you ever been to a crime scene. Well unless you’re a police man or a genius like me the answer is probably no and I can assure you that they are covered head to toe in a jump suit and don’t find a clue within the first few minutes of walking round the murder.
Do I have any regrets? Well yes. That I couldn’t put to justice all the men that should have sat in the chair and regretted each and every moment they hurt an innocent man or woman while they watched the end of their sick, pathetic lives crawling closer and closer towards them.