Neema wasn't your average serial killer. Her features of having a glowing, tanned complexion and wild curls matched that of a bold,young,African woman. Her eyes would captivate and lock you in and every move she made was that of elegance. She was not your average pyscho. Not someone who would take out a riffel in broad daylight and shoot down civillians at a cinema for fun. Nor would she be the type to axe a white family to death in the middle of the night to show she that racism wasn't right. These types of pyschos,I had never understood.

I used to hear about  these type of  pyschotic incidents in some American states on the radio and it never made any sense. We didn't have many crimes in our town of Insbury. In fact,the biggest crimes we were ever faced with was graffiti and shop lifting of local corner shops. So when these type of headlines made the main news channels,it was as though aliens had landed right outside of our windows. It took only a couple of hours before everyone had heard about these terrorists of American society and all the neighbours had invited eachother over for tea and biscuits to gossip about how terrible it was,repeating over and over that they were "glad to be British" and how they couldn't understand why  American laws hadn't changed to stop all these lunatics getting guns and other weapons. It was ludicrous to me. However,at the time,I wasn't a serial killer either.

The End

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