Why I Killed Her

Why I Killed Her-

Not her beauty, but the reflection of terror in her mirrory eyes caused everything to happen.

It isn’t the money or wealth of gold I seek. What I seek for are the screams of pain.

The blood curdling screeches of agony.

I don’t lust for the physical body.

What I lust for is the pain, and the quivery shouts with a red tint of blood in it.

I lust for the tears of unbearable pain:

That is why; it wasn’t her beauty, it was the depression of deep fear which… forced me to… Tear her apart.

I know how cruel and strange I sound.

I totally understand how much confused hatred, you now have against me, after reading my words.
Sadly but truly, I love how much people hate me. The hatred and fear and terror just add up to the taste.

My heart had skipped a beat, not because seventy percent of her breasts were uncovered, but because of wrinkles of affright that had formed around her eyes upon seeing me.

I helplessly could not control my hands (this doesn’t say I wanted to control them),

I could not control my mind.

Before I knew, my hands, holding now a butcher knife, were reaching for her.

And that was when she had screamed.

And her scream, oh dear lord, that scream had bought me so much pleasure.

So much pleasure!

I cannot explain in words how much I craved for her soft skin, soft cold and smooth flesh.

Again; before I knew, I was cutting her up and my teeth were getting bloodstained and warm sticky gloop welcomed my tongue.

Her scream had truly increased the taste.

I know I cannot keep back the urges.

Neither do I want to.

Some call me mad, or a cannibal or a psychopath. Some hate me, some like me too!

But it doesn’t matter if you like me or not.

‘Cause if I like you, I’ll eat you up.