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.