[Act/Hor] The mind of a killer. [M]

Prolouge...
Humanity. How these things could have spread throughout the world, I do not know. What I do know is that I am an unwilling human.

Why couldn't I have been born a tiger or a shark? At least then my habits would be justified in the eyes of my peers as nature taking its course.

Instead I walk among the filthiest species on the face of the planet. They squander their resources, fight amongst eachother for unjust causes, and perform horrible acts on one another.

I admit that I've done some things that my fellow man would consider to be horrible. I admit that I've sinned against this so called god, and I'll admit that I've once in awhile robbed innocent store clerks.

The difference between me and these filthy people is that my actions are justified. I do what I do to make an impact on this world.

I'm not sure about the impact I've made on the world in general, but I'm sure I've made the biggest impact ever in some people's worlds.

The first person was a real doozy, a girl if I recall. You probably want a bit more detail though, so here you go...

The first victim...
I was standing at the bus stop when I saw her. A black haired woman, quite the ugly one in my opinion. She wore a revealing dress and had quite a bit of makeup on.

"I told you it was 500$, not 200$!" she yelled. The ***** was arguing with an old man. The very thought of the two of them sent chills up my spine.

"You said 500$, but you only earned 150$! You should be glad I gave you the extra fifty for your kids!" replied the old man. He had a terribly dry voice, making him cough between sentences.

"You know I don't give jack **** about that little brat! I only take care of him so I don't go to the slammer for child neglection!" She was fuming now. A can of pepper spray was in her hands.

Tell me, what's to fear from an old man? I know they're old and creepy, but I always have more fun doing my thing with them. I guess it's the fact that they make funny noises while gasping.

****, that old man looked old enough to be my great grandfather. That's saying alot considering the fact that I was twenty two years old at the time.

"Fine! I'm never calling you over for a job again!" replied the old man. He went into another one of his coughing fits, ending this one by hocking some phlegm onto the cement.

Did I tell you how disgusted I was with old people? The only part of them I enjoy touching is something you normally can't feel legally.

I'm not a sick man. I don't rape my victims, I don't touch them anywhere inappropriate. Although, some people would consider what I do to touch what I like to feel inappropriate.

"****ing old man." growled the woman. She took the money the old man handed to her and went of into one of the alleyways.

Hmmm, old or young? The bus stop was empty at the moment, and the alleyway the woman had gone into was out of view.

"May as well get the girl. The old man looks ready to drop on his own." I said to myself. Hooker it was. I was getting bored of old people anyways, they never left enough of a thrill for me to actually call them victims.

I followed the prostitute into the alleyway. She was standing next to a dumpster, smoking a cigarette. I don't smoke, nasty habit that. Smoking clots the lungs and makes it harder for me to do my thing.

Doing my thing is hard enough sometimes. Fortunatly for me, this woman would be no problem. I had the switchblade hidden in my sleeve.

Me, I'm an agile man. I can slit your throat faster than you can say "Stupid mother ****er." For this girl I'd use the ol' sneezing chop technique.

I slipped the knife out so that it was perfectly even to my hand. I'd kill her with a simple chop, karate style. Those Chinese bastards were good for something after all.

"Hey there, you looking for some action?" she asked. The whore actually thought I wanted some to pick her up. Stupid slut, hehehe.

"Actually, I am looking for some action." The alley was a dead end, good for me and bad for her. I started to roll my eyes around and vibrate my head slightly. The classic signs of a sneeze.

I was within feet of her now, and we were all alone. I had the antibacterial whipes in my pocket to clean the knife after it was done. I could get rid of the whipes somewhere else.

I was very lucky to have found her so late at night. The busses didn't run this late, I just stood at the bus stop earlier because it was the perfect place to get hookers.

She noticed the motions that I made with my head. I brought my left sleeve up to my nose to hide a fake sneeze. It worked, she was focused on my sneezing.

I brought up the hand with the knife. She didn't even have time to gasp before it went through her throat. I always cut my victims nicely, no need to get blood everywhere.

She slumped to the ground making gurgling noises as she tried to speak. I knelt down next to her and put my fingers into her throat through the hole I had cut.

Ohhhh, it felt so good. The inside was wet and warm like a sponge, but warm air still struggled out as she made her last attempts to breathe.

"Isn't this strange." I said to her. I knew she was dead, but I like talking to them more if they can't reply.

"This is exactly the opposite of the action you were expecting. You're the one who gets ripped off and I'm the one who gets the money. Too bad you can't be around for us to do this again, ta ta."

I took all the money she had and left. Good thing it was midnight. This area of town was completely asleep at this hour.

By the time anybody found her I'd be in the next state. Always keep an escape vehicle ready. This was the first time that I had actually killed someone that gave me enough joy to continue without a doubt as to the fun.

There would be soooo much more....

This kind of sounds like Jim Thompson's The Killer inside me. I haven't read everything so it's kind of hard for me to judge the whole story, but it seems kind of sickening, and don't think I'm a softy either, I write horror. There has to be a deeper story to it other than killing for it to hit all the right notes. You have a good sense of narration, though.

I was planning on him elaborating on why he kills little by little, with each victim. I'm also planning on making a prequel to this if it's popular enough. The prequel will be about his past and what drove him to think the way he does.

I'll edit this with another chapter, unless somebody posts.

That was creepy! He puts his finger throught the hole in the throat? That's crazy! *shudders*

Ugh. That sounds sick. But I would like to know what drove this man to be so insane. He enjoys touching the inside of someone's throat? Sickening. Anyway, it's an awesome bit of writing, and I'd love to see the next murder.

Victim 2, the murderous trucker.

Now the next victim, he was a touch one. The hooker didn’t fight back at all, and I was in the need for excitement. After all excitement was what I did this for half the time.

You see, humanity is a waste of space. We take the flesh and skin of our fellow creatures, and drain the planet of it’s own blood and guts in many ways. Our existence is blemishes on the planet’s skin. I’m what you’d call the heavy duty zit cream.

This next guy was really sick. He killed people purely for fun can you believe that? I knew I’d have to take him out. He’s like zit cream in and of himself, although he leaves a bloody mess on lady nature’s surface.

I’ll start at the beginning with this guy. It was about three weeks after the hooker incident and I was hitchhiking through a lonely southern road. You know the kind.

Anyway, I was hitchhiking that night. Now I’m an honorable man. If somebody offers me a ride I don’t kill him or her unless I meet them somewhere else afterwards.

The smell of the southern backcountry filled my nostrils. I’d eaten a dinner with a nice family earlier. Southern hospitality, something we’ve all heard of. The taste of apple pie still lingered in my mouth as I moved on to the deserted road.

I was moving into the desert now, and would be less likely to find a good person. I was feeling the vibe, you know? Like some kind of higher power was telling me that I needed to get someone or else I’d go crazy.

Now insanity, that’s something I’m afraid of. I don’t want to end up like those nutjobs wearing straight jackets in the insane asylum. That’s not the place for me.

I felt the road vibrate slightly. Something big was coming. The smell of exhaust from some kind of truck came to my nose. The smell was a kind of way to tell what kind of vehicle was coming before it got to you.

I’m a bit picky when I catch a ride. Most people are fine, but a few are rather annoying. Truckers for example. All they want to talk about is their rig, their country music, and their masculinity and how they think it compares to my own.

I knew it was a truck coming down this road before it came too close. The smell, the rumbling, and the sound of old country music. Easy signs that some fat ass redneck was tearing down the street in his rig.

Despite my dislike for truckers, I needed a ride. I jerked my thumb into the air, the usual pickup line for hitchhikers.

The screech of brakes shrieked through the air. If only I hadn’t ditched my own ride a week ago. It’d run out of fuel, and I didn’t have any money after I spent the hooker’s cash on a brand new piece.

This piece was a nice knife. It practically folded into my hand, perfect for the old chop maneuver. I didn’t think I’d be needing to use it for a few weeks, boy was I wrong.

I opened the door to the truck. The crappy country music filled my ears, along with the horrible scent that usually accompanied a large, sweaty redneck.

“Need a ride?” asked the large man. His voice was deep and rough. The man didn’t seem to see the need for a shirt, as his upper half was completely naked.

Disgusting, can you believe some people? Despite the obvious health risks, I got in.

“Where you headed?” he asked. The smell of cheap steak temporarily filled up my nostrils, blocking out his own body odor. Ugh, I didn’t know which was worse.

“Just to the next town.” I replied. The trucker chuckled. I didn’t know what was so funny, was the town far away or something?

“You’re out of luck. I need my fix before I get there.” He said. Did he do drugs or something? The closest thing to myself needing a ‘fix’ myself was the occasional need to clean up the scum that lived on this world.

The trucker’s laugh escalated into an utter insane chortle. This guy was scaring me. I’m a tough guy, but something about a large, sweaty, smelly man sitting less than five feet away from you and laughing as if all the funniest joke’s he’d ever heard in his life were flowing through him is a little unsettling.

Suddenly, he grabbed me by the neck. The man slammed the brakes as he clutched my windpipe. So this guy wanted to kill me for no apparent reason? What an ass.

I whipped out my new knife and slashed at his throat. Damn, this guy was strong. He caught my hand with his other hand as it came within centimeters of his throat.

“Bastard, try and kill me in my own truck!” he yelled. This guy seemed angry that I would both defend myself, and fulfill my own need for death.

I pushed harder with the same arm, slowly over powering him. This guy was strong but try working out five times a week for ten years. I worked out enough to have medium sized muscles, although they were stronger than they looked.

He must have had more fat than muscle, as my knife was getting closer to his throat by the second. Screw it, I was tired of necks.

I yanked my arm out of his grip and stabbed the hand that was clutching my throat. That lack of air was finally getting to me. What a baby, he actually screamed in pain when I stabbed his hand!

Rather than chop his neck I decided that this guy needed something worse. I rammed the knife into his right eye, making sure that I twisted it while it was in there.

I can still remember his screams. Pff, wuss! I finished him off with a few chops to the chest. I didn’t get any pleasure off of this kill after he was dead. This guy didn’t deserve it!

I left his body in his truck. He probably would have wanted that. There’s a problem though, the fuzz are after me.

You know who they are. The cops, the pigs, the fuzz, whatever you want to call them. It was easy getting away though. Most cop cars can’t drive through rocky deserts.

I made it to the nearest town and took the next flight up to Michigan. Time to visit my hometown and see how my pop’s been getting along. I’m sure he’d love to be the next target for my fun, especially after what he did to me when I was little…

Nice, nice. Keep it going. There where some lines that I felt could have been cut out, but other than that, the writting was pretty good.

This is just me, but I maybe would have offered some introspective time between the 1st and 2nd victims to maybe shed some light on the killers mind for the reader.