Do any of you humans realize how hard it is to kill someone? Probably not. A lot of you might say that you would do it- but you wouldn't really. You're all full of fear of what society would think of you.
That everyone you ever met- even for just a brief moment, like the clerk at your grocery store you frequent -will shame you. And you have the right to worry. Because they would and will.
Every human would judge you if they knew you had killed someone. Even more so if it was in cold blood. Like Jodi Arias- That was her name, right? The woman who took pictures of her boyfriend in the shower and then killed him? Only to deny it to the court?
Do you know what that would do to you? Again, you more than likely don't. And why would you? You're just human. A weak, simple minded race that doesn't understand what it means to be shunned by almost every one.
Let me explain it to you in a way that you might understand by telling you about one of my most recent kills.
I usually don't bother finding out the names of the people I deem 'victims.' There's no point, since the world will snuff them out after a week on the news. But this boy, I decided to try something new. I learned his name and befriended him.
Lucas was his name. It's not really important to try and cover it up; and it isn't like you humans could figure out who I am- or catch me -so there's no point in lying. And if you did somehow catch me? Well, you would be my next victim before you could call those humans you know as the police.
To give you some details about him, Lucas was six feet and four inches, black hair with dyed green highlights, and always wearing band merch clothes. Now that I think about it, I never did see him without some sort of band logo on his body.
I think, when I killed him, he was wearing a Creature Feature sweater and Batman fuzzy pants- you know the type. I didn't even know they had merch for the band. Actually, I took his sweater so he was left to the cold without a top. But that's besides the point.
Lucas liked to talk about how he wanted to kill himself, and how he was too much of a coward to do it.
I never said it but I hate humans like that. How can none of you live up to what you say? Lucas wanted to kill himself- he was what you all know as suicidal. But he didn't have the balls to go through with it.
If you're going to say that you'll do something, you should do it. Of course, when I told him this, he got upset. Said something like, "how the fuck could you say that to someone who wants to kill themselves?" Clearly, he didn't like how blunt I was about his cowardice.
I dropped the conversation, of course. There was no reason to wait for him to finally pull the plug on his life. So I killed him that same night.
Oh- Should I tell you that my weapon of choice is a knife? Oh well, it doesn't matter. The autopsy will probably tell you that much. I mean, it would tell you that. If I had left enough of his body for the police to find.
But I didn't. Because what's the fun in killing someone if you're just going to leave scraps for someone to find and scream bloody murder over, like in some shitty horror movie. Frankly, I don't find it fun at all.
So instead of leaving his body to bleed in his bedroom, I ate it.
No, you don't need to scroll over that again. You read it right. I ate his body. You know, like Hannibal Lecter? He ate his victims, and lots of humans seem to love him. But he's fictional. He doesn't exist.
Though I bet none of you believe I'm real, right? That no one who calls others 'humans,' is real; or admits to slaughtering an innocent, cowardly boy and then eating him.
Well let me tell you something- It's probably something that you didn't even think about: Monsters like me exist every where.
Even if you don't believe that I'm real, it doesn't matter. Because in every human, there's a little piece of me. Well, not me me. It's metaphorical.
For every human that you meet, there's a part of their soul that's just like me. Lurking deep under their eyes and personality. Waiting and wondering when the right time will come. I don't think I need to tell you what I mean by that, do I?
Stupid as your kind can be, you have a large enough brain that you can figure out what I mean if you just sit back and think about it. Or maybe you already put the pieces together. That's not a congratulations; I don't give out praises like a whore.
Oh but where was I going with this. I was supposed to explain what it was like to kill a human, right?
It's simple, really. So simple that a lot of you will think I'm bluffing. But I don't lie; not often.
When you kill someone, like Lucas, there's a surreal rush of adrenaline that goes through your body. It's exhilarating. It gives you such a fucking high that when you come down and realize they aren't moving, you get sad. Sad that you can't watch the life drain from their eyes, or their limbs begin to grow stiff from rigor morits and you get upset that stabbing the corpse won't feel as good as it did the first time.
Not to mention the first stab. See, if you keep your weapon of choice- like my knives, for example -sharp and clean, it'll slide right in. Like putting a heated butter knife through pudding. It's the same amount of tension. Of restraint.
Your victim rarely ever realizes they've been stabbed if you stab their stomach, or their back. It severs the spine- did you know that?
But for me, I enjoy chasing down my victims, taking a chunk of them every time they think they're safe. With Lucas, I sliced his legs' tendons so he had to hop away from me. He didn't get very far, considering I started the hunt outside of his house. He only made it to the front door when I severed his other tendons.
Watching someone squirm in fear and pissing themselves from that fear- There's nothing like it. Every time I do it, my heart starts pounding so fast and hard, I think it will rupture. But it doesn't. It can't even if it wanted to. It's stuck there.
And then comes the begging. That pathetic plea they make as they try to convince you that their life means something. That someone cares about them. Well news flash: No one fucking cares.
If they cared about Lucas, they wouldn't let someone like me anywhere near him. So who's to say that any of you care about each other? Deep down, you'd rather be the ones to stay alive. If I came and asked which one of you should die, the majority would pick your friend. Or you'd say that you could die, but you wouldn't mean it. No human ever does.
If Lucas cared about someone other than himself, maybe I would have let him live. Probably not. I'm a psychopathic serial killer. By your society's rules, I don't have a merciful bone in my body. And it's true. I don't care about any of you.
There could be an apocalypse today and I'd still be standing, laughing at how the human race was snuffed out quicker than a candle's flame. I mean, there would be some semblance of sorrow. But that would be because I wasn't the one to cause a mass extinction.
And as much as I'd love to keep insulting your species, it seems I've got some... business to attend to. I will admit, some of you humans are tough to kill. I think my hand finally grew back completely so I can use it to do- Ah, what was it called? Right. A Colombian necktie.
For the 'feint of heart,' you shouldn't look it up. Just keep in mind that it involves ripping your tongue down your throat after you slice it open. At least this way, you can't see an actual image of it. Just one in your head. And that's always the worst kind of thing, isn't it?