Diary of a Serial Killer

Day One

Sun up. Day develops. Breakfast eaten. Leave house.

Catch bus. Go to work. Do job.

Lunchtime comes. Leave office.

I go to my favourite place. It is a square full of people, bustling about their day. I am camouflaged in the busyness and can observe unobserved. I sit on a bench away from others, sitting perfectly in the middle with my drink on one side and my sandwich on the other. This protects my isolation.

No-one usually comes near except the pigeons and the odd curious child. The pigeons totter and I let them. They do not irritate. I am not interested in them.

The children stare at me and I stare back. Not menacingly but in the same blank way that they look at me. They are snatched away by an apologetic mother and I lift my eyes to them and force my face to grin. I scan them - are they what I'm after? No. Very rarely do they spark my interest.

Bland fodder. Not worth the effort.

Because the thrill is in the kill. Anticipation is the magic that stirs the spell. The selection of who is all. I could kill them all but it is the one I choose who excites me, who in the killing makes me feel alive.

There was one today. I caught her scent last Wednesday and a glimpse of her head. She is not a mother, which is unfortunate but she is exquisite. I needed to lay my eyes on her, to assess and evaluate - could she be a candidate? And she was!

Lustrous, long black hair, the iridescent blue of the raven as the sun glanced its warmth over her curls. I longed to touch it. It was all I could do to restrain myself then and there. No-one would know as I sit and I eat. I will need to see her face; not for assessment as it matters not as once it is removed, it will be discarded.

But that hair! It will haunt me until I can hold it in my hands and raise it to the sky.

She knows nothing of her chosen status. But she will. Soon.

***

365 words

Thought I'd try and get into the mind of someone warped today. Just for 365 words. That was enough.

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