What is this.. feeling?

I just feel like killing. Smashing someone's head open on the wet concrete. To watch them bleed from their skull. Their blood seeping into the concrete, staining it red.

I breathe deeply, the air going out through the side of my mask. Sitting on the end of my bed, I stare at my wall, thinking, dreaming, planning. I feel the cold air slither on my skin. I feel a sense of calmness. I’m ready.

I walk to my garage, and grab a bag of goodies and hop into my car. I remove my mask, turn the key and press the garage button to open it up. I back my car into the dark world of wetness. I make my way slowly to the park. I turn my headlights off and pull into a parking space. I sit for a minute, looking at my rearview mirror. I take a minute and breathe in deeply. I look to my passenger seat, and grab my mask and hoodie. I get out of my car and go to the trunk, and open up my bag of goodies. I reach in with my eyes closed and pull out something sharp. I open my eyes and stare. Rusty screwdriver it is.

I close my trunk and walk towards the park. The sounds of leaves crackling underneath me. With every step a squishy wet sound reveals itself. Mud splattering on my pants and shoes. I’ll need to clean them when I get home. Or burn them.

I make my way to a few trees and bushes. The grass uncut, ivy growing around everything. In front of me are some swings and a monkey bar set. A bench near the swings, someone sits on it. They seem different. Sitting in the dark, with nothing but a little bit of light to shine their way to the next bench. I creep closer, clinging onto my rusty screwdriver. I make sure not to make a sound, I’ve had enough practice to not.

I’m directly behind him now, listening to him breathe, I feel excited, anxious. I sit down, breathing deeply behind them. I feel them move their arm to their head. They scratch it, and let out a sigh. I feel my grin grow bigger. I can’t wait. I feel my insides tighten and tingle. I’m ready. I’m ready to begin. I spin around and grab their mouth and take my screwdriver to their neck.

I pull their head backward, revealing a man with deep brown eyes. His face overrun with fear. I take my screwdriver and press it against his neck. Muffled screaming rings in my ears. I smile and feel it. I feel a rush. He flails his arms around, trying to stand up, I insert my rusty screwdriver into him. His eyes widen even more. Blood spewing out like a faucet. He continues to scream but nothing comes out. His hands reaching to his neck, trying to stop the bleeding. Though he cannot, for his life is already over.

After a full minute of flailing, he fell onto the muddy ground and his eyes lost light. His face stuck with fear. A hole the size of my finger resides in his neck. I stand and stare, his corpse laying there without movement. I feel good, but I wanted to see his face with fear and life. I need a new way of doing things. I shouldn’t kill them right away, not anymore. I turn around and walk to my car.

I get in my car and drive home, I have a new plan. I am no longer going to kill right away. I think of my next kill, and it brings me joy.

I arrive home and I get to my garage. I get out of my car and clean off the screwdriver. I throw my wipes into the trash and go to the kitchen.