The Killer in Me
I always thought a person turned blue as you choke them to death. Turns out that red is the color of death. At least it's the color of death by strangulation. It's inspiring listening to the gurgle in thier throat. It's exhilarating seeing them attempt to beg for mercy when all they can do is gasp for air. I never thought death could be so much fun.
My victim is just some random guy. He never did anything to me. Nor I to him. That is until the moment I siezed his throat for all I was worth. The tenacity of a pitbull in a human package. Scrawny little runt that I am, I sure have a grip that's to die for. Ha, I just made a funny.
His eyes are getting bloodshot and starting to bulge ever so slightly out of his head. All he wants is precious oxygen. Wrong place, wrong time there buddy. Sorry for your luck. I don't speak these words. I let the silence cover us like a blanket. It feeds his fear you see. You can hardly tell his eyes were a gorgeous shade of green anymore. They are red, bloodshot and bulging out of thier sockets.
His nose is flaring from it's futile attempts to take in the air that sustains life. It's a cute nose, I wonder if he's had plastic surgury. His lips, thin and wide, are turning a nice shade of purple. I suppose maybe blue is next. All I know is that I feel godlike. I hold this man's life in my hands. Do I let go? Do I squeeze harder and end it quickly? Do I continue on this way and explore the dying mind? I can almost read his mind you know. His body language tells me all I need to know.
At first he flailed about like a chicken with it's head cut off. Good think I'm a little taller than he is. I picked him right off his feet. He couldn't be more than twenty one. I remember twenty one. He might weigh in the neighborhood of one hundred forty pounds. I could be wrong there. I'm no scale. His hair is in a ponytail and for a moment I thought I would use irony and strangle him with his own hair. That would have been worth a laugh. His five foot six inch frame yields to my every whim now. No fight left in him at this point. His feet claw at my shins, more than likely looking for some perch with which to mount a defense. Fat chance of that happening though. We are in the middle of a mostly unused allyway. Sorry for your luck pal.
All of a sudden he goes limp in my hands. I don't dare let go. He has probably passed out from the lack of oxygen. Better to hold my grip for a few more minutes. It's at this point I realize that I am sexually aroused. And here I thought the pervert gene missed me. I want him to die right now so that I may go home with his image fresh in my mind. I want to go home and think of this moment and masterbate. Pretty sick don't you think?
After ten more minutes of holding him, I declare him dead. I leave his limp body in the alley. It was discovered by police at five in the morning after some good citizen called them. Turns out the guy had a wife and four kids. Damn breeder. I should research my next victim. Next victim has a nice ring to it.
My victim is just some random guy. He never did anything to me. Nor I to him. That is until the moment I siezed his throat for all I was worth. The tenacity of a pitbull in a human package. Scrawny little runt that I am, I sure have a grip that's to die for. Ha, I just made a funny.
His eyes are getting bloodshot and starting to bulge ever so slightly out of his head. All he wants is precious oxygen. Wrong place, wrong time there buddy. Sorry for your luck. I don't speak these words. I let the silence cover us like a blanket. It feeds his fear you see. You can hardly tell his eyes were a gorgeous shade of green anymore. They are red, bloodshot and bulging out of thier sockets.
His nose is flaring from it's futile attempts to take in the air that sustains life. It's a cute nose, I wonder if he's had plastic surgury. His lips, thin and wide, are turning a nice shade of purple. I suppose maybe blue is next. All I know is that I feel godlike. I hold this man's life in my hands. Do I let go? Do I squeeze harder and end it quickly? Do I continue on this way and explore the dying mind? I can almost read his mind you know. His body language tells me all I need to know.
At first he flailed about like a chicken with it's head cut off. Good think I'm a little taller than he is. I picked him right off his feet. He couldn't be more than twenty one. I remember twenty one. He might weigh in the neighborhood of one hundred forty pounds. I could be wrong there. I'm no scale. His hair is in a ponytail and for a moment I thought I would use irony and strangle him with his own hair. That would have been worth a laugh. His five foot six inch frame yields to my every whim now. No fight left in him at this point. His feet claw at my shins, more than likely looking for some perch with which to mount a defense. Fat chance of that happening though. We are in the middle of a mostly unused allyway. Sorry for your luck pal.
All of a sudden he goes limp in my hands. I don't dare let go. He has probably passed out from the lack of oxygen. Better to hold my grip for a few more minutes. It's at this point I realize that I am sexually aroused. And here I thought the pervert gene missed me. I want him to die right now so that I may go home with his image fresh in my mind. I want to go home and think of this moment and masterbate. Pretty sick don't you think?
After ten more minutes of holding him, I declare him dead. I leave his limp body in the alley. It was discovered by police at five in the morning after some good citizen called them. Turns out the guy had a wife and four kids. Damn breeder. I should research my next victim. Next victim has a nice ring to it.
posted by hooligan at 12:13 PM
6 Comments:
I am not really sure how to respond to this. Is it supposed to be a shock piece?
I've been trying to find something redeeming in this. Something that takes one and moves them in some direction besides utter revulsion. But it is just too dark. It is just too connected to what is completely evil.
I just can't abide this piece.
I must have missed the True Confessions prompt. It could be tweeked to fit in the Person Place and Song prompt but only if it's fiction.
In paragraph 5 the second sentence starts "Good think" I believe it should be "Good thing".
Overall it's very detail. I felt like I was actually in the ally watching this.
It could be tweeked to fit in the Person Place and Song prompt but only if it's fiction.
"The first time I heard Johnny Mathis singing Wonderful Wonderful I was in an alley choking the life out of this random stranger..."
Ok, enough macabre. Objectively, I think what this needs to make it more readable is more depth into why the protagonist has chosen this moment to kill, and what made him a killer. Can we see some paranoia? "I'll show those dickheads who's scrawny..." Or lament, some insight into a bad childhood? "Oh mommy I'm so sorry, this time I'll be good..."
There are actually quite a few typos and misspellings that need to be corrected, and just a re-read would do that.
Whatever people. I liked it. I was too involved in what I was reading to be concerned with typo's. Wow, could this be a Dean R. Koontz psycho killer speaking from the recesses of his mind? Perhaps it is a confessional of some kind. Anyways, I always wanted to be a counselor and if this were non-fiction, I don't think I would tell anyone who "you"/he are/was.
--Jackie
Obviously, based on everyone's reactions to this, it is a very successful piece at creating a disturbing character and situation. It definitely puts the reader in an uncomfortable place.
The color bit needs to be unified. The story starts with surprise that the victim is turning red and not blue. But then later the victim does start to turn blue. Perhaps just making a statement when the blue starts to happen that references the red bit earlier is enough to clarify this apparent contradiction.
I really liked the "Damn breeder" line.
Very best site. Keep working. Will return in the near future.
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