I find it strange, how quickly it all becomes a routine. The faces, the screams, the fear—it all blurs together into a beautiful mess of flesh and terror. But I can still remember each one, each moment, as clear as day. Like a symphony, a well-rehearsed performance. The trick is not to rush it. You can’t savor it if you rush. The pleasure is in the build-up. The anticipation. The control. The power.

I can still feel the blood on my hands. It stains my fingers, but that’s the price of perfection. It’s funny, isn’t it? How something so crude, so violent, can become art. The way the body moves when it’s trapped in a hold, the way the bones crack under pressure, the slow, rhythmic snap of a neck that’s held just a little too long. I watched them all, those fools. They begged, didn’t they? With those pitiful eyes, like they could bargain their way out. As if I cared. They all look the same when they’re broken. Their faces twist and contort—such a lovely thing to witness. You can see the moment their soul slips out, like a butterfly leaving a cocoon. But it’s not beautiful. It’s just a corpse. It’s a reminder of their failure.

I think they thought they were untouchable. That their money and power could save them. But I’m different. I see them for what they are—nothing. Just pieces of meat, with no more value than a piece of trash on the street. I can do whatever I want with them. Twist, break, destroy. And there’s nothing they can do to stop me. I wonder how it feels, when the life starts slipping out. Do they feel regret? Do they finally understand what I’m doing to them? I doubt it. Most don’t even realize until they’re already gone.

You know, there’s something intoxicating about it. The stillness after. When their bodies finally stop moving, and the only thing left is the silence. It’s the best part, really. Watching them die, that’s just the beginning. The real fun is in watching them disappear. Watching them become nothing.

Tomorrow, I’ll do it again. I’ll find more. So many more. The list never ends, does it? I have to keep it going. I have to feel it, the control, the power. The way it makes everything else—everything normal—seem so... dull. Like a dull hum in the background. But I can still hear them. They won’t leave me. They can’t. I'm a little silly