The Final Notes Of A Psychopath

     I have this urge. This simple desire to kill. To watch the blood ooze and rush out of the body. Depending on my mood. To watch the victim suffer. As they squirm and try to break free. The shrieks and the suffering sounds. This all makes me happy and sick at the same time. Makes me question what I am doing. This urge has been taking over me since I was little. It is not fun or for fun but for revenge. My vengeance is for my mother’s murder and my father leaving. When I was younger the urge was soothed by killing animals. It got bad. The urge so painful. I would kill the animal slowly. The knife I would run slowly down the little creature’s body. As to torture it. To please myself. I went slow so the blood would ooze out really slow, not rushing. This I didn’t want to do. It was as if someone would take over my body. Inside I would cry. Wanting to stop. But, my face had a sinister smile and was full of pleasure. To which I could not understand. As I got older the urge got heavier. More sinister. And I was still wanting to stop but couldn’t. I always found myself thinking. Thinking about killing people. Since animals didn’t seem to settle my urge anymore. I would go outside. Sit in a park, restaurant, café, or even on the bus. Sometimes I would go on walks through my neighborhood and random neighborhoods. As I went to these places I would see a person and I knew the exact way I would kill them. To torture them. Ways to make the urges go away. Also, to make it satisfy me so, it would be a long time before I killed again. At this point, I have killed too many people and animals that I have lost count. Each time I wanted to stop. Yet, the sensitive part of me would get pushed away. The animals and people I have killed haunt me. Taunt me. I see them every day. My sleep? I get none. They come into my dreams. They ask me questions and I don’t know how to answer. Even the simplest questions are hard to give an answer to. My mother even comes to me. She asks only “Why?” This is not what she wants me to do. Could this be because my father left? Either way. This urge is there. Never leaving. The only way it will be gone is if I am gone too. My death won’t hurt anyone. My mother’s dead, my father’s gone, no siblings, no wife or girlfriend, no kids. The only thing that will be here when I am gone is my carnage, wreckage, my murderous legacy. All the things I can’t take back. Yet, wish I could. Most people live their lives with only a few little regrets. Me? Me, I live with many huge regrets that I can’t take back but, I wish I could. But, I have suffered with it. Continue to suffer with it. But, before I am gone forever. I have the urge. I have one more kill to satisfy myself one last time. My big finale. Of course my big finale has to have meaning to me. So, I decided to make the final person I kill be my father. Not my actual father but a guy who will substitute as my father. I would have more pleasure killing my own father. If only I knew where he was. Where he went to when I was just a little kid. If only there was a way to get in contact with him so, I could have the pleasure of killing him. But, instead I’ll use this old man I saw the other day. In about his 50’s. Roughly the same age my father would be. This will be my most satisfying kill. No one would ever be able to understand the things I want to do to this man. I want to do things to him that are unimaginable. Things I would want to only do to my real father. He left me all alone after my mother was murdered. With no warning. He just up and left. Acted like I was never born or even existed. And for this he has to pay. He will feel every little cut and stab that I will inflict onto him. He will feel every bit of my blade. Every inch and centimeter. I want to hear him beg for his life. Beg me to stop. Oh, the screams and shrills he will make will be music to my ears. I will torture him. Use unimaginable devices. He will feel his body being stretched. Feel like each limb will rip right off. Hear the bones popping. Cracking. Breaking. Possibly shattering. By this point, he wishes he was dead than be in the kind of pain he is suffering with. His screams start to bore me. So, there is only one way to stop the sounds. No, not by killing him just quite yet, but…to stitch his mouth shut. He will feel the needle as I puncture his bottom lip then, the creepy, tingling feeling of the thread as I slowly pull it through the puncture wound. Then, another sharp pinch as I puncture  his upper lip and finish the threading. This will happen multiple times till I have his mouth is completely stitched shut. This may take only a few minutes yet, this urge is screaming at me to take my sweet time with this part. I don’t want to hear his screams or the words he has to say. Right now, all I want is for him to watch me do all these things to him. His facial expressions will work perfectly for me since his sounds are starting to make me cringe. As I take my time with this kill the sensation and urge in my body grows. I begin to brush the knife against his cheek. He starts to squirm. His eyes seem as if they are going to pop out of their sockets. I get an idea after seeing his eyes grow bigger. Instead, I back down from that idea because I want him to see everything I do. He’s slowly becoming weak and my urges are calming down. I think this may be the end for this old man. He has little life left in him and I am satisfied enough to let him pass away and kill myself not long after. He has been tortured enough at this point. And the last of the blood that is oozing out of his fragile body fills the last of my satisfactions. Now, I let his suffering begin end as I slit his throat slowly so he won’t forget it. As he begins choking on his blood I slit my wrists and my throat. I do this to show him that in a way I have suffered too. Deep down, even though he couldn’t see it or notice it. I put the knife in his hand so he will have the absolute final kill. I stand up straight and slowly fall onto the knife. This way I know how he felt to die slowly. And so, everyone knows how sorry I truly am I will have written these words for someone to read and try to understand… “I have sinned and this I know. I regret what I have done. To the animals and the people. For this I have killed myself right after my final killing. I know I am not forgiven and I don’t ask to be. And personally don’t want to be. I am undeserving of forgiveness. All I ask is that you all know that I regret what I have done. And I have lived with it all my life. I am sorry.”