My next prey that is to be eaten is identified as KTK. Also known as, kidnap, torture, kill, but his real name is Ethan Croy.  I like to research my prey, get a gist of how they like to do their "job". I always love when they put up a fight. When they start struggling, the way their body goes limp when they die, and when they beg for mercy, which I like to tease them with. I get heated when they beg for mercy even though we all know they would end up doing it again. It's better for them to just die than go to prison sometimes.

  I'm at my victim's house, waiting for him to get home in the midst of night. I'm not particularly excited about killing him now and here. Especially since he is around my age... He's only 20 but he's made some pretty horrid things. He normally targets men between the age of 16-18. Why would he get kids involved in this? Well, I don't know. It's around 21 o' clock. 

  He finally got home around 23 o' clock, and I'm freezing my ass off in the undergrowth. I am really ready for this to be over, but at least I get to see his not so pleasing last moments. Those are always a pleasure for me but not so much for them. KTK hasn't seemed to notice me, but he sure looks sad. Well, now I can put him out of his misery! Now I'm basically beaming now because I really want him to suffer, I want him to regret what he has done, to be sorry. I want to be able to pity him. This is starting to get real arousing! 

  He opens the door and walks in. His parents aren't home so this should be able to go smoothly. I do have to say this kid has had a hard life, but I will happily change that for him. Once I see the bedroom lights turn on and off, I head in. I creep into his bedroom and tie the kid's hands and feet to the bed railing. He didn't wake up, but his face was damp and puffy as if he was crying. A broad, unearthly smile crept onto the borders of my face. 

I should make this one a bit more interesting, shouldn't I?

  I start digging a small hole in the boy's wrist to wake him up. His eyes flutter open with a slight grace. He looks at me, and then you can visually see his face contour in pain. I haven't even gotten started. 

  The boy hasn't started screaming, which is surprising because normally my victims scream for help. He looked me in the eyes and then looked back down at his wrist. I started to sink the knife's teeth into the boy's stomach. I slowly tortured and killed my prey. I made his death as horrifically as I'd want mine. Which, in case you don't know, is messy. I like to make a scene with what I like to call special deaths. These are normally deaths that I think could have been prevented if the victim has an easier life or some shit like that. But the point is, I do it in respect. 

  I hope I haven't scared you off, but for the ones who have stayed, I shall tell you a short story. It's not my story, for which that story is too complicated and way too long. For which, the story I am here to tell is of my friend. Well, when I had any... (Internally cries) 

  Well, this friend's ex-wife had given birth to twins. They were so adorable, so small, but too fragile... I was going over to my now dead friend's house to visit, and since they did not answer the door I went in. It was unnaturally quiet in the house since it did have two 9 y/o twins. I went into the children's bedroom, and there they were laying on the bed. Their eyes peacefully staring at each other, almost as if there wasn't a pool of blood sitting on their sheets. 

  Each child had their own bed but they still liked to chare the one. The one they were born in, which ended up being the one they died in... I didn't want to let them sit there... they looked so peaceful though. I did the only thing I could think of, which may seem odd but I buried their guts. I did it that way the pain, the ugly, and the death wouldn't be seen. That way new life, beauty, and love could grow again. I also knew that the twins loved their bedroom more than any place in the world, so I buried them there. Inside the house. 

  I waited for hours for their father to get home. Of course, he never did. He was probably the one to do it too. The murder. I always knew he was somewhat like me. Maybe that's why I stayed with him for so long. But that isn't what this is about. This is about why I kill people, that I want to respect, in such a gruesome way. It makes me feel better, but also a tad bit more bitter... 

  I hope you understand, and in which you don't, I do not care. I have more important duties to be doing than to be explaining myself to you. Your just some voice in my head. I could care less. I have courtesy to talk to you. Let you understand. But I shall not let you roam my head, my memories, and my details. This may seem like trash to you but treasure to me. I shall say no more, until I talk to you again. Only than shall you understand more.