The mind of an American Serial killer
There I lay, untenably engulfed in the hopeless wallow of my deep thoughts. Or at least in the wallow of the thoughts I tried to think. The pain, it completely took all sense out of me and filled me with more of itself. It had somehow merged with my blood and coursed through my body in a somewhat well ordered attempt to turn it against itself. I can still see them now, the satisfying look in their eyes. Before the spectacle took place, the shadow of their expectation was evident. I saw it in their brows and eyes, the way they moved and talked, their auras but most especially, my sense. You see, I had always had a sense for these things ever since my first “incident.” It never occurred to me as paranoia, but more of a strength born of necessity. The necessity to live by the death of others. This sense I chose to ignore however, in the excitement of my soon coming release. I consider it a good mistake as you will soon come to find out. In due time I was knocked unconscious by the pain as a large crowd proceeded to surround me. More of them wishing for my slow death, well preferred over survival. I cared not, but could greatly do without the great noise the ruckus made.
