Psycho Killer

Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage…

The lyrics blasted on as the poisonous liquid splashed around my decaying body. I rolled my eyes at the irony. I guess you’re probably wondering how I ended up here: dead in a tube, acid eating away and melting my skin. It’s my own fault, really: it’s my fault that my wife is dead. That my wife killed herself. Lena always said if I did anything to harm Ilona, she’d kill me. But you know how women are: they say threats like that, knowing they won’t do shit, then go home and complain “all men suck” into a bottle of white wine and too much chocolate. Or so I thought. I guess this time it bit me in the ass. I always told Ilona that Lena was a psycho person, that she should get better friends. Turns out Lena might have just been the best friend Ilona ever had. Good for her. Shitty for me.

There are six of us here now. I guess murdering me wasn’t enough for Lena. She must have been planning this for months after Ilona died. I guess she’s always been as crazy as I thought… Who thinks about burying human-sized acid-proof metal tubes underground to drown people in? Obviously Lena. Who’d have thought that a bit of belladonna and chloroform might be enough to knock me on my ass? Not me. I remember her screaming and yelling something as she dragged my dead weight across her backyard and shoved me into this tube. Something about ridding the world of evil men like me. At the time I was reasonably impressed at how well she was able to carry me, pretty strong for such a skinny bitch.

She still talks to me now and again, telling me the ‘crimes’ of every other poor bastard joining me in this field. That’s all I got now: listening to this man-hating bitch tell me about these so-called misogynistic abusers finally getting what they deserve while rotting in my own filth. Smells like shit in here. I guess it's true what they say: real hell is of your own making.