Her body fell to the ground, her wings twitching and her head still partially attached to her dying body. Warm blood squirted from the long thin neck of the goose as it fell to the ground. The red blood staining her white feathers and her chicks
. The knife was so dull, that it ripped at the flesh instead of cutting; her beak was moving. I knelt down beside the dead goose and severed her head from her white body. I savored the feel of flesh ripping under the dull knife. I closed my tiny eyes as I finished her. My hair stood on end as I did so, I bit my lip and moaned wildly as I felt the blood on my little hands and the head come loose from its body. The sound of terrified chicks entered my young ears, I smelled the air. Warm, fresh blood filled my nostrils. I to this day regret killing that fucker goose so quickly, I wanted to draw it out enjoy every part of it. But I was young and it was my first, virgin kill. Her chicks were amazingly fun to slaughter.
There were eight of them, eight times to rip open flesh, smear their blood and organs on the ground; rape their little bodies with my knife and hands. Draw pictures in the sand with their life. For their mother, I gutted her like a fish. Tore into her ass with my knife and ripped her right up the middle, her organs falling free from their prison; staining the green grass and brown dirt with murderous death. I sat; quiet, soaking up all the death I had just caused; sitting in a puddle of their entrails, blood and feathers. I licked my tiny fingers as the blood dripped down my hand and onto my arm. The blood was sweet and tasty, I licked my lips. I felt alive, more alive than I had ever felt before. I never wanted to feel any other way again, the thrill and the excitement of killing, how it made me feel. I wiped my face, smearing blood on my pale cheeks; even my hair had blood in it.
As the years passed I craved that first time feeling again, and again, and again. So I killed as often as I had to, but only things that annoyed me, like that fucking goose. I would go out at night and hunt grasshoppers; I would collect as many as possible. I would start a fire away from the house and one by one I would toss in a grasshopper into the fire. Listen to them pop, squeak, and climb out of the fire only to be tossed back in by me. I enjoyed this greatly, it was a nightly thing I did. It was like listening to popcorn in the microwave, only better. There were giant spiders that lived by my house; they were giant mother fuckers who lurked in the shadows of the porch or the barn. I took pleasure in hunting the spiders, slowly pulling their legs off; watching them squirm as their legs were torn off of their body. I found great pleasure, in the years to come, hunting and preying on the roosters of the farm as well as those fucking geese! My father would ask me where the rooster or where a goose had gone, I always told him maybe a coyote got them. Pulling legs off of spiders, tossing grasshoppers into fires, stepping on ants, shooting B-Bs at birds and killing a rooster now and then were satisfying enough, until high school.
It was like a bad habit I couldn’t break, like biting my nails, a deep burning that I had to put out. There were times when I thought about why I did what I did, why I was made like this; if I were cursed, if the devil had a part to play in who I was. I tried going to church but it did nothing to answer any of the questions I had, how could I tell people what I did? Growing up I went to church with my parents, I listened to the priest speak of the word of god, though it did nothing for me. I took peace in knowing that god loved his children that he made us in the image of himself. How could what I am doing be so bad, if he made us in the image of himself? That was a question I asked often.
In high school, I blossomed into the lioness I am today. I really came into my own; high school was the stepping stone to where I find myself to this day. High school was filled with preteens trying to discover who they were, where they wanted to go and sex; so much sex. I was the cheerleading captain, the hot girl in school, the one all the guys wanted to fuck, and the one all the fat, nerdy, ugly girls wanted to be. Though this was my mask, like the lioness, this was my hiding place, my toy. Only when I was sure that my prey was not going anywhere I would pounce on them, play with them, enjoy them before digging my pearly white teeth into them. I was fascinated by my lioness cousins of the Savannah, they lay in wait, they preyed upon the weak sometimes even the strong were taken down by a lioness. She would hunt, kill, because she needed to; she needed to feed. I needed to feed as well, though I also enjoyed playing with my food. Though my mother always told me it was rude to do so, what's wrong with being rude every now and then? I mean really, who's going to know? My food isn't going to tell anyone what I did to them?
Matt
, that was his name, the star football player of my high school; Matt Valentine. He was the king of High School, the lion of it, the land shark. Well I thought, I cannot have that while I am here; I am the lioness, I am mightier than he. The lioness was always the one who went out and hunted, the one who cared for the cubs, the one who took care of his fucking furry ass. All he did was fuck me when I wanted him and to look pretty. Matt, that is what he was, he was a good fuck and he was gorgeous. I wanted Matt, I wanted to play with him, fuck with him and I wanted to kill him. So I set my sights on Matt and I put my pretty mask on for him, my prom queen, cheer-leading mask just for him.
I sat one day on the bleachers, doing what all hot girls do, playing with my hair, and painting my nails. I wore a black and polka dotted short skirt with a red spaghetti strap shirt. I wore a push up bra, and my black hair was draped over my shoulders, my red lips pursed as I concentrated very hard on the angle of my wrist as I painted my nails black. My long legs stretched out over the bench below me, all the guys on the sports field had to watch, watch me make them hot, lust for me. I could see
Matt watching me from the football field, he wanted me, and I captivated him. I slowly raised my hand up into the air, blowing on my nails to dry them. My piercing gray eyes sought him out, like a dart board my eyes flung themselves right at him. His eyes and mine locked together in a mortal fight, he wanted to fuck me and I knew it. I had him. As soon as I knew he would follow me, I looked away and picked up my things off the bleachers. I slowly, sensually walked down the silver stairs, hair bouncing in the wind, as I stepped onto the track field. I looked over at him again, smiled a wryly smile at him from the corner of my eye as I turned and walked behind the bleachers. I leaned myself against one of the trees behind the bleachers where I waited, I knew he would come; I was a piece of meat he had to have, had to put his mark on. Molest with his lips, grope with his large hands and gyrate with his hips. I smiled; how I wanted to make sure he wanted to come see me later that night, in the woods. Where I, would take my own pleasure, in killing him, lustfully killing him. His warm blood on my naked skin, and his lifeless lips pursed, ready to kiss me. I shivered as waves of excitement and pleasure coursed through my body. I heard footsteps, his strong, muscular footsteps. I turned my head to look at him as he approached me.
“You were looking at me.” He spoke to me. I turned so that my back was against the tree.
“I was.” I replied as I ran my hand through my black hair. His eyes groped my body as he looked me up, fixated on my chest. I had him, he was mine.
“What are you doing tonight?” I asked him whimsically, he smiled as his eyes met mine.
“You.” He said as he touched my hip.
“My place, eight, don’t be late.” I said as I put my hand under his shirt, pressing myself against him. He closed his eyes as our bodies clung to each other. I smelled him, his hair, his skin, and his clothes. I too closed my eyes as I soaked him in, he would be fun. I wanted him; I wanted him to be my first, my first human kill. He was strong,
handsome, cocky, and full of himself. There were enough men out in the world like him, men who preyed upon women. Well he was my prey. I was the lioness and he was the gazelle, the gazelle who thought he could run faster than I. It is not a matter of running fast but instead waiting, lurking and knowing when to strike, when to leave the bait. My bait had worked and he was mine. I grabbed my things as I left his side; I had to get ready for tonight.
He was truly my first love, that night I fell madly and deeply in love with the game of seduction and murder. Seducing a man is an art all its own. I played the game well, very well, too well. Course it sort of went hand in hand with being cheerleader captain and prom queen. People thought I was dull, empty, petty, hot and sexy. I was all of those, that was my mask. I played it well.
Like clockwork Matt came to my house and picked me up. I got my best dress on just for him; it was a red pencil striped dress. I wore my hair in a bun, messy but sexy at the same time, I wore my black high heels and I put my best makeup on. I was ready. I wanted him and I needed him to know that. I slid myself up into the cab of his blue truck and smiled at him. Cocky ass hole. He grabbed my face and dug his tongue into my mouth, I bit his tongue. He thought that was great, I nearly vomited, he smoked. He drove out to a remote lake by the outskirts of our town, the moon was full that night and it shined so brightly on the still water. He wanted me alone, and I too wanted him alone. I had brought my switchblade with me and I was so ready to kill him, but I wanted to play first. Nothing wrong with some play with my food, plus my food wanted to play too.
I sighed as I gazed out upon the lake, slowly turning on the radio. He took off his jean jacket and so smoothly leaned over to me; placing his hands on my sides. He pulled me over to him, his eyes hungry with what he thought would be a good night, well a great night for me; maybe not for him. I smiled my evil smile as I planted my ruby red lips on his full mouth. His arms wrapping themselves around my body. I felt his hand walk up my back as he slowly unzipped my tight, red, body hugging dress. I sat in the passenger side seat as he lowered it down, so that he lay on top of me, his sculptured body pressing against me. I slipped out of my dress, naked to him, my skin on him. He took his shirt off, and I unbuckled the belt around his waist. My pale white skin glowed in the moon light, my nipples pearly in the cool air as he pulled his pants down. My mouth open, my eyes wanting, and my chest, breathing so hard. He pulled me closer to him, our bodies stuck like glue to each other. His arms, strong and muscular hugged me as my legs hugged his waist.
I could feel it, the moment was coming. Our breathing quickened, our lips locked and our hips moving in unison. I slowly reached for the switch blade in my purse, his hand palpating my breast, I moaned. There it was, the moment, I groped around my purse for the cool feel of metal, the firm handle. Matt squeezed me now, his breathing so fast as was mine. I wanted him, and I had him. Now it was time to feed, I was hungry. I tossed my head back into the air, his full lips mackled onto my neck. I raised my knife above my head and was ready to bring it down into his flesh as he yelled out. I tossed the blade back into my purse as Matt fell dead to the floor of the truck. I had fled the scene running bare foot back to the house as fast as I could, they found Matt the next day, he had died from a heart attack. Really? A fucking heart attack kills him! What the hell! I cried for days, I so wanted to kill him, how much that would have been like ecstasy for me. I would not have needed to kill for a while. But nope, like a fucking bitch he had to go and die from a fucking heart attack.
M
y first human kill was in my senior year at Marshall University. I was enrolled in their Forensic Science degree, I wanted to know how to kill, I wanted to have a career where I would easily find people to kill and know how to hide my tracks. I also took an interest in past famous killers; I wanted to know what got them caught, what their mistakes were and how not to make them myself. I understood that my urges were something I had, needed to satisfy. But I did not want to kill just anyone, though I must say it was tempting to think about laying waste to everyone in this deadly silent library; chain saw or machete? Maybe a little bit of both. Those librarians, with their large spectacles, pearly necklaces, and granola dresses all of whom must be in their sixties by now. I sneezed, really? Don’t you dare tell me to be quiet you fucker! I’ll cough and sneeze all day long if it pisses you off that much.
My
senior year in college, it was by far the most exuberant time in my life, my last semester. I discovered something in myself that year. I had a foresight I did not realize I had until now. I was like the game Battleship, I had a few misses but once I got a hit I was good to go. I would sit on benches on campus and as people walked by I could clearly see what they had done, what they were thinking of doing and the things they thought about doing. It was as if I was peering into their souls and glimpsing at who they truly were. This skill, as I call it, made me ever so more deadly. It gave me a new outlook on my urges and the need to satisfy them, it truly was something more than a hunger pain that needed to be fed. So I studied in school and I worked hard at accomplishing my goal of being a forensic scientist. I quickly made a list of people who I took an interest in, people who I knew I would enjoy playing with and then feeding upon them.
I had to keep these things secret from my boyfriend, how could I tell him
about what I did, what I needed to do. He was something that I did to look normal, to fit in; he was my mask in college. We had been dating for four years now. We met the first week I was at college. He was a year ahead of me in the liberal arts degree program. He had been a drummer in high school and well not much else needed to be said there. You know drummers, they are not all there and he was perfect for me to date. He was vacant most of the time, plus he was part of a frat house and was drunk 99% of the time.