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I bite back a smirk as she pouts. She’s not fooling anyone though; she isn’t chastised. She’s a fucking actress, and a manipulative one at that, I’d bet.
“But he was droning on and on. It was enough to make me want to cut off my ears with a machete so I didn’t have to listen to him. Who fucking waxes poetical over fucking poetry anyway? We get it! We had to read the same lame-ass poems in school too. Blah blah blah no one understands me. Spin another sob story, my hamster died when I was eight.”
Jaw clenched, I stare at her, at her audaciousness. Fuck wanting to fuck her. I just want to kill her. My hands curl into tight fists, itching to wrap around her dainty little throat and squeeze until the light leaves her eyes. Up close and personal. That’s the ending she deserves. And I’d fucking talk to her the entire time. Force her to listen to my story.
“My hamster did die, but I was five, actually. And I ate it,” I tell her firmly, with a no nonsense glare.
She gapes at me like I just revealed something truly fucked up, but that’s why I’m the best.
Besides, it’s not like it’s a secret. I’ve done worse. A lot worse. And a hamster tastes like any other rodent. Some even compare it to chicken. It’s probably considered a delicacy somewhere in the world.Yeah, that’s right, I’m fucking cultured as fuck, not sick.
I continue my monologue, delighting in the fact that I have a captive audience who are compelled to listen to my rhetoric. My truth.
“I’ve always been different, but it wasn’t until I was in school and forced to study fucking poetry that I was able to relate to someone, at long last. That dude in the poem Stealing? Yeah. He fuckinggets it. When my fit-as-fuck teacher read that poem out, I was hard as a fucking rock under my desk, and for once it wasn’t because of her stretchy fucking pencil skirt that fit like a second skin and the stilettos that did wonderous things to her ass.”
I lose myself for a moment in the memories of that woman’s ass. Fuck, even now it has the ability to make my dick hard. I bite my knuckles to hold back a groan.
“No, this boner was over a fucking snowman. But you wouldn’t understand.
“So I did a little research. Discovered another poem. Do you realise how many poems are about death and killing things? Don’t even get me started on the dude who wants to fuck his lady’s corpse. And they sayI’m fucked up.
“They fuck you up.Parents. Teachers. Peers. Society. A fly. The goldfish. A budgie. The cat. Genius and talent and an autograph in blood.Education for Leisure.
“The poems taught me how, opened my eyes, spoke to me. A manifesto if you will: how to become a serial killer for beginners. Only I transcended the teachers, made art, immortalised my legacy for others to imitate and aspire to for centuries to come…I’ll be the stuff of legends.”
CASE FILE - GHOST
Name: Silas Donnelly
Age: 24
Height: 5’11
Weight: 67kg
Hair: White
Eyes: Light blue-grey
Distinguishing Features: Chest and neck tattoo (see file for photo catalogue), scarring to scalp – cause unknown. Several genitalia piercings.
Alias: Ghost
Date of Arrival: 29/03/2020
Sentence: Six months. Temporary stay until a place becomes available at [REDACTED], hospital for the criminally insane.
Treatment: A wide range of therapies have proven unsuccessful, hence the hospital’s refusal to accept the patient, resulting in his extended stay here.
Crimes: [REDACTED]
SHE FINDS THE REST OF US WANTING
‘PSYCHOPATHS’ – AYELLE
GHOST
I’ve never been so pleased to see Doctor Seytan interrupt a therapy session. Once again it was Snow droning on and on about what a fucking genius he is and how, once he gets out of here, he’ll show them all.
