Once upon a time, a serial killer decided to keep an online journal. He hoped it would lead to fame and fortune. Or free coffee. He began writing his words of wisdom years ago… unfortunately, all of his previous ramblings were lost in the latest server move. Apologies. The sane author shall do her best to locate those old postings and restore them, but, alas, she doesn’t have much hope. Apologies.
Woo-hoo! I got ’em! I got ’em! Yay, me!!! *happy dance*
you may wonder what is so special about me, why i am supremely superior to those around me . . . and i suppose you have the right to wonder . . . just as i have the right to ignore your insipid meanderings.
it’s my life, after all . . . it’s my choice, how i live . . . you cannot influence me.
it’s for me to choose.
No one would really know your name. You would be
called by what you do. For example, if you burn
your victims to death all the time, you would
be known as The Arsonist, or if you knife them,
you would be known as The Slasher. You would be
the mysterious killer who strikes at sporadic
times, and would be very difficult to catch.
You might dress up and mask yourself when you
perform your horrible killings. Your identity
would really be a mystery. Obviously you would
be wanted all over the place, and authorities
would desperately try to capture you. Even if
you were caught, you would not say much. The
public would greatly fear you because you could
just strike unexpectedly.
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