Stupid Devi. Stupid stupid stupid Devi. Don't infer. Don't guess what Im about to say. Don't assume she was the first person I reached out to and fell in love with and then she broke my heart, embittering me even more.

Because I just told you.

Well, she didn't really break my heart. She just kicked my ass when I tried to kill her. What the fuck do you want, exactly? I'm not sure why I did that, and I kind of wish I hadn't. I really wish she was around sometimes, though. Sometimes I stare up at the stars wondering why I'm alone, why I'm the one that's damned. Why can't I be oblivious like the pretty people? Why me? Why me? Why am I alone? I wanted to sit with her under those stars and kiss her. Yeah... me... I'm never supposed to feel that way. Because I'm a freak. I'm a freak and all I do is kill. I'm not supposed to feel lonely or romantic. Or even horney. I suppose no caucasion white male my age has ever wanted to fuck something until he pops, but well, I have.

I thought about raping someone before I kill them. But the people I kill, I rarely regard as good enough entities to want to share a part of my body with. I really don't like the people I kill at all, why would I want to stick myself in them? Perhaps killing a pretty blonde I don't know and then raping the body? No... I'm a lot of fucked up things, but nechrophiliac isn't exactly one of them.

Those stars. There are too many of them. What was God thinking? Why are there so many of those fucking things? It looks like someone sprayed black canvas with white hot mercury and let it burn holes in the material. There were too many of them, they made the world bright at this time of night. You don't want to see anything when you're lonenly.

The particular night that these thoughts entered my mind, I was exhausted. I'm an insomniac, but I was still tired. However when you hate yourself like I do, sleep is a thing to be feared. I wanted to be awake, I wanted to be somewhere with someone. I was begining not to care who. Just not Mr. Fuck or Phsycodoughboy. I see too much of them. And Nailbunny's starting to attract flies. Sometimes I wish I hadn't killed Nailbunny. Sometimes.

You know how I said I stopped caring? My house is a testimony to my contempt for existing. My walls are all white, except, of coarse for one of my basements' walls. I have a bed that I don't use, and a refridgerator with very little food in it, and very little of that food is before it's experation date. Kind of like the poor bastards that come into my house and don't leave. Beyond that, my clothes reflect that they're there only to cover my skinny little body. Black t-shirt, blach jeans, black coat. I have several versions of the above. Why? Not to represent my 'depression' or my 'artistic (yeah right) perogative', but only because that's what I have and I don't feel like buying anything else. As you may have guessed, I'm not one on public appearances. They frighten me, and I frighten them. We get along fine.

I put on my stupid black trench coat and got in my stupid ragtag car and started driving. I didn't know where I was driving to, but if you notice, you can get in your car and drive somewhere so your mind has something to do while you listen to music. Do you know where I found myself? It's the last place I ever expected to find myself. The last place in the entire world. For my entire life I avoided places like this like one who treasures their life avoids the plague. The top of Hessian's Point. Where all the stupid high school fucks go to fuck their stupid high school fucking girlfriends.

I won't go in to high school. Don't guess about it. Don't assume that it was miserable. They didn't beat me up often, not more often than the average geek, maybe five times in four years, when arguments heated up. I didn't have very many friends, of coarse. I generally was ignored by teachers and students alike, and I liked it that way. So high school wasn't my worst memory. But I'll tell you the most valuable lesson I learned there. High school is the midway checkpoint during the journey of ugly hearted children becoming ugly hearted adults. So I just avoided them all. I've never had a girlfriend and I've never been kissed. And I don't care. Most of the time.

And Devi, stupid stupid fucking Devi was pretty and she painted and she wore a lot of black and we were okay together. Except that I don't like and didn't like how dependant on her I'd become in only a few days, how I admired her every move and drank up her every word. So I handled this situation in a way similar to the other situations I come across. I tried to kill her. Of coarse, she got away and I'm okay with that. I haven't really seen her since.

But yeah, there I sat in my fucking car watching the little fucks kissing and fucking in their fucking cars to a lovely view that was being wasted on the little fucks, who weren't paying attention to it. That's how I felt the situation was with Devi. The world was too busy fucking itself up to realize how amazing she is. Or 'was'. Fuck you, grammar.

I don't smoke, but I would have taken it up to have something to do with my hands. I was just as uneasy here as I'd been at home. I quietly congratulated my subconscious on finding the one place in the world that could make me feel worse about myself. I sat there staring at the city lights... a whole city of people whom I could weed out the undeserving of life and take it from them. "Kind of like a modern day Robin Hood, only I take life instead of money. And uh, if I ever figure out a way to redistribute it to the deserving, I'll get on it. My eyes scanned to horizon so my mind could wander. I kind of wanted to paint the horizon, except that the creative part of my mind is long burned out and it's been done. So I just enjoyed it.

The horn sounded from a car next to me. I slowly turned my head, unwilling to even acknowledge this disturbance in my quiet. Some little bastard that had leaned against the car horn in the 'heat of passion' if you can even call it passion. "These little shits will never know passion", I thought to myself. Even so, I needed something to do with my hands. So I got out of the car. I sauntered over to the other car. A black Montey Carlo. I knocked on the window, and the guy in the front seat slowly rolled it down. The girl in the front seat was a cheerleader, probably naked under her boyfriend's letterman jacket, and the boy was wearing a football jersey. Backwards.

"Are you a cop?"

"Are you doing anything you should be arrested for?" I said. I said it as more of an answer than a question.

"Look, fuck you, freak!" the kid snapped at me.

I flip for stupid reasons. I just didn't like the "middle town America" feel the couple reaked of. A football player and a cheerleader fucking in daddy's car... just made me want to vomit. So I pulled the door of the car open and unloaded my handgun into the boys head. I threw the football player into the back of the car, childsafety locked the doors, and drove away with one scared little bitch.

I pulled into my driveway and opened the door of the car. The girl was cussing me out, calling me every name in the book. I just nodded politely. She was crying too. Tsk tsk... she should be more cheery.

If anything about her had been the least bit... abnormal... if she hadn't been blonde haired, blue eyed, 120 pounds of otherwise uncorrupted youth, I probably wouldn't have killed her, because she hadn't done anything to me. But one thing I guess is interesting about me is that little things piss me off. I took her by the hair and drug her into my house and threw her against the wall. She fell to her knees, crying.

"Fuck you! Why are you doing this?"

I ignored her. I grabbed a spark plug and car battery from a pile of mismatched junk on the kitchen table. The spark plug I discarded, but the battery found a special place in my heart for dismemberment. I took it and a knife and retreated to my little friend in the living room. Mr. Fuck stood near the door to the stairs just watching me. I heard him murmur "I like when people die" as I left the room. I probably should have told him to shut up or something.

She sat on the floor. She had indeed been naked under the jacket. All she had on was a thong and the jacket, which was open. I almost wanted to give her some of my clothes to put on before I killed her but... I like my clothes. She had her knees pulled to her chest.

"Why are you doing this?" she sobbed.

I cleared off the kitchen table. "Get on," I instructed. She stared at me mutely. "I said get on the table."

She stood slowly and sat on the table, swinging her legs up. "Are you going to rape me?"

I chuckled to myself. "I like to unwrap my candy honey, and you're not exactly-"

She slapped me. That fucking bitch... slapped me. Me. I sighed internally and smasher her accross the face with the car battery. She wheeled back crying. I grabbed a hammer off the floor and some nails. "Lay down."

She just stared at me. So I grabbed a fist full of blonde hair and imade/i her lay down. She cried some more. So I nailed her hands to the table. I didn't even bother with her feet, she wasn't going anywhere. I cracked the battery open on the kitchen table. She picked her head up.

"W-what are you doing?" she asked.

I stood over her and dripped battery acid onto her face. It splashed onto her cheeks and lips, and I chuckled to myself. She tried to roll out of the way, but the nails held her fast, though I do think she tore skin trying to get away, which made me laugh again. I did this for about and hour, and then I began to grow tired. She was horribly disfigured. It was kind of over.

I sat down so I was eye level with her. "What's your name, by the way?"

I gave her a moment to calm her screams, and asked her again. In a shakey inaudible voice, she mummbled "Sara Johnsen." So I cut her head off.