PROLOGUE
The eyes cried red tears as the corpse laid there. It was a bit artistic, the way the blood ran down the walls, hand prints smeered as if a child's painting. I loved it, it was beautiful, the way I threw him against the wall, took a knife, and cut his throat, the nice warm, clean cut of the blade penetrating the throat.
"Ah!" The man yelled, waking from a horrid nightmare. Thinking, what was it? Why was I dreaming that, but then again, maybe he was going crazy, slipping a little. Snapping! Or maybe just a bad dream as he thought as he walked to work that morning. His name was Jason Riley, a computer software designer for a large corperation called "Compu-Tex". A very wealthy company. Jason seemed to enjoy his job, but a lot of people didn't realy know him, or even get to know who Jason Riley is.
Jason walked andnotice a girl with hot pink hair standing at the corner, it was day time, and found it odd that the prostitutes came out at this time. He figured they were because of the short mini skirt made o f latex and the tube tube top that only hookers would wear. Or something similar. The same day, the same life he thought to himself. Where was his life going, why was he dreaming those dreams. Yes, he has dreamt these before. There was one about a girl he saw earlier that week, he thought she was pretty, until she bumped into him rudely, she snapped at him,
"Watch it! You fuckin prick!" Jason wasn't impressed, thats when he started having these dreams of killing these people he met, one by one, throwing axes at their chest, cutting off one pieces of their body. Removing one organ from their chest, Jason prefered the intestines, he liked the grooves they made, the way it was shaped. He believed , that is what the art of killing was, and he wanted to show it to the world anounimisly. He wanted to do this but he believed that this wasn't murder, but art, all his dreams were, were inspirations from the higher beings. He was a gift to show to the world, something that no one had. He was the new artist, the new creator of a newer, mordern art...called murder, a pleasant term he believed.
The eyes cried red tears as the corpse laid there. It was a bit artistic, the way the blood ran down the walls, hand prints smeered as if a child's painting. I loved it, it was beautiful, the way I threw him against the wall, took a knife, and cut his throat, the nice warm, clean cut of the blade penetrating the throat.
"Ah!" The man yelled, waking from a horrid nightmare. Thinking, what was it? Why was I dreaming that, but then again, maybe he was going crazy, slipping a little. Snapping! Or maybe just a bad dream as he thought as he walked to work that morning. His name was Jason Riley, a computer software designer for a large corperation called "Compu-Tex". A very wealthy company. Jason seemed to enjoy his job, but a lot of people didn't realy know him, or even get to know who Jason Riley is.
Jason walked andnotice a girl with hot pink hair standing at the corner, it was day time, and found it odd that the prostitutes came out at this time. He figured they were because of the short mini skirt made o f latex and the tube tube top that only hookers would wear. Or something similar. The same day, the same life he thought to himself. Where was his life going, why was he dreaming those dreams. Yes, he has dreamt these before. There was one about a girl he saw earlier that week, he thought she was pretty, until she bumped into him rudely, she snapped at him,
"Watch it! You fuckin prick!" Jason wasn't impressed, thats when he started having these dreams of killing these people he met, one by one, throwing axes at their chest, cutting off one pieces of their body. Removing one organ from their chest, Jason prefered the intestines, he liked the grooves they made, the way it was shaped. He believed , that is what the art of killing was, and he wanted to show it to the world anounimisly. He wanted to do this but he believed that this wasn't murder, but art, all his dreams were, were inspirations from the higher beings. He was a gift to show to the world, something that no one had. He was the new artist, the new creator of a newer, mordern art...called murder, a pleasant term he believed.