So

I'm gonna try to get to writing my romance comedy as soon as possible but right now i'm still trying to brainstorm about it.

Unnamed Serial Killer Story Chapters 4-7

Chapter Four
Or so I’d hoped. I didn’t quite decapitate him with one slice. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a strong guy. But, apparently I don’t have enough power to chop off someone’s head in a single action. In fact, it was closer to 5 single actions. But the important thing was that I got the job done. Julio whatever his last name was wouldn’t trouble anyone anymore. I looked around. What a mess. There’s so much blood. I love the color of blood. That shade is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. I walked to his car and grabbed my phone and took a picture of the blood. It almost seems romantic, blood in the moonlight. I looked down at the body. Gosh, I had so much work to do. I worked for three hours slicing up the body into tiny pieces. The only parts I kept intact were the head and the fingertips, which I put in my shirt pocket. Then, I cut a piece out of shirt and wiped down everything I’d touched. I put the keys of his corvette into the ignition and started it up. God that was a beautiful noise. It was so beautiful that I even hesitated a minute before following through with what I was had to do. I took out the machete and stabbed it into the gas tank. Gas started to spill out. I grabbed his head and put it on the accelerator. Then I shifted the gear to drive. The car would go off the edge of Make Out Point. Bon voyage. I had limited time to get out of there so I rushed and got into the truck and decided to take an off-road route. I heard the explosion of the car and looked into my mirror as I saw Make Out Point burning in glory. I drove back to the main road and then drove with all of the traffic to Make Out Point.
When I got up there I got out of the truck and stood with the crowd of people. The police had already formed a barricade and were telling people to go home. I turned to a nearby officer and asked what happened. He told me that he couldn’t tell me that information. I heard one of the detectives saying something about how something besides the gas had started that fire. I chuckled in my head, the hydrogen peroxide alone wouldn’t have done that. But when it mixed with his clothes it had made a highly flammable material. I turned and started to walk away when I tripped over some bitch’s dog. Who the fuck brings a dog to a fire? The fingers fell out of my pocket and people started to scream. I got up quickly and started to scream with them, but it was too late. They knew that I had the fingers in my pocket. I didn’t even try to run. I just stood there quietly as one of the detectives walked over, handcuffed me, and put me in a cruiser. Fuck.

Chapter Five
The trial went for five days before they were finally convinced that I was insane. I did that whole Edward Norton thing from Primal Fear. You know, where he had split-personality syndrome and it was the other personality that was a killer? Yeah, that’s right, and I pulled it off. As I walked out of the courtroom with the men in white I saw her. Her eyes were filled with pity and hate. And I think I saw a sliver of respect. Respect for getting a bad guy out of her life.
Once we got inside of the van to go to the institution they injected me with a sedative. Easier for them to handle me I guess.
I woke up and could barely see anything, my eyes were all blurry. When my eyes focused I looked around at the padded room I was in. All I heard was the buzzing of the single hanging light in the room. I looked down at my hands and saw dirt underneath my fingernails. So much dirt. I ran my tongue over my teeth. Fuzzy. I hate when my teeth get fuzzy. I started to get angry about not being able to brush my teeth and slammed myself into a wall. I slammed my shoulder into the wall. Slammed my face. My nose started bleeding and I wiped it away with the back of my hand. I started to smile. I love the color of blood.
I heard a metal grating noise as a doctor opened up that little square part of the door to look at me. I stood there waiting for him to say something. He never said a word. I started towards him and he closed it. I walked over to the wall where my blood was inching towards the floor and sat down against it. The little square opened up again and the doctor was staring at me. I decided to talk to him and started talking to him about how I was innocent and then argued with myself. I probably had to put on the split-personality act for a while so that I could stay here. But, as soon as I started to argue with myself he cleared his throat and told me to stop it. He told me that no one thought I had split-personality disorder for even a second. He told me that I was declared insane because of my communication skills. I looked at him questioningly. He said, “You have a normal brain and you function completely normally, but there are times where you have the emotional capacity of a fourteen year old. And with the communication skills, it’s actually a really fascinating concept. You can think completely normally, but when it comes to speaking or even writing you express yourself like a fourteen year old.” I ignored him, he could tell me all he wanted I wasn’t going to fall for this bullshit.
The little square squeaked shut and then the door opened with a creak. The doctor came inside and stood about four feet from me. I looked at his lab coat, Dr. Mendez was his name.

Chapter Six

I woke up in a dark room. My eyes took a while to adjust to a point where I could make things out better. I saw a figure striding towards me that stopped right next to me. I tried to movie to get away but I realized that I was strapped down. I saw a syringe.
I woke up with a jump in my room of white. I breathed a sigh of relief. Must have been a dream. My leg itched really badly. I couldn’t scratch it because of the straitjacket that I was in. I licked my teeth. Fuck, they were so fuzzy. I started to scream in anger and frustration. It sounded so animal like. The little square opened and a security guard asked what was wrong. I ran over and bared my teeth at him. “THAT! That’s what’s wrong, my teeth!” He scoffed and closed the square. I saw against the adjacent wall and rocked back and forth. A few minutes later the square opened and the guard told me to put my back to the door against the square. He reached and loosened my straitjacket so that I could budge myself out of it. While I did that very action the square closed and the bottom food giving square opened. He pushed in a small cup of water and a toothbrush with toothpaste on it. As soon as I freed myself I grabbed the toothbrush with my shaking hands and brushed my teeth. Oh god, it felt so good. My leg was starting to itch again so I went to scratch it. Pain shot through my leg. I took off my pants. Stitches. Why did I have stitches in my leg and when did I get them?
I looked for more and found one in the small of my back and found a scar I’d never seen before from my hip to my knee. What the hell was going on? Where did all these wounds come from? The little square opened up and Dr. Mendez looked in at me. “Found your wounds did you?” Silence. “I don’t know why you though you had to do it” he said. “He never hurt a soul in his life.” I coughed. “My son was destined for great things, and you had to take that from him.” I sat there confused. Then it hit me. His last name…Dr. Mendez was Julio’s father.

Chapter Seven
Dr. Mendez stood over me with a dark smile on his face. I remembered. Every night he came and sedated me, and I would wake up in the dark room. It wasn’t a dream. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to finally be able to do this” he said, “I’ve hardly been able to contain myself. But, you can probably tell from those scars. Those are the nights that I couldn’t bear to wait anymore, so I would just cut you a little bit, just so that I wouldn’t explode. I’ve waited five months and four days to do this.” Had it really been that long? Where had my sense of time gone? He walked towards me with menace in his eyes and a syringe in his hand. I looked to my right and saw my toothbrush. I grabbed it and jammed it into his eye. He screamed and I swept his legs and slammed him into the ground and I bit as hard as I could into his jugular and chewed on it until blood poured out. I started to walk away but turned around. I walked over to him writhing in agony and I pulled the toothbrush out of his eye. I don’t want my teeth to get fuzzy. I pried the syringe from his hand, just as a precaution.
The door was slightly ajar. I wondered if the man who’d brought me the toothbrush had heard Dr. Mendez. I slowly pushed it open with my foot, toothbrush at the ready. What a ridiculous situation, ready to strike with my toothbrush of doom. I stepped outside of the room and was caught by surprise. The building I was in was not a mental health facility at all, but rather an empty warehouse of sorts.

So..

I think it's funny that the only qualms that i have about joining the Air Force Reserve is that i would miss six sessions of D&D.

Alright.

So i have the end of my serial killer story but i'm missing parts of it :/

So i guess i'm either going have to try to find the piece of paper that i wrote that part on, or i'm going to have to rewrite all of this....i sincerely hope it's not the latter. That would really bum me out. But uh...meanwhile comment everything and tell me what you think! And if you have a title for my story then tell me :)

Serial Killer Story with no name Chapters 1-3

Chapter One
It all started with the sunglasses.
Those fucking glasses.
It started with the glasses, which lead to her, which led to him. The glasses I guess I could care less about, although the sun is quite bright. But it’s her that really got me. I met a girl and went on two dates with her and fell in love. Stupid right? Exactly, but us guys we have this idea of what our perfect girl would be like and when I basically met mine I pursued her without thought. The blood didn’t rush from my brain to my penis, but rather to my heart. I didn’t want to doubt that she could break my heart. And she actually never did. But god damn it. If only Julio Mendez had never existed you know? I wouldn’t have felt this deep turning in my stomach, the need to vomit, and the unbelievably annoying shaking that my whole body suffers through. Classic heartbreak, you know? That’s what finally set me into motion. See a couple months back I suffered through a horrible Saturday in which I didn’t get to hang out with any of my friends, didn’t have internet, and couldn’t watch TV. So on that day, I sat there and just thought. My thoughts just started out with normal thoughts, wondering what other people are doing. But eventually they led to my hidden thoughts, the thoughts of death. Not my death or death in general but murder. I’m pretty sure normal teenagers don’t think of murder. Especially at this degree. I even planned the perfect murder. Of course I’m not going to say what it was because obviously if anyone find out, I won’t get away with it.

Chapter Two
This is the story of my journey to my epiphany of my true purpose. See, in a time of sadness and despair I found my true calling in life.
Julio, Julio, Julio. That bastard was all I could think about for two weeks.
The pain.
The suffering.
The hurt.
Eventually it led back to the thoughts I had that sunny and metaphorically dark day without internet. I thought about that perfect plan. Did I really want to use it on this excuse for a man?
Yes.
Did I want to risk my sanity just to get revenge?
Yes.
Problem Solved.
I started to talk less in class, I let my nails and my hair grow out, I did keep brushing my teeth though. I hate it when my teeth get fuzzy. I started to stalk Julio.
I watched Julio laughing with his friends at the mall. Took notes. Saw his hair waving as he drove his fancy corvette convertible with the top down. Took notes. I watched him kiss her. Broke my pencil.
First time I’d broken a mechanical pencil before. I went to Office Depot to get some new ones and when I walked out, there he was. “Why the fuck are you following me, you creep?!” he shouted. I just stared at him. He punched me in the abdomen and I started to laugh. He repeatedly punched me in the face until the blood from my nose was all over my chin. I punched him in the throat and he started to cough. I took off running. I was not ready for this. I should have been more discreet. I got in the car and took a deep breath. I watched him get back into his car. I followed him home from a distance. I put my phone under the passenger seat of his corvette. Then, I drove home.
At home I washed off all the blood and prepared myself for what I was about to do. I scrubbed. I shaved. I cut my fingernails. I brushed my teeth.
I prepared for the task at hand, I took some deep breaths and then grabbed a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and my dad’s prized machete. You might be thinking about this perfect murder that I spoke of well stop, this isn’t it. I got my laptop and searched for the GPS location of my phone. Make out point. Not good, this meant that I’d need an off roading vehicle. I grabbed my dad’s truck and put the stuff into it. I blasted the song “Counting bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums” by A Perfect Circle to get me hyped up as I drove there.

Chapter Three
I sat there a moment and felt the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I was 50 feet from Make out Point. I should probably explain exactly what Make point Point is. It’s a point at the top of this hill that not too many people know about. Luckily, I know about it. And the best part, it’s totally secluded. Too perfect right? I turned off the radio and turned off the headlights. I drove up until I was about twenty feet away behind some brush. As I watched the car I reached over and started to stroke the edge of the machete in preparation. That’s when I noticed something. The girl in the car was blonde. It wasn’t her. He stole her from me and now he was cheating on her. I felt the blood start to rush through my body as I started to get angry. I scolded myself and took some deep breaths to calm myself down. I need my head clear to think. To plan. To strike.
I looked around the car and saw my dad’s phone charging. Perfect. I unplugged it from the car charger and called my phone. I watched as the blonde stopped what she was doing and asked if that was Julio’s phone. Then she looked around and found it and answered, “um…hello” “Julio has a girlfriend.” Quick, precise, and straight to the point. Those four words were all I had to say. I hung up. “Whose fucking phone is that?” “Shut up! You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend!” the blonde said as she put her jacket on and hopped out of the car. I smiled. I got out of the truck with the stuff. He got out of the car to get the blonde and spotted me. “You!” He started towards me and I sliced the machete down into his leg and got it stuck. Damn it. That’s the first time I’ve gotten a machete stuck. But, then again, that’s the first time I’ve used a machete. He screamed and fell. I smiled. I pulled the machete out with a tug. He started to crawl away which made me laugh, “Why do people try to crawl away when they know they won’t get away?” I took the cap off of the hydrogen peroxide with my teeth and poured some onto his leg. He let out a cry and I laughed at the fear in his eyes. I held the machete over my head and cut into his abdomen. No feeling as good as ruining a perfectly toned six pack. I emptied the bottle of hydrogen peroxide on his abdomen and he cried out in pain. I watched him squirm like the pathetic little worm he was and with all my strength behind the slice I decapitated him.

The World As I Know It.

Late night shopping spree. Anything, everything. No item is left unpurchased. I’m plunged into darkness. I can’t help but to buy these things. But, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. But that light, turns out not to be an exit, but a flashlight, there to help me escape. But how can one escape when they don’t know how or where they’re trapped? I can’t help but wonder if maybe, if possibly I might be trapped in my own body. My body might be a limitation, an anchor that weighs down my mind. If that’s the case then I don’t know what I can do. I buy 17 boxes of powdered donuts. I hear a giggle behind me. I turn around expecting to see a little girl. But, there’s no one there. I laugh to myself and turn back around to see that there’s no one at the cash register. There never was. Everything in my fucked up life is imagination. I grab the bag filled with my boxes of donuts and leave the empty store. I walk down the desolate street and I swear I see a tumbleweed. I don’t feel like going home tonight so I decide to break into a house three blocks down. I pick the lock and hope, just hope, that someone is behind the door waiting to bash my head in and end my misery. As I nudge open the door, a chill runs down my spine followed by a drop of my heart. Before me is an empty room, I see a light peeking from underneath a door and walk over to it and open it. The light comes from static on the television set. Across the room is a very comfortable looking recliner. I sit in it and start to eat my donuts. I dream the same dream I always have. There’s a woman, she’s meant to be my "true love." I kiss her head but am never able to distinguish any features. All I see are her big brown eyes staring into mine, and all I feel is love. I wake up with a jerk in a cloud of powdered sugar and I start to cough. That dream has become a nightmare to me.

Chapter 2

I search the house until I find a shower and then I wash away the dream and all of the memories. I get out of the shower and realize I have no towel. It’s not like it matters anyway. No one will see me. I stand in front of the mirror looking into my own eyes and start to think. Think of what it would look like if my eyes exploded for no reason. What I would look like if I were bleeding from every orifice. I fall into a dream like state as I am entranced by my own eyes. I think of what things might have been like in my past if I knew what I knew now. When I finally snap out of it I’m completely dry. How long have I been standing here? No matter, the sands of time can’t be slowed. Or even rushed for that matter, no matter how much I may want it. I rummage through all the closets in the house and eventually come upon one filled with suits. I find a very nice pink suit and put it on. I’ve always liked the color pink despite the fact that it’s associated with being female. That might even be why I’ve always liked it. The suit is a bit big on me but I don’t mind. I look in the mirror and remember a moment from my childhood.

I’m sixteen. I’m wearing a suit for the first time. I’m fidgeting because the collar is so tight and I want to unbutton it. My dad yells at me, “Don’t you dare unbutton that collar! I still have to put your necktie on!” I flip him off and he punches my arm. It really hurts. He puts the necktie on me and has me put the suit jacket on. Then he tells me to look in the mirror. I stand there and I see not some sixteen year old kid, but a vision of the prospective future. My dad says, “Now we may need to get you a bigger jacket, I thought you were a 36 medium but it looks like you might be a 38.” I barely hear him over the glorified cheers I hear in my head. I’m imagining me being a really successful businessman that everybody loves. Or someone famous. All I know is that I want to be loved. The suit makes me feel loved. It’s just a regular black and white suit with a black necktie. The only unique feature of it is the cufflinks. Pink little pigs. Dad got them when he got his first suit 41 years ago. I’ve heard the story many, many times.

Chapter 3

The reflection in the mirror changes from a sixteen year old me in a black and white suit to me now. I let out a gasp of air and feel a cold sweat on my brow. It’s always painful when thinking of the things I’ve lost. I smooth down the pants and walk out of the house. The day is cold and there’s a heavy fog. I feel as if my breath is feeding the fog. As I breathe out, the smoke blends into the fog and disappears. I hear children laughing and parents yelling for them not to run too far off. It sounds more like echoes than actual voices. I hate the lack of solidity in my life. Everything flows, everything changes. My eyes start to tear up as a cloud of hopelessness starts to course through my veins. I fall to my knees and just weep for a good 7 minutes and 23 seconds. The longest I’ve ever cried is 8 minutes and 1 second. Every time I cry I dedicate my tears to them. It may not sound like it means much, but believe me it does. I hear the song Woman, by Wolfmother, unsure if it’s out loud or in my head. But, nonetheless it reminds me again of my past. I’m 17, I’m arguing with my best friend. I’m angry, angry at every girl I’ve ever tried to date. We’re yelling at each other I scream, “There’s no girl to fucking care about. No girl is worth that. None!” He screams back, “Lies. It’s all you want to see. There’s so much more right in front of your eyes. You focus on that.”

“I’ve been through enough shit through all my friends. Nothing has redeemed my faith in women. All I see left and right are women screwing men over.”

“Guys screw over women just as much, if not more. And sometimes it actually works out”

“Guys screw over women because of what has happened to them.”

“You’re generalizing. And you’re trying to justify the mistreatment of women.”

“That’s what has happened to me. I’m sure it’s happened to other guys, and I’m not trying. I’m doing. Women deserve to be mistreated because they’re bitches and they don’t know their fucking place.”

“You’re wrong and you know it. That’s a bunch of bullshit and I don’t care who this girl had sex with; nothing makes it okay for you to say that.”

“I say it because it’s the truth. Guys can like a girl so much and actually be willing to do anything for them and the girls just don’t care. Women wield too much power these days and it needs to be taken away from them.”

“That’s not even true. Gender has nothing to do with someone’s ability to care for another.”

I slip back into the present and fall.

Chapter 4

I smile. Sometimes I forget how emotional I used to be. Hell, how emotional I still am. I have a theory. If someone never hinders their emotion in any way and experiences all of the emotions at the right time, then they can live life happily. But right now I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation, but sometimes it just gets too hard. I decide to walk to the mall. It’s pretty early so I don’t really expect to see anyone. While I’m walking past a department store I see a pretty lady. I walk in and pretend to look at clothes but in reality I’m looking at her. She never acknowledges me, just stands there, posing as if she were a model in a photo shoot. I feel awkward for staring so long. I walk out and down to the food court and go to fill up a cup I find with coke. Or at least attempt to. None of the nozzles give me any refreshment. The machine needs to be refilled. I’d complain if I could. I go to a store that has furniture and I sit down. It hurts. Not the couch I’m sitting on, but my heart. My heart hurts with uncertainty and certainty at the same time. My hands start to shake and I lay down. It’d be quite a spectacle for people to see. I remember the day it happened and I cry. I cry because I am stupid. I cry because all I have is wishes that I could’ve done something. I cry. I sit up and stop myself gradually and just listen to myself breathing erratically. I stand up and smooth out the pink suit. I decide that maybe I should change and talk to that girl. I go to the store that the girl was at and find her standing in the same place. I walk past and look at shirts. I find a nice white polo shirt and some jeans. I go to the dressing room. I don’t know why I go to the dressing room, force of habit I guess. I change into the polo and jeans and walk over to the girl. “Hey…uh hi, I just wanted to ask you what it feels like to be one of the prettiest girls in the room.” Fuck, I screwed that up. It should have been prettiest, not one of the prettiest. It doesn’t matter, she doesn’t answer. And I don’t hear anyone laughing at me. Maybe I just didn’t say it loud enough. I walk up to her determined to talk to her and tap her shoulder. It’s hard like plastic. She doesn’t turn around. She just stands there, in that same stupid pose. I get mad and grab her arm, it pops off. My mind starts racing and my heart beats a million miles a minute. I’m such an idiot; she must have had a prosthetic arm which would explain why she didn’t turn around when I tapped her. I start to apologize, stumbling over words. But then I realize, she still hasn’t turned around. This is what my life has come to, hitting on and apologizing to mannequins. A funny though pops into my head; I wish I could see what those girls would do. The ones that told me, “Not if you were the last guy on earth!” Because well, I am the last man on earth..