The memory of a murderer, it is a wondrous thing. Most people remember birthdays, family gatherings, or birth of children. Of course, I remember these also, see them with a floating eye, but this eye does not feel. Not as it does when I take life. When I remember those special ones, I can see their faces and I feel their blood. The slight heat that matches mine, the fading of warmth as life slips away. Subtle difference. This is what I see, this is what I feel within my memories.
His name was Brad. He was the prick at work that everybody hated. Well, to say what I see as a cliché, hate is a strong word. Jokes behind his back, his arrogant attitude and know it all manner. In all truth, it wasn't even that. It was how you could let it go, try to give him a chance and get along with him, then get screwed over at the earliest convenient moment. Whatever he could do to get over on somebody, he would do it. So I simply returned the favor.
Such a beautiful woman to watch sleep. This has always been my favorite part of a meaningful relationship, seeing her sleep so peacefully. She almost looks angelic. So far away in her dreams, but I know some part of her is dreaming of the one next to her in this bed. I don't know how, but I just know. I always have to play just a little though, it's just too irresistible.