A short story by Ashley Lopez
*DISCLAIMER: a possibly very disturbing creative fiction short story about a psychopath
I’m going to sound a bit crazy right now. A bit out of my mind. A bit out of my element. But, maybe—hopefully: significant.
My name is Jessie and I’ve always been turned on by the act of murder, but even more so, making it impossible for the police to know what was used to kill someone. Okay, here’s the thing. Let’s pretend I have my target. Okay, I’m kidding. I do have my target. I’m ready. I know who I want to kill and how I want to do it. I want to be able to take my time. Feel every quiver, every muscle tense up, every drop of sweat that slides down her body. I want to relish my first time murdering someone. Firsts are always memorable.
The first time you have sex. The first time you fall in love. The first time you get your period. The first time you get drunk. The first time you get high. The first time you murder someone—my very first murder. It’s going to be special. It must be special. I need it to be exceptional.
Now, I’m not going to share with you how I plan to kill her; I don’t want anyone stealing my genius idea. I don’t want people to think it’s okay to kill their soon-to-be victim the way I will kill mine. This has to be my distinct moment. My time to shine. From what I’ve researched, this hasn’t been done before. A part of me almost wants to share my plan to get applauded for my fabulous slaying. I’m sure I’d get some kind of prize. Is there a prize for the most unique homicide? Maybe in prison there is. Ah, my people await me.
My 49 years of life has come down to this moment. To this despicable woman. I’ve been prolonging this. Fighting the urge. Trying not to kill. Trying not to wonder what cutting through flesh feels likes. Trying not to bite my lip during a murder scene in movies. But after 49 long years, I am convinced I am not what people call “sane” or “stable” just as I am convinced that this woman deserves to die.
I know what you’re thinking. What you’re wondering. You’re dying to know how I’ll do it. You’re probably kind of freaking out about it. Unfortunately, for you, after the deed is done you will still never know. But when this is all over, you will be so enticed to reward me.
The last obstacle in my way: how do I make it impossible for the forensics team to assess my murder weapon?