I Am the Killer

There have been a series of mysterious murders and disappearances in my town. No bodies, no DNA from the killer, no signs of a break-in, only one spray paint mark on the walls that is always the same, big comical letters saying "All bite, no bark,". All detectives are stumped, nobody knows what happened and who this person is. Except for me. Because I, James Gill, am the killer.

My fiance was going on and on about work, her friends, her parents, everything. As I was stirring the meaty soup I made for my fiance and I, I looked at her and said, "What if I was the killer?" I smirked. She laughed, "Nah, you could never. You don’t have the balls!" I laughed, "Wow, she is so so so blind, so utterly stupid," I thought. "If you're the killer, what do you do with the bodies?" She asked, still laughing. "Feed them to you of course!" I yelled back to her as I poured her a bowl of red, meaty soup. She laughed while I brought her soup. A few minutes later, I looked into her dumb blue eyes and said, "I am the killer." I kept my face as serious as possible. "I don't think so." She said folding her arms stubbornly. "Wow, Grace. You don't think I have the balls?" I said picking up my old unused steak knife, walking along the side of the table slowly. She laughed, “You won’t hurt me.” I ran towards her as fast as I could and tickled her, causing her to fall to the ground laughing and laughing. I grabbed the knife and tried to stab her, “BABE?!” she screamed, “THAT’S NOT FUNNY!” she started to cry. I dropped the knife, “You think I’d just kill you like that? There’s a process. I gotta feed you only the best food for a few days or so, make sure your nice and healthy.” she sobbed into the brown carpet, “Then I’ll kill you, skin you, cut you up, and eat you.” She tried to scream but I grabbed her chin, “Now, now, we can’t have any of that. I have to kill you sloppy.” She was being suspiciously quiet for a second, no tears, no trying to escape, just slight movements here and there. I turned my head when I heard a loud truck drive past our house, “Why are those trucks so loud. They arent even fas-” that’s when she stabbed me in my lower back, barely missing my kidney, I pulled the knife out like to was nothing, I didn’t even flinch, “It’s always noting.” I sighed, “I don’t feel emotion unless I kill, I do feel pain, physically. I’m just too damn mad to process it! YOU SON OF A BI#CH!” I screamed in her face turning the knife onto her. I stabbed her once, in the chest, blood came gushing out of her mouth. She groaned and cried, “Please, don’t,” she said softly, “you’re so much better than this, my love,” she tried to bring her hand to my face but I paid no attention, I just kept stabbing, each stab felt better than the last. I’d hated her ever since I first laid eyes on her, so gullible. She was the perfect girl, blind to the facts, even blinder in love, a poor sense of humor. All I had to do was get her, brainwash her into loving me, and boom, the plan will be a success. I never knew how well it’d play out. She loved me so much, and all I wanted to do was rip her up. I stopped when there was blood splattered on the walls, ceiling, table, everything. When I knew she was dead, I looked at her, grabbed her face, and said, “I’m sorry sweetheart. I don’t love you. I don’t love anyone. Psychopaths aren’t capable of "love". Idiot” I smashed her face into the ground and looked up at the ceiling, “What now?” I said aloud looking back at my girlfriend’s dead, bloody, ripped-open body, “Oooh, yes, the final task,” I threw the knife and grabbed the landline. I dialed 911 and waited. “911 what’s your emergency?” the operator said, “The killer I found her, I killed her. My name is James Gill, she was my fiance, Grace Chile, she tried to kill me, but she couldn’t. She was too late, I got to her before she could hurt me bad. She came behind me with a steak knife and stabbed me near my kidney, I threw her to the ground and grabbed the knife, then I just stabbed and stabbed. I was filled with anger and guilt. I think she was feeding me the bodies.” I fake gaged, “4786 Tributary Ally, I need an ambulance and the police. I can’t believe it was here the whole time. I’ve never been more disgusted with myself, with my ignorance.” I groaned in pain. “Oh my… It’s all gonna be ok sir. They’ll be there in 15 minutes, stay on the line,” she said softly. I leaned against the wall, muted myself on the phone, and laughed. I did it, I killed 27 people and got away with all of them. Everything they needed was in my house, the bodies are in her closet, in the attic, in a freezer. Names and pictures of everything, without any fingerprints. I’d gotten away with it. I heard the loud annoying sirens, I always thought when I heard them I’d know it was my time to be behind bars. As I lied there laughing about the pain and how easy it was to get away with murder, I slowly passed out. I dreamed of the memories, of each murder, each bloody gruesome, murder, I wondered if what I did was selfish. But as a wise man once said, “Even psychopaths have feelings; then again, maybe not,” I know what I do is right, every stab was meaningful, every punch, kick, slam in the head with a metal bar, everything. I’m a Christian man, and I know all of it was meant to fill the part of my soul that God didn’t let me have. God made me a psychopath because the people I killed were gonna do bad things. But God also knew I will do more bad things. They know and they will take me soon, but not yet. Whenever they choose to take me, they can have me, I open my arms to the thing most humans fear most, death.