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JON-A Day in the life of a Serial Killer Chapter 6. Wishful Thinking

Short story By: jon bladez
Horror


Chapter 6. Wishful Thinking


Submitted:May 7, 2013    Reads: 20    Comments: 1    Likes: 1   


Chapter 6. Wishful Thinking



I don't remember how many small towns, truck stops, and roadside cafes I've stopped at and grabbed some easy prey, but who really gives a shit, right? This is just some stupid story, right? Anybody that knows me could say Jon isn't possibly going around murdering people, but then again, how the fuck do they know, right? Do they see my every move, or do they make the same mistake my victims made and assume I'm just not that type of guy? If only people could crawl deep into the depths of my mind and perceive the real truth for themselves, they would probably sleep better at night. That is the only way they would know for sure whether this was just another work of fiction, a fairytale for which there were no consequences, a mere figment of my imagination. I wish I knew the truth sometimes myself, but the fact is, I can't really remember how many people I've killed, if any at all. I don't feel like I'm the one doing this, it's something deep inside of me that takes control of me, feeding on my very soul, inhabiting me. I usually will feel a temper start to build up inside of me, along with a burning desire to destroy something and set myself free. I think I was put here to bring a balance to nature, eliminating that which is weak, becoming the creator and executioner of the world's nightmares. I hate most of the people I come across nowadays, mostly blind and ignorant fools too lazy to look up and see what's happening around them, hence their stupid expressions that haunt my dreams at night. I wish I could have worked for the government and done this shit for a living because I love the hours, and could care less about the sheep reproducing into the early hours in today's modern society. If only Uncle Sam knew what he had let go, what he had created, but then again I wouldn't be the first one he's trained to not give a fuck about human life. The truth is the list goes on and on and it will never stop, serving a need as the grim reapers of war, the servants of solitude and the derelicts of destruction. I can see the sun just now starting to rise on the horizon, casting a purple shadow across the hillsides as I continue on towards what I'm guessing is my destiny. I was thinking I was somewhere in the middle of Kentucky, or Bum Fuck Egypt if you asked me, since I didn't have a map and the truck just happened to be ill equipped with OnStar. Looking down at my blood stained watch I can see it's a quarter till six in the morning, the once restless dog was still snoring in the passenger's side floor board, and all was well for the time being anyways. I figured I would have to eat some real food soon, but I didn't have a lot of money left, so I was going to have to be rather thrifty, depending on the circumstances anyways. I let out a big yawn and watch as the suns yellow rays are now in full bloom, glistening like a sunflower after a fresh spring rain, reminiscent of my days living in Missouri. I can feel them hit my face through the spotted windshield, nurturing my skin and caressing my face with its warmth, causing my eyes to squint and remain heavy. God! What I wouldn't do for a hooker with some Cocaine right about now, or anybody with Amphetamines for that matter. I don't know why a hooker was the first person that came to mind, maybe because they always have the best blow, probably to give blowjobs all night. I can't imagine wanting to suck dicks into the wee hours of the morning while being completely SOBER, unless you were just a total whore, but that wouldn't surprise me nowadays either. I wish I could just kill the person that I've become without going to Hell, even though Hell would probably be better than living here with these demons I'm wrestling with on a now hourly basis. I will hope and pray that good ole Johnny law catches up to me and puts a bullet in my head, silencing all the screams that awaken me in the middle of the night, freeing me from the grasp of cold sweat. I wish my life would've turned out different sometimes, you know, it's not like I've always wanted to be like this when I grew up. Hell, I wanted to be a fireman, helping people from burning to death, imagine that? The Sun continues to rise and cast its shadows across the landscape, various wildlife ponders the idea of darting across the road in front of me. I can't believe this old truck is still running, makes me think they sure as fuck don't make them like they used to, but they never have. Takes me back to a time when I had my whole life ahead of me, when I was still innocent, still unaware of the hidden dangers of society. It's too late now anyways to give a fuck about what could've been, and what I would have done, let alone if I would have even done anything different at all for that matter. I know someday soon this nightmare that is slowly consuming me will devour me once and for all, and I will finally get the peace of mind that I so desperately seek. I often wonder when that day will come, and if I'll be ready to embrace death like those that embraced me when I momentarily came into their lives. I wonder if I'll have that same dull, lifeless expression captured in my eyes, freezing the exact moment that all I ever was ceased to exist. All I ever was going to be to those people was a case number, stashed away in some file somewhere, to be forgotten one day just like the rest of the worthless bastards to cross them. Why should I give a fuck anyways what the world thinks of me after I'm gone, that's just vanity talking, telling me that I must be remembered for all the horrible shit I've done. Truth is, Generations down the road, I don't want anyone to have to pay the price for my sins. I will wash my hands in the blood of my own sins and I will pay the ultimate sacrifice for them, which is hopefully an imminent death. I will destroy everything that is beautiful in the world and lay waste to all that is frail and weak, bringing forth the wrath and destruction of both you and I. I can see a sign alongside the highway that reads Suzy's Café 5 miles ahead, and my stomach lets out a loud grumble in agreement with the idea of stopping in for a bite. I hope today is the day all this finally comes crashing to an end. I sure as hell will make sure I do my best to make sure that happens, no matter what, I will never stop seeking my death within yours. I pull off the highway and coast straight into the cafes parking lot, pulling right up in front to get a better view at the patrons inside. Judging by the few cars outside, I'd say there's perhaps one customer, a waitress, and possibly a fry cook to deal with inside, which should come as no problem for a guy of my stature and mentality to handle. I leave the dog sleeping inside the truck and step out into the fresh morning air, stretching my limbs, listening to various bones and joints crack and settle into place within my body. I take out a cigarette and light it up, taking a few drags, staring off into the distant horizon where I had just come from changing the world, for a few people anyways. I take a few more puffs off my cigarette and stomp it out into the ground, extinguishing its life, and head towards the front door. As I slowly walk up and place my hand on the door knob, I wonder if inside was the answer to my prayers, or was it just the beginning of another nightmare.





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