NOMAD-The Diary Of A Serial Killer

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Featured Review on this writing by KIZZAY

Hello. My name is not important right now but what is, is that I am a serial killer. I'm going to try and attempt to write my story, so after I'm dead, you will have no doubts about why I did what I did. I think it's because I simply don't care to live anymore, and I'm too much of a coward to commit suicide. Real men die in a hail of gunfire; riddled with bullets, every entry wound proof of justice prevailing for all the horrors they've commited along the way. I bought a small pre-paid phone to upload and write this story on, so I can keep you updated along the way. Have you ever wondered who a serial killer really was, well it could be anybody, even me behind you in line at the grocery store. I guess you'll have to read to find out. If I had the chance I would slaughter every single one of you who finds my daily torments entertaining, but oh well, maybe we'll meet soon. If I have stopped mid sentence it means I'm busy creating more content and living life,while taking yours for granted, or I'm fleeing the scene of my latest crime. Bear with me though, and I'll make this a ride you'll never forget. Sweet dreams my fans, I'll see you soon in your dreams or in person.

Presently at the moment, as I type this on a cheap pre-paid AT&T GoPhone I picked up at a local grocery store several states back, I'm waiting here in line at a local truck stop gas stations mini mart. I start listening to all the people complaining about the most minute details of their boring lives,thinking to myself, "I swear, the world is filled with most self centered douche bags no matter where you go. I kind of think I'm doing you and society a favor by getting rid of some of them." I laugh to myself which causes the hillbilly in front of me, who by the way I've been smelling for the last fifteen minutes or so, to turn around and give me what he would consider an intimidating glare. I laugh even harder because if he only knew of the things I've done and have seen less than 3 hours ago, in a town he was probably raised in and to someone he might possibly know or be related to, he would've thought twice about his insignificant gesture. These little rural towns are so small that It's totally possible that my latest victim was his kin, and he just hasn't heard the news just yet, since she's still lying motionless where I left her hours prior. this causes him to get a little in my face and he asks, "Are we going to have a problem?" I see now that I can handle this many ways, but I decide this isn't really place to let my inhibitions run loose, so I cowardly replied, "No,Sir, I'm sorry. I'm just a little goofy and irritated from a long night on the road, and that I meant no disrespect." He chuckles after cracking his knuckles, and I can smell the alcohol on his breath, which symbolizes to me that his blood will run thin when i finally open up his neck like a Ziploc bag. Lost in my thoughts now and pre-meditating what was about to unfold in the darkest corners of this piss stained parking lot, I kept my mouth shut the rest of the time, finally paying for a pack of cigarettes and the microwave burrito I had already burnt my tongue on. I proceeded out the door and immediately started scanning the parking lot, looking for Mr. Are we going to have a problem. I find my mind and hateful nature begin to start stirring my emotions into a violent rage, as I mutter to myself from under my breath, creating a fog that dances into the brisk winter air like my soul trying to escape my body. "Yeah, we're going to have a problem, a big fucking problem when I bash your fucking skull in." I finally see him standing between 2 trucks, and it appears he has company in the form of some runaway, aged around about 19, if that. She looks to be giving him a blowjob as she locks eyes with me in mid stroke, wide eyed as her mascara runs down her cheeks, finally noticing the tire iron I had just picked up and was now headed their way. I could hear him say "Why the fuck did you stop bitch?", as she pointed at me, who was now standing a mere three feet from directly behind him. By the time he had turned to look at me, I was in full swing with the tire iron and struck him in the head right above his right eyebrow, as aged rusted steel scraped and severed a huge chunk of his head, his groans synchronized with every spurt of blood that was now gushing down his face. He tried to regain his balance and defend himself, but by then I was already seconds away from delivering my second blow to his face, this time directed at his nose, shattering every bone on impact. I hit him so hard the second time that I heard the tire iron let out a ping tone when it had finally broken through the bridge of it, severing cartilage and flesh alike. This brought him down to the ground writhing in pain as I stood over him, finally noticing the girl was gone, probably in shock somewhere if not running for help. I had to make this quick, as i looked down at his face and made sure he could see who I was and that it was going to be the last thing he would ever see before he dies. I asked him," Do we still have a problem?", stomping his face with my boot, causing him to squirm and moan in excruciating pain. I could tell he was trying to say something so I told him to speak up, before I swung the tire iron down on him like a hammer, clenched in both fists like a lumberjack swinging his axe. That blow ended up smashing his teeth out before he could even reply. He immediately started going into spasms and convulsions, and I knew that last strike was going to do it, and it was time to get the fuck out of there. I searched his newly fresh blood stained pockets for his truck keys and found them, hopping into the drivers seat before giving him one final glance. He was still alive surprisingly. The blood gurgling from his crimson stained lips made tiny bubbles that one used to make as a child from their spit, before finally popping from the wind and sending the occasional spittle to land upon any skin that was not already stained in red. I spit on what was left of his face and called him a piece of shit, before slamming the door and starting up the engine. I backed up as fast as I could, turning the wheels sharp as I felt the tires roll over a part of him, probably his feet and ankles since the truck barely lifted up. I hit the gas and gunned out of the parking lot, swerving into oncoming traffic before regaining control and proceeded down the highway to lord knows where. All I knew was I just had to get as far away from there as fucking possible. I looked down at the dash and saw the gas tank was on full and that somehow it appeared to be quiet outside and on the road, as far as any sirens of the emergency type goes. I felt a little more at ease and so I let off the gas to a steady cruise to not raise any alarms or get pulled over for doing something as simple as speeding. I needed to find a place to hide out for a few days, and I didn't want to go into any major towns just in case I was on the evening news for what had just transpired earlier that night. I spotted an old dirt road and took a left onto it, the old truck suspension screeching when the highway met dirt, and plowed on through the night searching for the nearest spot I could seek refuge and get myself once again cleaned up. I can see what appears to be a road that had grown over with plants and trees over the years, and an old abandoned barn of some sort just beyond them. I decide that will have to do for now, and floored the gas of the pick up, causing the truck to crash through the low hanging tree branches, hearing them snapping on impact against the old steel grill, stirring all the creatures while breaking the silence that was around midnight. I puledl up to the backside of it and made sure to park it out of sight from the road and hopped out, listening for any inhabitants that might just so happen to be inside this abandoned old place. As I walk up and through the creaking barn doors, I take out my cigarette lighter and light it, and can now see through the flickering flames that it is indeed empty, aside from a few old farm tools. I slump down exhausted both physically and emotionally, sitting against the splintered barn walls, and take the pack of cigarettes out from my shirt pocket. As I begin to pack them against the palm of my other hand, I notice there's a few blood stains on the pack, from the airborne mists of Mr. Problem, containing some of what's left of his basic foundations of life. I open them up and throw the wrapper on the ground as the wind carries it away, pulling a fresh cigarette out and lighting it up. I take a deep drag, inhaling the nicotine filled smoke and begin to feel it calming my nerves the longer I hold it in, before eventually exhaling a huge cloud of toxic smoke throughout the dust filled air. Every now and then, I occasionally blow a smoke ring that becomes illuminated by the rising moonlight that has started creeping in through the slates, before finally floating off and disappearing throughout the dark corners of the barn. I think I'm going to try and get a few hours sleep while I can and recharge per say,or until I'm awoken by something. I'll talk to everyone tomorrow, thanks for following along on todays journey, and we'll see how tomorrow goes. 


Submitted: September 12, 2020

© Copyright 2021 jon bladez. All rights reserved.

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Comments

KIZZAY

Wow I could definitely read way more.

Tue, September 15th, 2020 1:19pm

JFM

Brilliant!

Wed, February 17th, 2021 1:43pm

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