The Rainkiller

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

This a story about a serial killer, written from the serial killers point of view, kind of like a diary if you will but not at the same time, some sections will have more of a diary layout whereas others will be less so.


DISCLAIMER: None of the characters or scenarios contained within this piece of work are factual, although parts may be based on factual information this is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person/persons either living or dead is unintended.

Chapter 1 (v.1) - Rain and the dark

Submitted: September 07, 2013

Reads: 115

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Submitted: September 07, 2013



The Rainkiller.

Rain and the dark.

There’s something so mesmerizing about the rain.

How just the right amount can be soothing and cleansing, wash away all the bad stuff. And yet, too much can cause such devastation.

How can sometime that has the potential to be so deadly, be so beautiful?

I like the rain, I like being out it, I find it helps to clear my mind, to see things in a different way.

Another thing I like about the rain is that no one can see you cry, you go out in the rain and the tears can easily be thought of as droplets of water, running down your face, but that’s what tears are, water, droplets of salty water, that sting your eyes and show more emotion then almost any can describe in words.

It’s comforting as well, the rain, it lets you know that no matter how bad things get, there’s always something to clean them up, get rid of them, give you a fresh start with a new canvas.

I’ve never been able to ‘start over’, I see the metaphorical clean slate as a challenge, a challenge to create as much destruction as I can, while the rain washes all physical evidence away.

The dark is good to, no one can see me in the dark, I’m invisible. Anonymous, my identity hidden in the blackness. That’s when I do it, that’s when I kill.

When it’s dark and wet and the rain is lashing the windows.

And the best bit? They’ll never catch me, the police, I can keep killing and they’ll never catch me.

There’s no evidence, no clues and I love it, it’s like a game of cat and mouse but one the mouse always wins.

That’s the beauty of it, the beauty of the thrill, I know they can’t catch me, they can’t stop me, no one can stop me. I’ll just keep killing until I get old and die, I’d say ‘Until I get bored of it’ but that won’t happen, I’ll never get bored of killing, watching the life slowly drain from a body, when they stop kicking and fighting back, that’s the beauty of it all.

I’m in control, I decide when, where and who, no one else can tell me, I’m not being controlled anymore, I control my own life, my own destiny and no one can change that but me.

I live alone, in my own fantasy world all alone. No one understands, no one listens, but they don’t have to anymore.

I was always told I have no purpose in life, I was worthless and I had no foreseeable future. That’s changed now, it’s all changed, my life has purpose, this is my purposes, to kill, to cause absolute destruction and there is no one in this world that can stop me.

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