The Blue Vengeance

Author's Note: I'm not quiet sure what inspired this story but I thought it would be cool to see into the mind of a killer. The main character in this story hates law enforcement officers because they killed his mom when he was young. This is complete fiction. I'm not some psychotic killer or anything.

Light explodes into the dim apartment as the door is kicked open by men in dark blue uniforms. As I was three I didn't understand what was going on so I started crying. The cruel men looked me in the eyes and continued in farther looking for my mother. Gunshots filled the air and were closely followed by screams. Tears filled my eyes as my mother's lifeless body fell to the ground, gun in hand. Here white dress was stained red with her blood. She looked at me and told me that she was sorry that she failed me as a mother. This was the start of my career.

Eternal satisfaction lies in revenge against the ones that have wronged. Seeing the fear in their eyes and hearing their muffled screams. Watching them try to escape is incredibly amusing. They think they thought of something brilliant, but when they fail the disappointment in their eyes is stunning. Most realize that the end is coming and see that it's futile to resist, but some fight to the very end. Those few people are the most fun. I enjoy making them fight and dance. They call me sick and psychotic but nobody but me knows the real truth. I'm the only normal person in this town. Everybody else is insane. As I slit their throats I always whisper "It's okay Mama you'll be better soon". She is so proud of me.

Cops are the essence of evil. They are always shooting innocent people and getting away with it. They always look so proud in their little uniforms. Until I come along of course. Blue uniforms turn red and smiles to screams. Nobody will ever catch me because I am smarter than all of them. They always become part of my collection eventually. This time is different though. There are lots of people to kill and now the F.B.I is involved because they have labeled me a serial killer. With more people I have more bodies, and with more bodies I have more skin to harvest from them and attach to my mom to help make her better.

One of my favorite hobbies is looking out the window and seeing people on the streets so frightened. They jump at any little noise and are extremely paranoid. I have seen seven moving trucks leaving this place since I started killing people. This little dog I have loves to chase people and when they walk by the alley near my house. Oh, the way they scream is wonderful! Many people won't even come near my house any more.

I have been watching the F.B.I. headquarters and know that the leader of the "team" is renting an apartment three blocks away. He always carries a gun with him so this could be interesting. Waiting by some homeless people around a can fire I waited until twilight. Homeless people are quite interesting. This guy walked by slowly and watched our every move. He continued on and I slipped behind him. Being a "serial killer" has advantages. Drawing a sharpened umbrella, I stab him in the kidney. Grabbing, his mouth muffle the scream and politely tell him "If you make a sound I cut your lips off". Struggling to get away he kicks my knee and begins to limp-run away.

Author's Note: I didn't name this piece because it doesn't need a name. This is designed to be whatever you think it is.

It seeps in like a living thing. Shadows wave without light and yet are visible. It slinks in, slowly waiting. Observing it's prey with constant intensity. Eternally waiting with ever decreasing patience. Living in the spotlight yet not seen by mortal eyes. Not dark but not light, but caught somewhere in between. Filled with nothing, and knowing everything. Killing is not it's job, though the aftermath of it is death. Slowly sinking in and filling your consciousness and destroying everything that was "real". Nothing is safe from it's prowling nature. Cracking your mind like a walnut it will ask the questions that most people live in fear of. People cower from these questions, and only a brave few ponder them. People think they know how the world works but they know nothing. The beast never receives and answer so it slinks away, joining the hunt again.