Darkness
Darkness is around me. I am about to be put to death for a murder I did not commit. At least I think I didn't. It's all very confusing nowadays.
You'd think I would be depressed, sad even. I'm just not. I've tried making myself sad, to cry even. I have spent many a night curled up in the corner of my cement cell, just trying to squeeze out see tears. Every night though I can't manage to do so much as get frustrated.
The doctor says this might be me going through several sort of shock, not being able to fully comprehend what I have been sentenced to.
I don't remember much about what I did except for two bodies side by side in the middle of a dark alley. I had ran to a nearby trash can and through up over and over again. Then I was grabbed by a police officer and thrown into the backseat of a cop car.
I don't remember killing them, I still don't think I did, but I'm not even sure anymore. Everyone I know has told me I did it but I can't remember. How can a man be killed for a credit he doesn't even remember. There is no justice in that.
As I was pondering this I hear a gruff voice.
"It's time." He says this very solemnly almost regrettably.
I am then led into a room with a sinister looking bed in the shape of a human body. I'm strapped to it and although I was treated rather roughly I am in a sort of haze, not fully aware if my surroundings. I feel all kinds of tubes inserted under my skin. I am read my final rights and just before the doctor inserts the lethal dose of whatever he has in that menacing syringe, I remember.
I remember the alley, my friend Thomas holding a smoking gun. I remember him shoving me to the ground, my head aching from where it struck the concrete. I small load thrust down upon me as the gun landed on my chest.
My own friend betrayed me! Someone I had deeply trusted had left me to die. I came to this realization to late however. I was as good as dead.
"Stop!"I screamed at the top of my lungs. "Stop I'm innocent!"
At long last the long awaited tears have come.
But it's to late I can already feel my limbs going numb, my conciseness slipping away. Now I'm and by myself, surrounded by one thing. Darkness.
Mud
Blood Blood Blood.
After a while it just feels like mud.
The corpse drags you down as well,
Shlop shlop walking through the blood.
The blood that just feels like mud.
Killing and murder are not the same,
Only the dead think both are lame.
Murder is fun filled with joy,
While killing is a bore,
Almost like the milk of soy.
I just murdered the man I now wield,
Like a sack of potatoes,
Right after a very good yield.
I bury him in the mud,
In our mother earth,
Which I feed with his blood.
Kill Journal #93
Murder is a bitch. Not that it is hard, in fact it is tiring more than anything else. I dragged Morgan's body into the closet, and shut the door with a small amount of resistance as he was just slightly bigger than the hiding place. John was not going to be happy, the rug had been stained by the blood. I think he had the intention to resell the house after this all blew over. Morgan had been a good agent but needed to go in the end. He became weak, and therefore was vulnerable. He hadn't struggled much in the end. He seemed to have lost his will before the fight even began. To be honest there wasn't much of a fight. He was sitting on his couch watching that new show in Netflix. I think it was Orange is the New Black, but I couldn't swear to anything, it's my wife who watches all those shows. I don't have time. Anyway, there wasn't much if a fight becouse I stabbed him through the back of the head with a Phillips screwdriver. It was a bit messy hence the blood on the rug. Now that I think about it, I probably got some blood on the couch as well. And on my shoe, no wait, that's my blood. Now how did that happen? Oh right I put my hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. We couldnt have him waking up little Tommy with something so trivial as his fathers death.