Confessions of a Serial Killer (standard:horror, 722 words) [1/2] show all parts
Author: Siobhan	Updated: Sep 26 2002	Views/Reads: 4231/0	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Gina Roberts, only 23, has been brought to trial upon the murder of 39 victims of all races, ages, and sexes. Her motive, unknown, her attitude, indifferent. She tells of her adventure in the world most would never venture into in this morbid story.

“Why did you do it?” the sturdy detective pounded his fist on the table,
glaring at the young woman who sat before him.  Her cold, blue eyes 
were full of mockery and disdain.  She was only 23 and already one of 
those most feared young women in the world. There was evidence that 
directly linked her to 39 murders, but she was suspected of even more.  
She was not one to be underestimated in any way. 

“Do what?” she smirked and batted her eyes in an infuriating manner. 
She was leaning back casually in the chair, one leg over the other and 
her hands placed relaxed upon it.  She was stunning.  Long silver 
blonde hair cascaded around her like a waterfall, creamy clear skin was 
her blessing, and she had an incredible body.  It was hard to believe 
that the faerie like creature before him was a deadly killer, capable 
of mayhem only seen a few times before. 

“Murder all those people?” he played her game, hoping she would just
give in.  She hadn't cracked, not even the slightest but instead seemed 
to feed upon the tension of everything.  She smiled broadly and almost 
seemed as if she were going to laugh.  He felt himself glowering back, 
he couldn't help it.  She was so collected and put together when she 
should have been falling apart.  There was enough evidence to kill her 
on the spot and yet she didn't even bat an eyelash in fear. 

“What people?” she winked at him and he tried not to snarl in
frustration.  He had seen people of all types, but never one like her 
and he didn't know how to get through her shield.  It were as if she 
were a statue of mirth that couldn't comprehend seriousness though he 
had the feeling she knew exactly what she was in for.  She have even 
been welcoming it with a perverse delight. 

“Don't play coy with me Gina.  I know you understand the situation you
are in and it will go quicker if you just cooperate.  What was your 
motive?” he stood right next to her and looked into her eyes.  They 
were unfathomable and seemed to be a door that blocked his view of 
secrets.  Her detestable and yet gorgeous smile flashed across her lips 
again.  She was enjoying this and he knew it, they both did. 

“Why sir, a motive?  I didn't understand that you needed one,” and she
began to laugh, a deep throaty sound that would have stirred his desire 
if he didn't know she was capable of mass destruction.  She was wicked 
and dark, and the worse part was she had had no fear of being caught.  
She didn't care to cover her trails, she was so brazen that she left 
everything in the open.  It wasn't that she was foolish, it was that 
she truly did not care.  She was wild, unpredictable, and no one knew 
what to think of her besides have deep fear. 

SEVEN YEARS EARLIER 

A much younger Gina sits in a meadow surrounded by tall trees.  On the
west side is a rotting wood play house with vines entangling through 
the paneless windows and open doorway.  She sits in deep thought, 
gnawing on the end of a pencil before carefully placing it to the pages 
of an open book... 

“I don't know what to think of these thoughts inside my head.  I am not
crazy but I do not believe that I am completely sane.  I wonder what it 
would feel like to kill someone.  Not just on accident or anything but 
actually get in there and feel their blood spatter upon your skin.  I 
want to know how I would handle under the stress of not only the murder 
itself, but covering it up. 

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not going to do it.  I don't think I would
have the nerve when it actually came to the point.  But I still wonder. 
 It is like a nagging question that won't go away, and it has been 
plaguing me for a while.  I can't discuss it with anyone in case they 
question my sanity and try to do something about it.  So, instead, it 
festers inside of me, unanswered and unanswerable... 

I wonder what would happen if I were to try it only once?” 


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