Through The Eyes Of A Killer

The blade of the knife sparkled in the silvery morning light. The sun just peaking over the distant horizon set shadows abound on the dead grass. Winter. Such a horribly gorgeous season. A season that I myself enjoy with a venom. The staving children dead in the streets every morning, frozen to death sometime in the cruel unforgiving night. But being fortunate enough to come form a fairly well off family I sleep inside every night warm and snug. Sighing, I bent to pick grab the wooden handle of the knife and set to work. First the fingers, then the frost-bitten toes. Sawing away at the bones in the arms and legs. Finally with nothing let but a torso and a head I picked up the already decaying body and threw it into the hole. Grabbing the near by shovel I set to work in covering the body in an unmarked grave. It sent violent shivers up my arm. The thought of the body, never being found. The family searching desperately for a sign of their loved one finding not but a ghost of them. Their souls restless for all of eternity.  Oh How I loved it. I let a smile rip from my usually stoic lips, crazy as it might be this was me. Unwholesome and insane, with the stench of blood always filling my nose, setting ablaze the never ending hunger in my heart.  Quickly replacing my smile with a scowl I finished covering my handy work and picked myself off the ground. My fine leather boots crunching under the listless remains of blood intermingled with snow. By mid-morning it would be gone. Melted by the sun and never to return, never to be mourned or remembered by any but myself. Oh how I loved the winter.