Third time's a charm
I glanced over at the remains of my second murder. His death has yet to be discovered. It shouldn’t be much longer, I reminded myself.
I glanced back down at the blade. For awhile, I had wondered what it would be like to feel the object against my skin. I had heard stories about the sensation felt when the blade was dragged across your skin. But when I had slit my brother’s wrists, no emotion in his eyes conveyed this supposed pleasure. I placed the blade on my own wrist as I wondered if pleasure actually was able to be achieved. Without hesitating, I added pressure and dragged the blade across my skin. Blood began creeping out from underneath. The pain was unbearable. Yet, I continued on. The next cut I made was right above the first. I then made a third cut, a fourth cut. Blood began falling from my arm. With each new cut, the blade went deeper and more blood rose to the top.
The room began to spin in circles and I wondered if the room spun when my brother was close to his demise. I wondered if it was difficult for him to breathe for it felt like my lungs no longer were of use to me.
This was how it felt to murdered. I was sure of this.
I gently laid myself on my bunk and let my bleeding arm hang over the side. The blade, freshly covered in red liquid, was secure in my clenched fist. I decided to close my eyes, only for a moment. I felt my heart beat one last time as I drifted off into eternal slumber.
I had made a new name for myself after all. I am Mikey’s killer.