~8~
Ayla K
17th Sept. 2024
Anger... it twists the mind, doesn't it? It clouds your judgement, turns thoughts into chaotic storms. You start thinking in extremes, and suddenly everything feels wrong. It makes you lash out, do things you wouldn't normally do—say things that cut deep. It's like a poison that seeps into your veins, warping reality. You want to scream, to throw everything away, to unleash that fury on anything and anyone. It's a wild beast inside, and you can't control it. You know it's unreasonable, but in that moment, it feels so justified, so real. It grips you, pulls you under, and before you know it, you're drowning in it, acting in ways you can't even recognize. It's maddening. Why does it take over like this? Why can't I just think clearly? Why can't I break free from its grasp?
But at the same time... there's a strange satisfaction that follows, isn't there? After everything, I feel a rush, a high. Even though everyone hated him, this murder wasn't a fit of blind rage. No, this was different. It wasn't a quick, involuntary act like Ranya. This was deliberate, meticulously planned. I orchestrated it perfectly, so it all appears seamless, natural. No one will suspect a thing. It doesn't connect to those previous two cases; I wasn't involved in the first one, anyway. This was my creation, my moment. It's exhilarating to know I've pulled it off without a hitch, to feel that power surge through me. They'll never see it coming.
But yeah? How in the actual hell did that worthless piece of shit Morty dare to slap Aaron? WITHOUT ANY FUCKING REASON? All he's, is a language teacher. No reason would've ever been good enough to lay a hand on Aaron. That dumb bastard, how could he even think about doing something so… wrong? Aaron is perfect. Morty? Morty's nothing, he's scum, a waste of space. All Aaron did was correct his name, and that greasy loser had the audacity to slap him?! My whole body trembled with rage, my blood was on fire, burning every vein inside of me. I wanted to kill him. Right then, right there. Snap his neck like it was nothing. But no, it couldn't just be that easy. It had to look natural. No one would ever suspect me though, especially not with him being so disgustingly obese, waddling around like his arteries are about to give out any second. Probably has some extreme diabetes or heart condition too. Perfect cover. Oh, Morty, your days were already numbered.
The next steps were simple. Inject air into someone's veins, and just like that, woof! Gone. All I needed was an empty syringe. Of course, it wasn't exactly that easy—sure, the symptoms would show heart attack, stroke, or respiratory failure, things Morty was already prone to. No one would second guess it. The fat bastard would just be another casualty of his own disgusting lifestyle. But… forensic pathologists, they're trained to look for signs of injection—small punctures, bruising, anything out of place. I had to be smart about this. Careful. It had to be somewhere the needle could be hidden, somewhere where holes wouldn't look suspicious. The tongue, yeah, the tongue... already has so many tiny openings, no one would notice another one. Perfect.
A student and a teacher alone... yeah, that raised some red flags. Public places were too open, too many eyes, too many risks. The staff rooms? Seemed obvious, but they had cameras—too risky. I needed somewhere private, somewhere where no one gave a damn. And then it hit me—voila! No one gives a fuck about teachers. No one keeps tabs on them. The teacher's lounge, the staff rooms, they were perfect. No security, no cameras, no one watching. Just me and him. Alone.
It was like the universe was handing me the opportunity on a silver platter. All I had to do was get him there. Play nice, act like I needed help with something, maybe ask for some extra tutoring or something. He wouldn't suspect a thing.
So all I had to do was carry it out flawlessly. After class, I walked with him to the staff room, making sure I stayed out of any camera's sight, just like I planned. The room was empty—silent. It was perfect. No one around, no one to witness what was about to go down. I played my part, asked him a few questions, pretending like I needed help. He had no idea what was coming.
Considering the type of person he was, his tongue probably lolled out when he slept—like some fat, slobbering dog. It was almost funny, if it weren't for what was about to happen. I waited, watching him closely. And as expected, it didn't take long for him to doze off. Just had to wait for that exact moment.
It was perfect. No one saw me with him, no one would think I was near the cases before or after. The syringe felt cold in my hand as I slid it out. My heart raced, but my mind was clear. His fat tongue lay there, vulnerable. I injected the syringe right into it, just as planned.
And just like that—he was gone. GONE. I slipped away, quiet, careful, so they wouldn't see. No one ever sees. They DON'T. The footprints… so many of them, scattered all around. They're all the same, just THE SAME, so NATURAL—it all looked natural, WAS natural. YES, of course it was. Nothing out of place. NOTHING.
A perfect execution. Perfect, perfect, perfect. No one will ever know. They can't. THEY WON'T. Everything... so normal.
Just how I planned it.
~9~
Ayla K
21st Sept. 2024
HAH. That idiot MJ thinks it's some ghost or paranormal force behind all this. How dumb can he be? Or maybe...maybe it is paranormal. My love for Aaron, my devotion to him—it is otherworldly, beyond what anyone can grasp. It feels supernatural, the way it controls me. But hey, his silly beliefs work as the perfect distraction. While they're out there chasing shadows, I've got all the room I need to work.
The case from 35 years ago...that's my blueprint now. I can imitate those murders, piece by piece. Every single person—everyone—will have to go. I just need to follow the order of the old victims. Make it all look connected. Once the pattern falls into place, they won't even think to look at me. The focus will shift to some poor old soul, someone who was around during the original killings. It's genius. I just needed those old articles to go public before today's target. So I did it. Released them all on the 19th.
Now? It's the talk of the town. And it's my perfect alibi.
You see, Aaron? I did this for you. This... is what you deserve. THIS. Don't you understand? I've made it right. I had to. FOR YOU. You deserve it, every bit of it.
I know you see it now. You have to.
It's almost as if everyone is waiting for the next victim. The tension is thick, like a storm on the horizon that nobody can stop. The third victim... oh, that was a couple. No big personalities, nothing that stood out. Which made it easy for me. Too easy, really. The funny part? Watching all the couples panic, hiding from each other, breaking up out of fear. I think I made around eight or nine couples break up in just a day. Pure chaos. But hey, I'm not that cruel. I'm only after those who badmouth Aaron, those who dare look down on him.
Or... those Aaron likes. Yes. They need to go too. If Aaron cares about them, they've got to be eliminated. That's my next mission. But today's... oh, today's sacrifice was something special. This guy—he thought he was better than Aaron. Can you believe that? He looked down on him, tried to bully him, tried to make Aaron feel small. As if anyone could ever do that. Aaron is god.
The girl? She supported him, obviously. Well, normally I wouldn't go for her, but damn, she was hot. Real temptation. I had some... ideas. Stuff I wanted to try. And the guy, well, he was as good as dead the moment he crossed Aaron.
It was even easier with couples hiding away from everyone. They think they're safe in their little secret places, but those same places become their graves. Benefits of living in such a conservative, sheltered area. No one looks in the shadows, but that's where I thrive. Today's sacrifice? A masterpiece.
I found the couple hidden in a place they probably thought was safe, tucked away from the eyes of the world. It was a small, dim corner in an abandoned lot, shielded by old walls that hadn't seen attention in years. They thought they were clever, escaping the chaos, but I always knew where to look. I watched them for a bit, my breath catching with excitement, waiting for the perfect moment.
When it came, I moved in swiftly. A quick spray of the chloroform I brought along was all it took to make them pass out, limp and helpless, just like the rest. Their bodies slumped, powerless against me, and that thrill—that rush of control—flooded my veins. It was electric.
I dragged them to my warehouse. It wasn't far, and no one would ever come looking there. Once inside, I tied them both up, their arms and legs bound tightly to the chairs I had set up. Their mouths were stuffed with dirty rags, muffling the sounds of their groans and pleas. First, I focused on him. The guy who had dared to think he was something in Aaron's world. I started slow, savoring every moment of his fear, the panic in his eyes. Then, I lost myself in the moment. I crushed him, felt every bone break under my hands, and the overwhelming satisfaction washed over me. Every scream, every tear—pure fuel for my satisfaction.
When it was over, his body was a mess of shattered bones and crushed flesh, but that wasn't enough. I needed a piece of him. So, I cut off his nose. Slowly, carefully, just like I had done with Randy. His nose, once attached to his smug, arrogant face, was now mine. I hung it on the wall next to Randy's. My collection was growing.
But now… it was the girl's turn. She had already seen what I did to him. Her eyes, wide and dripping with tears, told me everything. She had witnessed the end of the love of her life, and now it was her turn. The fear in her eyes, though—that wasn't all. There was something else. Something deeper. Maybe it was the shock, the disbelief, or maybe the realization that no one was coming to save her.
Her fear added to her beauty, amplifying it. That expression, those tear-streaked cheeks—oh, it made her even more desirable. She was mine now. Completely and utterly mine.
I leaned in close, my lips brushing against her neck. I could feel her trembling, her body tensing as the fear took over. I kissed her, tasted her skin, and then, without warning, I bit down. Hard. She let out a muffled whimper through the gag, writhing against the ropes that held her tight to the chair. Her fear only fueled me, and I smiled, feeling the rush of power and control flow through my veins.
It was time.
I lifted her off the chair and tied her down to the table, securing her wrists and ankles to the metal surface. Her body thrashed, her limbs pulling helplessly at the restraints, but it didn't matter. She wasn't going anywhere. I ran my fingers across her face, brushing her tears aside, as I reached for the drill. The metal glinted in the dim light, and my heart raced with anticipation.
The moment I pressed the drill to her forehead, I felt her whole body jerk in panic. Her muffled screams turned into desperate, incoherent sounds, but I didn't stop. The drill bit spun, digging into her skin, cracking through her skull. The sound—oh, the sound—was intoxicating, a high-pitched whir combined with the soft splatter of blood. Red, like liquid rubies, trickled down her face, pooling on the table beneath her. I watched every drop, mesmerized.
Her eyes, wide and filled with pain, were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. They flickered with terror, with desperation. She was losing herself, slowly slipping away, and I couldn't get enough of it. The hole I made was perfect, just big enough for a bullet to fit inside. But somewhere in the middle of it all, she passed out. Her body went limp, her head slumping to the side, but it didn't matter.
She was already mine.
I controlled the blood flow, making sure she wasn't dead—at least not yet. There was something deeply satisfying about keeping her on the edge, lingering between life and death. The room was dim, the only sound the steady drip of blood onto the floor, echoing in the dark. I wore my mask the entire time, never letting her glimpse my face, except when I leaned in from behind, close enough to feel her shallow breath on my skin as I reached for her neck. But even then, no chance she saw me.
I held the bullet in my hand, cold and gleaming, and carefully slid it into the hole I had drilled into her skull. It was perfect, like placing the final piece in a puzzle. The bullet settled inside, snug, as if it belonged there. I wrapped a tight bandage around her head, keeping the pressure on the wound. She was still breathing, her chest rising and falling ever so faintly. She wasn't dead yet. Not yet.
I left her body right where I had found them, in that hidden spot. She looked almost peaceful, lying there. The stage was set, and the drama was about to unfold. She was alive—barely—but the rest of the world didn't know that. The real show was about to begin.
Let's see if she wakes up again.