Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is rated M for a reason.

A serial killer.

Thats what I am in every sense of the word.

If I thought someone should die, they would.

I never got caught.

I would never get caught.

It was my way of life, it would never be changed.

I wouldn't let it change.

I quickly ducked behind the bushes, and watched as the girl entered her house.

She's better make sure she gets her life spans worth,I thought bitterly.

She was going to die.

I would make sure of it.

It would be painless and easy for her.

For me? I'd have to live with it.

That wasn't a big deal.

The big deal was the cleaning up.

It was a pain in my ass.

A huge pain in my ass.

A pain I had to deal with.

Every. Fucking. Time.

I picked her lock, and snuck inside.

She wouldn't see me.

Her life would end without care.

I saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping into bathroom.

I had to wait.

Bathrooms were always too messy.

I didn't want to clean much up.

I took a seat on her couch, and looked through a magazine.

I had gloves on, of course.

I always took the precautions.

Always.

She had the typical magazine.

Cosmo.

'The bible' to Reece Witherspoon in Legally blond.

How did I know that?

I've killed enough people when they watched that movie.

I heard the shower turn off, and I dropped the magazine and got up off of the couch.

She had said her temporary goodbyes; I made sure of that.

She didn't know they were her final goodbyes.

Nobody except me knew that.

She walked out of the bathroom, and turned her back towards me.

Bad move.

Very bad move.

I slid the towel from my pocket over her mouth, and tied a bandanna over her eyes.

Both things were soaked in drugs.

Overdose.

It happens everyday.

She soon became unconscious, and I carried her to her room.

I laid her down on her bed, and removed the bandanna and towel.

I carefully wiped her face of any excess drugs, and slipped a few pills into her mouth.

Here comes the good part.

I wrapped my fingers around my knife, and slowly inserted into her chest.

She didn't feel a thing.

I twisted the knife, and left it in there.

I wrapped her fingers around it.

Suicide.

Under the influence of drugs.

I pulled out a little piece of paper.

Even a suicide note.

How nice.

I slowly backed out of the woman's room.

That was fun.

She didn't even put up a fight.

I wanted a fight.

Oh well.

My phone rang.

"Oh, Eddie! I want you!" Oh, Lauren, after we have sex your going to die.

Good for you, you measly piece of shit.

"Be there soon," I hung up the phone.

Her voice sounded like metal mixed with nails.

Not pretty.

I didn't care.

This had been going on long enough.

I wanted to shoot her.

Sounded like a great idea to me.

I jumped into my car that was parked behind her house, and drove off.

A measly life.

It meant nothing to me.

I was a serial killer.

This is my life.