dannnex

Feb 13, 2015

Today is an important day. It’s the 55th anniversary of the most impactful day of my life. The most evil day of my life. The day that I can’t ever tell anyone about. The day that I must tell everyone about. The day I gained my secret. On this day, 65 years ago, I murdered Ms. Jane Ann Wright in cold blood. She was the first of many. My name is Blake M. Fulton, and I am a serial killer.

***

Head Detective Jonathan Wright watched from his hidden surveillance van as Fulton put down his pen and stood up. The withered husk of a man stood up from his desk and limped out the door of his study and into the back of his house, out of sight of the surveillance team. Jonathan set his binoculars down and turned to the man sitting next to him, Officer David Stevenson.

“He’s been writing in that journal for days now. I bet that’s it. I bet he’s finally confessing. It’s criminal psychology 101, every killer, deep down, yearns to be found out. If nobody ever finds out about what he did, then what was even the point?” 

Stevenson sighed. “I dunno Jon, I’m still not even convinced that Fulton’s our man. The department’s been keeping tabs on him for years, since before either of us were even on the force. You’d think we’d have found something truly incriminating by now.”
“You don’t know Fulton like I do Dave, the man’s a snake, and a smart one too. I’m certain he’s our man, I just need to prove it.”
“I thought that Fulton was writing his own confession right there. Why do we need to prove anything if he’s about to hand-deliver it to us?”
Jonathan “You don’t get it, do you? While killers like Fulton want to be found out, they definitely don’t want to go to prison. If Fulton truly is writing a confession, that means he is confident in a plan he must have to avoid that consequence.”
“What plan could he possibly have? He has nowhere to go, no family, no friends, we’d be able to follow him easily if he tried to make a run for it.”
Jonathan picked up his binoculars again as Fulton returned to the study. “When you’re as determined and as deranged as he is, there’s always one final escape route.”
Realization dawned on Stevenson’s face. He opened his mouth in a silent ohhh. Jonathan nodded. “We need to find some way to convict Fulton before he takes one final life. His own.”
***

I'll always remember the first time I took the life of a living thing. I was 12 years old, and I found a mouse beneath my bed. I still remember how it wriggled in my hands as I squeezed the life out of it. That feeling of complete control, of being the absolute arbiter of life and death if only for a moment…it became what I lived for. I began keeping some mice in a small cage. I’d feed them, care for them, breed them, and then slowly take the life of each and every one of them. It was more pleasurable to me than any drug could have possibly been. But I soon grew numb to it’s effects. I needed more. I needed to go bigger...

this is about 37% of it. Max word count is 1500 and this is 559. i think i'm on a fairly solid pace to wrap it up in that amount of time. Here are some of my own criticisms:
-The last sentence of the first entry by Fulton. I don't really like the term serial killer. I might replace it with a serial killer name (eg: "The Zodiac Killer") but I can't think of anything rn. 
-really not sure about having Fulton's plan be to kill himself. it makes sense, but it's still a lil...ehhh
-Not sure about the last line of the second section either. Just seems...bad.