Being a Killer...

Being a serial killer was way too much of fun!! 

Don't you think so?? 

Probably you don't. But trust. It just need a driving force to kill someone at first. And then you, start enjoying each and every part of homicide. The fragrance of blood when shoots down, your heart will beat faster. The first time adrenaline rush. Oh god!! How could I ever forget my first killing. It was way too amazing for a person just started doing something like that. But still.... 

It all started, when I killed my mother at the age of 9.

My mother was not something like a melodramatic devil character, instead, she was a sweet lady. A person full of joy and happiness, at the end of brim. She was kind to everyone one. As far as I can remember she used to wear a Saree always. And almost everything suits her beautifully made face. A fair complexion with blue eyes. 

By the way, I got her eyes. Everyone told me so. 

On that day, she was talking to her usual afternoon nap. It was mid of hot summers. She was lying on her comfortable chair. Half asleep. When I asked her what if someone kills her. How did it feel?? 

She jokingly replied“Go on and check it yourself. ” Her eyes were still closed. 

I did the most unpredictable thing one could do. Actually, kitten's curiosity killed the cat. 

I took my father's hunting knife, lying on the nearby table. Placed it on her throat. And then..... Just a slightest of slice. A sleek move without much effort but still much effective. 

She finally opened her eyes. In real her eyes seemed to bulge out. She had placed her hand tightly around the cut. But after some time all her movements stopped. A silent death. 

Her body became pale. Her clothes and armchair, all were drenched in blood. And there was a pool of blood around her body. The dead carcass once lived as my mother. 

I was standing at a distance. Looking at her dead body. Enjoying my beautiful creation. Actually I was amused by the death. I was, smirking like idiot when he saw us, me and my mother's deceased body. 

He was my father. A total different person than my mum. 

A black guy. With a huge belly symbolizing his wealth. And the average height of 5'7''. Always bearing lots of jewellery kind of stuff. A person of sheer anger. Literally he was a pain in the ass. 

When he saw me and the corpse. He took away the knife immediately. Called some servents. Cleaned up the whole mess by his own self. 

And he suppressed the whole scenario by the power of his money. Told everyone that my mother ran away and sent me to some prestigious boarding school. 

I did never ever feel regret for what I did. Instead, I never stopped. But the only thing that bothered me was the thought that my mother would have been lonely in her afterlife. So, I killed my father on my 18th birthday. 

I gave him some Lithium coated potassium tablet. It didn't react on the very spot. But when the lithium cover got removed.... KaBoom! 

An explosion inside his gignatic looking belly and he was dead. Everyone , mostly foolish person, thought of it as a result of his some bad doing. Some kind of punishment given to him by God. But I was delighted to see that. Alas! My mother wouldn't be lonely any longer. 

I completed my education and became the official heir of my long gone father. Always being respected by others for my well doings for others and my kindness. But my second face ain't seen by many. 

I didn't stop killing. Always played a master stroke. Tried new ideas and new people. But still the first one was too good. 

And on this day I am going to kill my 100th of hunt. With the same knife. In her memory. Wish me luck.......