t was about a week ago. I was just watching the news. The day before, me and my friends were out drinking. I can't remember anything from the rest of this day, other than towards 9 PM, when I was watching the news. There was a story of a mass murderer on a killing spree. They showed a sketch of the killer, and something certainly seemed familiar about him. The bloodshot eyes, the pale skin, the bald head. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, though, and, no, it wasn't me, that's just unrealistic.
I was trying to think who had a clean-shaven head, but I couldn't focus. Though the sound of the newscast seemed to still be going, the picture was still on-screen, the eyes staring at me. Then, my TV shuts off by itself. For a minute, I begin to think of demons that might have done this, but, no demons, just a black-out. The lights are, in-fact, also out. So, I decide to sleep, thinking that the familiarity is just a figment of my imagination. "Oh God," I think, "The headache is starting to come back!" Soon, the pain becomes unbearable, so, though it may kill me from an OD, I pop both a sleeping pill and an Advil, and pass out.
When I awake the next morning, the image of the killer is still in my head. The headache is gone, and now I realize what caused the black-out. According to the news that morning, there were some pretty gnarly thunder storms last night, so I decide it's nothing to worry about. I have to go to work today, but it's a part-time shift, so I decide to plop myself in front of the TV and watch some more news. It's more on the killer.
This time, they're talking about his methods. He knocks on your door, usually wearing the hair of someone he's already killed as a wig, so that he'll blend in more. The only reason they caught him bald, was an encounter with the cops, where he ran to steal a car. The wind was strong, and blew the "wig" off his head. They now give the last bit of info on him. He was last seen in my state, but not in my area. It would take him a few hours to drive here.
I keep cautious as I drive to work. When I get there, I work as a bellhop at a hotel, I'm not worried anymore, as the last place he would check is a hotel. So, I keep my cool, and go about my day. When I get home, I am a bit worried, but not much, seeing as how I have locked my doors and windows, and I'd have to be pretty damn stupid to answer the door to an unfamiliar knock (My friends all have their own recognizable knocks). So, I have myself some supper and go to bed. This is where things start to get a bit strange.
First, I hear a knock. An unfamiliar knock. I have locked all my doors and windows, as mentioned before, and I don't have any windows in my bedroom anyways. I just lay still. I hear glass shattering. Now I start to get worried. Quickly, I run into my closet (Not the best hiding place, but, hey, I was being rushed) and slam the door shut, a bit too loudly. Now, you can probably guess who opened the door. Yup, and you can bet I screamed. He told me to shut up, and then made a deal with me. He said he wouldn't kill me if I became his "partner in crime", if you will. Valuing my life, I agreed.
We went on many a killings. He killed, I was the lookout. I never got any sort of weapon, however. It was all okay, although, at first, I was a bit iffy with the idea of killing people. Eventually, I got used to it. Then, one day, we got caught.
I was afraid of being locked up, and I'd probably get the death sentence. I decided that now was the best time to figure out the killer's name. He said his name wasn't important, but, I'd recognize him, despite his facial changes, and he said now was the best time to find out. "Well," he said, "You'll know exactly who I am, seconds before I die. I'm gonna miss you, bro!" And with that, he shot himself. Within mere minutes afterwards, the cops came.
I didn't try to run, since the person who caught us gave my name. And now, I'm locked up. But, I'll escape! I'll avenge my brother! I will carry out his wishes! And no one is gonna stop me! Ever! Ha ha ha ha ha! Ah ha ha ha ha! Oh shit, no, not the taser! Not the taser!
Well, I'm not the person who wrote the passage you just read, I'm a prison guard. He won't carry out what his brother wanted. But, it's a damn shame. After all we've been through together, I have to kill my brother. We had a good run. But, I will carry out his wishes by carrying out my own. Pain enough that I had to fake my own death. Ah well, you gotta do what you gotta do. Goodbye, bro!
