Deadjournal
This is a blog from a serial killer on a mission from hell

Sweat burned my eyes, and I had to run my hand across my forehead for the umpteenth time. It was hot and confined in the small bedroom closet, but I had nowhere else to hide. The air was heavy and thick with humidity, a warm day in the middle of spring. We get some funny weather here in Pa.

Roommates. I ask about them, I try to predict them, but it’s tough chopping someone up and keeping an eye on your watch. We cant all be as meticulous as the fictional killers all you suburban housewives get off on.

There was a body bleeding in the bathtub, and an unaware individual wandering around my stage. I really wanted to get back to what I was doing, but I restrained myself and waited patiently to see if he left. I just hoped it would be soon, or I would taste one too many drops of sweat and kill the son of a bitch out of sheer principle.

He finally found whatever it was he was looking for, walked out the door, and locked it behind him. As I heard the key turn, my blood began to flow again. What kind of reaction will he have when he hears that her “Time Of Death” was six hours before he came home looking for his wallet?

That’s gotta really screw somebody up.

Her face still reminded me of how bitchy she was when I got back to the bathroom, so I cut it a few times for good measure. Slashing the skin of a corpse is kind of boring, but it still carries emotion in all my photographs.

Getting these pictures developed would definitely raise some eyebrows.  Thank God for digital cameras.