Sexual Sadism (The Greatest High)

Sexual Sadism (The Greatest High)

I was a normal person. Worked out daily, ate healthy food, worked in an office all day long, and watched a lot of TV. “A little too much TV,” my wife would say. My favorite show was Criminal Minds. I don’t know what it is about it that makes it an awesome show, but I seemed to find it very interesting. Perhaps I had a hidden passion to know how criminals think and how serial killers get their “highs”... Perhaps it was just the special effects or the interesting facts… Whatever the answer, my wife did not like me watching it, yet still I watch. I listen to all her other wishes, why not ignore this one? It couldn’t hurt, right?

Every day after work I would come home, eat the healthy meal that was prepared for me, and then clean the house. But on Wednesdays, the cleaning could wait, my show was on. After every Wednesday night, I felt excited—like I no longer needed my wife to help. But on the other days, I needed her. I needed that feeling daily. Without it I was nothing.

Summer came soon. My show was no longer showing. I came home from work every day, and needed help. A certain help. But this summer I could not receive the help I needed, for my wife had become ill with a disease. The disease had left her in bed and unable to do many things. I didn’t know how I was ever going to survive.

Those nights, when I went to bed, I tried so hard to recollect thoughts and memories from that TV show. Tried to manifest that feeling. Nothing.

One night I went to bed and I had a strange dream. I was in a dark place, and there was another person there with me. The person wore a tattered fur coat and had jeans with holes in them. The man looked like he had a dead animal on his face because of the gross facial hair that had never been looked after. The skinny little guy was on the ground, unconscious, probably dead because there was a distinct smell in this dream—the smell of death. I took a long, hard look at the man and tried to make out what his face looked like. But his face was covered in something; I couldn’t see what it was, for it was very dark. There was something very interesting lying next to the man. It was interesting because there were many rodents gathered in that area. I shoved the rodents aside and examined this object, this thing. It felt like a bag. Some sort of cloth bag maybe. It had two holes toward the top, these holes were about an inch wide and they were ellipses. A little farther down there were two more holes, these were much smaller holes. And below those was one big hole, about two and a half inches wide. After examining the bag I noticed that it was covered in some thick liquid. It felt starchy. The starchy substance was all over my hands. I quickly threw the bag to the ground. Rodents stormed to the bag once more, gnawing at it. I grabbed one rodent by its stomach; this rodent looked like it was choking on something. I squeezed the little critter. Something flew out of its mouth, and then I threw the animal to the ground. I reached down and picked up the object and examined it. I took a real close look at this object. The sight of it gave my body an excited feeling. It was a severed human finger.

I woke up the next morning with a smile on my face. It was the first one the whole summer. I felt as if I could live now. For now, I could be happy.

I went to work and had a regular day. I was allowed to leave work early to attend my wife in her sick state… but I didn’t go home when I got off of work. Instead I went walking around town. It was a big city, there were many things to see and do. I went to the local bar just a few blocks from my apartment and decided to have a few drinks. After I was done I went walking around the town some more. Or should I say I was stumbling around town, not actually walking. I stumbled my way to a garbage can in an alley and began to give the garbage can the alcohol that my body didn’t want. It seemed to be quite a bit.

After the flood of alcoholic wastes from my mouth had ended, I lifted my head and there was a man standing there staring at me. His gaze seemed endless, and I quickly became frustrated with him looking at me. But when I took a better look at him I noticed something. He was a homeless man. He was average height, skinny, bearded, reeked of a showerless odor. He wore a fur coat that has rips and holes and looked like it was pretty old. His jeans looked the same. After noticing all of these things it struck me, he’s the guy from my dream! This is the very guy that I saw dead and of whose death gave me my first smile all summer.

“Give me your wallet” he commanded me as he held a five inch blade in his right hand. He did not have a very good grip on the blade and his hands were shaking in fear. Fear… I love fear. I smiled.

My next actions were swift, forceful, reckless, and very exciting. Even though I was somewhat incapacitated, I seemed to know exactly what I was doing and I did it perfectly. My left hand snatched the knife from him. At the same time, my right hand quickly made a fist and jolted up to the man’s jaw and caused him to fly backward and land on the ground hitting his head on the concrete. The collision of the man’s head and the ground caused a small break in the back of his skull, but it did not kill him. He lay there, shivering in fear.

I smiled again.

He shivered all the more.

I took his left hand and stuck out his pinky finger. Using the knife I cut it off. He screamed in agony. Ring finger this time... middle finger… index… thumb… next hand… Each finger I cut off was slower and more painful than the last one. When I was finished with all of his fingers I used the blood from them to mark all over his clothing and his face.

He tried to shake me off of him. I then forced my fist into his face causing another collision. This one cracked his skull even more. I was holding the man down, listening to him scream. His scream was like music to my ears. By this time it was very dark out and no one was on the streets, no one to hear him scream. I took the knife and very carefully, in order to cause even more pain, pierced the skin of the man’s face. I cut all around and eventually cut all of the skin off of his face. The faceless man, still there, still alive somehow, could scream no more.

I got up off the body and stood. A job well done, I thought, well done indeed.

Rats came running toward the mutilated body, biting and gnawing everywhere. They especially loved the parts covered in blood.

I smiled.

I was just about to walk away with the greatest high I’ve ever experienced. This seemed that it could last forever. But as I was about to leave the alley, I remembered what I had forgotten to do. I told myself that I should’ve done this act while the man could still scream. I checked to see if he was still alive. Luckily for me, he was trying to hold on to dear life. I reached down to his pants, unbuttoned, unzipped, and pulled them down. I grabbed hold of what little the man had and I castrated him. This was the most painful cut I had made to the man. To my surprise, the man could still scream, and he did. With what was left of his eyes, he looked at me and I could see the life leave him. I could see how he was holding on to the edge of the cliff of life. And I could see myself come over to him and stomp his grip on it and I watched him fall to his demise. He could hold on to dear life no more. His life was mine now. All mine. And I loved it.

I went back home that night, took a shower to wash off the blood that covered my body, and I threw away the clothes I was wearing. When I got out of the shower, I went to the bedroom to see my wife.

“You’re smiling!” exclaimed my ill wife, “I haven’t seen that in a while! I was worried that you were not here with me earlier, but seeing as how you are happy, I don’t care. I’m just glad you’re happy!”

“So am I,” I said, “so am I…”

For the remainder of the summer I was happy. Every morning I saw on the news that the police had no leads for the mutilation of the homeless man. They believed that it was the working of a serial killer. I’m no serial killer, I told myself, all I needed was that one feeling. This will last me my whole life. And it seemed that it would last me my whole life. The whole summer I devoted my time to helping my wife. I didn’t kill anymore, I didn’t even think of it. I lived off of that one kill, that one high.

When summer was over my show was back on, but I didn’t need it anymore. My need had been sufficed. My wife’s illness became even greater, and I was always there to help. But then one day came when I just felt depressed. I was lacking something. I looked on the news; the story of the killer was no longer there. I was no longer important, and I no longer had that high that I craved. Once this happened, my wife noticed. I was no longer there for her. I was no longer there for myself either. I needed another high.

I wandered around town, frantically, looking for someone, some helpless person. Nothing. I realized that I was being irrational, I’m no killer. It was a onetime thing, no more. But the need for a high was great. I needed life—someone else’s life. I went back to the bar that I had been to that one night. I had a few more drinks. This was like a déjà vu for me. I stumbled out of the bar and down the streets, on my way to work. I stopped at a trash can in some dark alley—the same alley I had killed the man in before. I disposed of the alcoholic wastes that were in my digestive system in that trash can… again. This time, while I was puking, I had another vision. I was in a room; the sprinklers in the ceiling were turned on. I took a few steps forward and tripped over something lying on the ground. I looked at it, it was a corpse. It was all black and steaming. I smelled an extinguished flame smell, and also another horrid smell—perhaps the puke leaving my body. There were lesions all throughout the man’s body. But the wounds were seared with some kind of flame it looked like.

I blinked and snapped out of my vision.

That day, while I was still drunk, I went to work. A few hours into the job my boss noticed that I was having trouble focusing and doing anything right. He brought me into his office. We had a long irritating chat that basically ended up with him telling me that I may lose my job. I couldn’t have that. I turned around to lock the door.

“What are you doing?” he asked me, “what is the meaning of this?”

I turned to face him. My facial features were ones that could only have been seen in a nightmare. His nightmare—my dream. I took the computer from his desk, ripped it from the cords plugged into the wall and threw it on his head. Sparks were flying. He fell to the ground behind his desk. I grabbed the letter opener that was lying on his desk. I went over toward him as he lifted the computer from atop his head, I could see some burn marks from the electricity of the computer upon his face. I sat on him and beat him in the face. Blood came out and covered my fist. With my left hand I grabbed hold of his right arm, and with my other hand I stabbed him with the letter opener.

The amazing thing was that he helped me do this. If he had not chosen to put in sound proof walls in his office the week before, for sake of privacy, then someone outside the office might know that I was in here. Lucky me.

With the letter opener still in his arm, I took it and moved is up and down along the arm, tearing all the muscle that was inside—what little muscle he had anyways. His screams were oh so beautiful. But I thought of something that would be even more beautiful… I looked over near the wall, there were wires hooked up the wall, they were sparking with electricity—lots of electricity. I got up off my boss, grabbed him, and threw him on top of his desk. He slid to the other side of his desk; his head hit the wall and made a loud noise, a noise of pain. I used my right hand to slap him across the face as he tried to get away; he flew backward again. I then used the letter opener that was still embedded in his right arm, to cut through more of his flesh until his right arm could be of no use. Then I went to the left arm. Then the legs. He couldn’t move after all of this.

Struggling to move he tried to push me off of his stomach. My elbow went swiftly downward hitting him in a very private spot. I then took the cords and stuck them into his wounds. The sparks of electricity burned his insides, and stopped the bleeding. With each shocking he screamed even more. But as I was about to do something very terrible to him—as I was pulling his pants down, I noticed that he could scream no more. He was dead. In anger, I took the letter opener and stabbed him in the heart. Blood came gushing. I then placed the wires into his heart and they shocked him. This started his heart back up again, and for the split second that he was alive he looked me into the eyes. At that time I saw his life leave him, again. The satisfaction I got from that moment was beyond compare. Nothing could have made me happier. But I wasn’t done with him just yet. While his pants were still down, I… [sorry for the interruption, but this part is going to be extremely graphic, so I went ahead and deleted it. Basically, the guy shoves the wires somewhere into the man—deep into the man—and it is a long and forceful process.]… After the wires were in place, I reached up, grabbed a fire sprinkler and pulled it from the ceiling. At that moment all of the sprinklers went off in the building and the fire alarm went off. The whole building evacuated. As the water from the sprinklers came down, it would hit the wires and shock the man throughout his excretory system. After having received my satisfaction from watching this man suffer, I, very calmly, walked out of the office and out of the building and went home. No one had noticed me, everyone was in too much panic.

The next morning I was happy again. I had satisfaction, my story was back on the news, and I could once again live my life. But this feeling did not last as long as the previous one did. In fact it didn’t even last me two months. I had to get satisfaction again.

My next kill was the son of a mechanic, in a garage. I used the tools that were already there, waiting for me. The chainsaw was my favorite. His body was found in at least 27 different pieces scattered about the 400 square foot room. Blood was on the ceiling, limbs were lying on top of cabinets. It was a gorgeous sight. What was even better was what I saw on the news the next morning. The father of the teen that I had killed, after having seen the monstrosity that was a masterpiece, killed himself. Shotgun to the face.

That kill lasted me about a month. My next kill was a twenty year old woman in the kitchen of her own home. So much pain can be caused with just some broken glass, a sink full of lemon juice, and lots of silverware. I cut her with the knives and broken glass, and I stabbed her with forks. Once there were plenty of wounds I splashed lemon juice all over her. This was my first time killing a woman. She screamed a lot… music to my ears. The best part of the kill was the end. I used a spoon to gouge out her eyeballs and I made her eat them.

That lasted me a few weeks. So I killed again… and again… and again. Each kill was worse than the previous one. And yet to my surprise, each left me with less satisfaction than the last. I needed more.

For about a year I had been killing. Oh, it felt so good. I had killed seven people—eight if you include the father of the mutilated garage boy. Eight people died because of me. I felt so great. After my last kill I went home. This time before I entered the house I had another vision. This one was truly evil. As I entered the house I tried to fight these feelings… but the urge to kill and to take life was way too much. So I went straight into my room. My wife was lying on the bed asleep. By this time she had become very ill, contagious even. As she lay there asleep, I went into the kitchen and got a roll of saran wrap. I came back into the room, got on top of my wife, and placed the wrap over her face. She woke up once she realized that she couldn’t breathe. She tried to struggle, but she was too weak to fight back. She was coming close to death soon, but I did not want her to die so quickly, I needed my satisfaction. So I took the wrap off of her face. Before she could catch her breath, I slapped her across the face. Her nose began to bleed. Another slap. A punch. Punch again. Oh this was so good. This would be my first kill without any weapons. Just my bare hands.

Using my hands, I dislocated both of her arms. I even snapped a few bones in the process. I lifted her hand to my mouth. Using my razor sharp teeth, I bit off the ring finger from her left hand. I spit the finger out of my mouth. I took the ring off of her finger and I put it on my finger. With it I punctured her jugular vein on her left side. Blood came gushing out. The jugular vein is like a time clock for the body. Once it’s cut open, there’s no saving you. Time was running out for my dear wife. I lowered my head to her wound. With my tongue, I liked it. Then I placed my lips around it and sucked up as much of her blood as I could. When I could acquire no more blood I lifted my head. She looked at me, I smiled. When I smiled some blood leaked through my teeth and dripped on her. I then spit out on her the rest of her blood while I was screaming. She soon died and I was very satisfied. But as soon as she passed, I fell backward and had another vision. This one was truly the greatest of them all. There could be no other high greater than this one.

I left the bedroom and entered the bathroom. I gathered together all of the mirrors in my home, which were many, and I placed them into my bathroom. They circled around the room. As I stood in the middle I could see them all, staring back at me. I grabbed a razor from my drawer. I laughed; I could not wait for the high. I needed more satisfaction, the greatest of them all.

Razor in hand, I slid my hand across my wrist. Oh the pain was beautiful! Blood flowed from my wrists as I cut them both, multiple times. Oh the glory of it all! I stood up while bleeding from the wrists. Looking around I saw myself everywhere, dying. I ran into a mirror. Rammed it with my skull. More cuts were upon me. My screams made me feel oh so good. I couldn’t even tell if I was screaming or laughing. Maybe both. I was in so much pain, yet there was so much satisfaction from it. I ran into another mirror. Then another. Then punched a few. Energy was leaving me at the same pace my blood was. One mirror remained. I fell to my knees in front of it, staring. Red was the sight. I could see nothing else. Just red. My sight was going dim. I was fading away. I edged myself closer to the mirror. I got right up next to it so that I could see myself. I watched as my life left me; and I loved it. There could be nothing better than this. This truly was the greatest high.

Sexual Sadism (The Greatest High)

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Overtake Me

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Sexual Sadism (The Greatest High)

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