"I live now, to kill.
I breath in decay,
I feast on flesh,
I drink down blood,
and sweep up the gunpowder."

Ronald left his house,
his hands still tingling,
his grin still welded in place.

He stopped by the newsstand,
The headlines were ringing
"Serial murderer Strikes"
"Family of four slaughtered in their beds"
"Mass murderer on the loose"
"Police still baffled in string of random shootings"
His grin grew wider.

He went to work,
His co-workers
Were whispering,
Gossiping,
Speculating,
All about this new killer.

He went home that night,
and was consumed by a thought,
He couldn't...
wait...
to kill...
...
...
again.

He felt,
Nothing,
Not pleasure,
Not Anger,
Not Sadness,
Not stress.
He hadn't,
Not since he took his first life.
He had to feel again,
he had to bathe himself,
in blood,
He had to,
or he would go insane.

so he chose,
someone,
random,
No real connection,
no particular reason.
He'd never heard of the Marsons
he just,
needed.

He stalked again,
just like before.
He followed their every move.
just like always.
he felt he knew enough,
and struck.

It was the middle of October,
just before holloween,
Jack-o-Lanterns decorated the porches and decks.

he stepped out of his car,
he hustled into the woods,
he hurredly donned his cape,
and hopped over their fence.

all the lights were out,
everything was silenced,
It was time for blood.

He popped open a kitchen window,
He quietly slipped in.
He felt himself brush against something,
He heard it fall from the counter,
It made a deafening crash.

Within a blink, the bedroom light,
flared up to life.

He ran,
Gun drawn,
To the bedroom,

He was met at the doorway,
By Mr. Marson,
and a terrified shriek from his wife.

His gun roared,
like thunder,
striking the same place twice.

"That was too quick"
He thought to himself,
no time for a spot of fun.
so, he drew his knife,
and in a flash of it's blade,
showered himself in gore.

He began to chuckle,
Then he laughed,
And soon,
He cackled like a madman.

When he was rudely interrupted.

He saw red and blue lights,
flashing behind the blinds.
he spun around,
and saw the phone off of it's hook.

his eyes grew wide,
he dropped his knife,
and bolted for the back door.

he ran,
ran over fences,
ran past trees,
all with flashlights,
trailing,
searching,
hunting for a glimpse of him.

he could see his car now,
it was his one hope for escape,
he turned to head towards it,
when he was blinded.

He had to stop the light,
so he raised his gun,
and shot it aimlessly.
and no sooner did he fire,
than another crack was heard.

a sting...

burning...

piercing...

his legs collapsed under him,

the pain was greater than any he had before.
it burned it's way through his back

he felt his knees hit the muddy ground.
and he heard his gun do the same,
but just as a far-off nightmare.

his eyesight went dark,
he felt his hands,
brush the leafy soil,
if that's what it was.

He felt nothing.
laying there limp on the ground,
the blood of the Marsons'
mingling with his own.
Shot in the back,
Numb.


Then he saw, his family.

His cousins,

His aunts,

His uncles,

His mom, and dad.

His grandparents,

all at the party,

All smiling, having a good time.

and he thought.

"Why did it come to this?"

So there he was,
Wandering down a dimly lit alleyway,
stumbling like a drunken sailor,
and cackling like a madman.

...

and so he was.