For some death can be an interesting theme, one that intrigues despite it being surrounded by the alienated and the disgusted. Sometimes we may have to wonder a little bit away from normality for those creative flows to run strong, powerfully streaming towards an end goal. Only then will the words strung together jump off the paper and materialise into a creation of gruesome nature. Why do I say gruesome, maybe look above you and answer yourself why you’re six feet under the ground.
Six feet under the ground, that’s madness, I’m sitting here just reading this, I’m not dead, far from it! Understand that you’re life remains intact but through the power of reading and infinite number of visions your imagination creates, you can be dead and alive at the same time.
Even his close friends found it a little creepy – the way he devoured everything surrounding violent death. Overall he was a likable guy, but his “hobby” of studying things like poisons, exsaguination rates, body decomposition was disconcerting.
He would explain, “I’m a writer.”
When he first met her, she found it off-putting as well. She didn’t think he was a serial killer, not really, but she did make him send a photo of his driver’s license to her before their first weekend together. She liked him, but his interests seemed intense.
Most murders were mundane. Boring to him. The heated alcohol argument ending in a blood-slick knife. He enjoyed thinking about the more intricate. Studying the mistakes. Realizing almost everyone who murdered someone they knew made the same mistake – they only planned how to get away with it after the killing had occurred. The killing was the goal, not getting…
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