Prologue:
I can't believe this had happened, I can't believe I shot him; I can't believe I got away! I'm a serial killer; now if I was to tell you my name, it wouldn't do me any good.
The detectives have been hot on my trail, but I tell you what, I lost those stupid detectives back in Guatemala; now I'm in my home town. Let's hope those detectives don't find me here, this is probably the last place that you'd ever find me. This is my story; these are my thoughts, and if you don't like it, ship out.
I'm your sophisticated serial killer; the one once you heard of, you quivered with fear every time you heard my name. I don't just kill like the others, I'm brutal, and I destroy. There is usually nothing left. And as I said before this is my story, this is how it all happened, let me start at the beginning; before I snapped, before my first kill, and long before you even picked up this book in that little book store on the corner.
This is my journal, I call it Serial, the name just seems to suit me, don't you think?
My last year of high school, yes I'm a senior, and so far, it's the WORST year of my schooling years so far... no, no, no, I'm not made fun of, like 'ha, ha, she just got pranked'; oh no, I'm tortured. I'm pushed around, terminally mentally unclean, unpurifiined; I'm no longer a clean person...
I don't have a problem with girls, they didn't hurt me like the guys did, so the girls in return were safer than the guys... for the most part.
I'm the quiet kid in the corner of the room, the one that as far as you know is drinking, smoking, and has tried to committed suicide more than once, but never succeeded. I'm the "emo" child. People nick named me Elmo, cause everyone thought that they knew me; they thought that I cut myself everyday until the point of blacking out...but they got some of it right.
I did drink, I did smoke, I did try to commit suicide, and yes, I cut. I'm what you'd call the unholy child... and to some extent I was an unholy child. And everyone tried to pull me in different directions, like one step forward with someone then pull back two more steps. Never moving forward, only going back. His name was Alexander, the one kid that got under my skin, his voice like a icy, cold sickle down my throat, and his hands like sandpaper against soft fur, turning it into rough leather, the kind that not even you would want to hold in your hand.
It was only time before someone pushed me far enough for me to kill. And the funny thing was, was that no one would have ever guessed that it would be so soon.
Just don't expect me to write it out clearly... I AM A MURDER! NOT JUST THAT, BUT A SERIAL KILLER AT THAT!
Pray to God, that you don't end up on my list. Cause once you're on it, there's no way of getting off, unless you have learned...