The Killer Inside Me



Death is death and life is life and some people live to die. These are the people who keep me in business. You may not like me and that’s tough shit to be honest. So long as I’m not hurting you why do you have to spoil my fun? So let me tell you my story. I have four lessons to teach you about me and the way I like to work, listen carefully:

  1. I like to start young, the younger the better. It’s easier to start my work when my victim is filled with self-doubt.
  2. I will never truly leave my victim, even if I get bored and disappear for a while, I will be back. Even I need a break and a change of scenery every once in a while.
  3. Male or female I’ll take you down. Don’t doubt it. You’d be stupid to question it. I have been all over the world and I have mastered my art. Let’s just say, nobody is immune.
  4. The only way to defeat me is to find my Achilles heel. Yes I have one. It’s hard to detect, so good luck in finding it. I won’t tell you. I like my secrets after all.

Today she threw her lunch away. Then, she signed her death warrant.

I walk her through the halls of High School in her fitted white shirt, provocatively loose tie and short black skirt. I make sure her ‘fat’ legs are on display for all to see. I’m in control. The fear and the hysterical laughter oozes and drips all around, a mask for all the insecurities. I love the buzz. All the hopes and dreams, disappointments and lies. It’s my drug of choice, my poison. Within these halls and many others like it is where I feel most at home. My identity is so easily hidden. In a place where so many feel trapped, I feel free. She unconsciously pulls the skirt lower, afraid of the male gaze. I lavish in it. It shows her how

far she has left until she reaches that stick-like grace of a runway queen. She desires that appearance so much.

The classes pass by her in a blur, her mind catching only one thing in its grasp then letting it flutter by. I watch her trying desperately to connect in some way to the black Americans and science experiments. I lay dormant at these times. Lessons bore me, (always have). I have my own lessons to teach and mine are more direct. The bell rings and I yawn, stretching out my claws like a Cheshire cat. Dinner time, that’s when I thrive. I whisper in her ear and tell her all the things she doesn’t want to hear. It’s all part of my strategy you see:

1. Isolate the victim from friends.

I’m the invisible killer. I blend in, disappear and thrive on anonymity. My name can be anything you want it to be. I can be anywhere at any time. My disguises are varied and I carry out my work over a long period of time for maximum effects. I love the drama, my hours are long but in the end my payment is dutiful.

Newport. A place she learnt to run before she could walk. What a dump. I walk her home from school sufficiently satisfied with my days’ work. I’ve been to worse places, then again I’ve also seen better. To her there are predators lurking to pounce. To me however the predators are just as lost as she is. Everyone is trying to fit into this City and its oversized shoes. We are all trying to stamp out meaningful futures, are we not?

I fancy a detour to the cemetery. A two hour walk will do her good, especially after all that fruit and cereal she’s eaten. There is nothing cheery about Cheerios. Sugar to rot your teeth and all those calories to rot your body. I’ve warned her but she still has some fight left. That won’t last. I walk her past the council houses uniform, brown, bland and reeking of unfulfilled visions. They are like an army. A battalion of brothers keeping the world out and the depression in. Strangers to one another, brought together by fate and misfortune.

I can see the road sweating, buckling under the unrelenting weather. So much for Wales and its yearlong winter chill. Hiking uphill, my destination in sight, I gasp in air and tell my unwilling host to continue. A few more pounds, I crone, you’ll be able to fit into that top in Primark-the one that is really suited for an adult but aimed at a child.

Here at last. Don’t worry my pet. Not long now and I’ll allow you to sit down, I can’t go letting you pass out now can I? Slivering in between the graves I wallow in the silence. I play over all my successes of the day and I start to thread my next moves out in my head.

2. Get the victim to eat smaller portions. or none at all.

3. Make the victim believe I have their best interest in mind.

As a hit man I work slower than most. I like the thrill of watching my victims waste away, mislaying their grasp on reality. The end game is irrelevant. I’m the oppressor, they are the oppressed.

Ah, an old acquaintance of mine. Ben Jameson, popular, good looking and a high libido, take any other twenty-four year old. It was one of my greatest pleasure when he allowed me into his world. Like so many of his exes, I had great fun in playing with him. He wasted away, a shadow of his former self. I on the other hand became full on the life he gave to me.

Here he is now little pet all tucked up in his mahogany bed. Do you ever wonder what will be said about you, when I’ve left you to rest, at last? No you don’t do you? You’re only on a diet. It’s not dangerous… for me anyway. No little pet, you and Benny boy here are completely different.

Now my dear, sweet, naïve readers- here was a guy that didn’t read my rules and take me seriously. Now all that’s left is his mum’s last message to him. “Here lies a fallen Angel, gone to soon.” Boo- hoo- hoo. It’s so tragic. No. It’s predictable, preventable. Like I said, all you need to do is find my weakness and poof I’ll be gone. Leaving you (or what’s left of you) to the misery of existence. How many others have I put here? I must invest in a diary. It’s so hard to keep count these days. My history book could be a best seller- The Diet Disorder Diaries. What do you think little pet, would you read it?

Come on up you get little pet. We’ll share a lot of memories like these. You and I will write our own chapter and it will be magnificent.

I’m Natasha Marsh, a 3rd year Media Studies student. I have loved writing since I was small, I also love to act, sing terribly, and chat until I make peoples ears bleed. Hope you enjoy this edited version of a story I created for a second year module.

— Natasha Marsh, Article Writer

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