[ WP ] Your father admitted on his deathbed that he was the most successful serial killer of all time , just killing 100s of random people in random ways in random cities throughout his life , never leaving traces , and he gave you a list of his victims .

I looked down at the shrivelling form of my father. The cancer had reached it's final hours and he was wasted. 
 
 I had never been close to my father, he had always abused me in my youth, I despised the man and seeing his shrivelled, dying form made me realise how pathetic he really was. 
 
 My father had left when I was eleven after years of abuse and I had only heard from him as he was on his deathbed. He had bequeathed me all of his possessions in a misguided attempt to rectify his mistakes. 
 
 My mother had treated me with care, only ever getting mad when I accidently snapped my dogs neck while play wresting with it. It had been so easy, one simple jolt and old Max was going to the doghouse in the sky. She was outraged and my lack of feelings towards it made her even madder. That had been the fact when she had beaten me. She'd ignored the vandalism I'd been caught for within the town and the small fires that'd burn in the back garden at night. 
 
 She had sent me away to a school for intelligent children in order to get me a better life. I had disliked being around the people there, I'd had no time for them. 
 
 The only person I despised more than James was my father. James had met an unfortunate accident one day when he fell from the roof of the dorms while apparently drunk. I shed my fake tears for the bully that had attacked me regularly. 
 
 So when my father bequeathed me all of his possessions I was impressed. 
 
 As he lay there, he thrust a piece of paper in my hand and beckoned weakly for me to bend down. He whispered in my ear. `` Never caught. You're the son of the best serial killer ever gracing this planet. You should be proud of your father,'' he whispered into my ear. 
 
 I asked the nurses to eave me to alone time with my father. After they left the room I looked into his eyes as I picked up the spare pillow and pressed it against his miserable face in a rage that had been building up for the past thirty years of my life. Blankly I watched as he kicked for the last edges of his life as the pillow ended his life. After he laid still I allowed myself a smile to know I ended a serial killer's reign of terror instead of letting him die naturally. 
 
 `` I am proud father,'' I said emotionlessly. `` The list says one hundred and two.'' 
 
 I turned and yelled for the nurses, telling them that he had just flatlined after telling me that he was ready to go. 
 
 I strolled from the hospital with a smirk across my face. As I sat down in the drivers seat of my Chevelle SS I let out a sigh of relief. `` You may have gotten one hundred and two father,'' I exclaimed to myself as I pulled out of the parking lot, `` but you are the hundred and twelfth of my list.''
