[ WP ] They say it takes one to know one . So I became one .

I was always fascinated by serial killers. 
 
 How do you become twisted like that? To love the feeling of crimson drenching your kitchen knife, little droplets towards the floor as you begin doing whatever it is you do to the body. Or perhaps having the joy of torture, to take advice from the Inquisition in torture techniques, or the Greeks with their brazen bull. What force compels you to do this? What creates a killer? Our natural brutality? Our unchecked rage? Or, simple curiosity? 
 
 It was sorrow when dear mother caught me with the family cat. Poor woman. The serial killer was described first as torturing or killing animals. She was horrified when she caught me drowning Nightcowl in the kitchen sink. Oh, the tears. Oh, the dreadful, dreadful tears. The hard slap of my mother upon my cheek, the first she had ever used physical force against me. I relished the pain. I was enthralled by it, like a sweet rose in a spring garden. I wanted more. Craved more. I wanted to know just how a man became a serial killer. 
 
 At the age of 23, it was my first victim, a nameless hitchhiker. At 24, a prostitute. At 25, a father of two. Each year, I developed even more of a taste. I needed to know, I must know what it felt like. It took one to know one. I wanted to understand the entire concept of it, swallow the knowledge whole. So I became one. 
 
 I am now 26. I am beginning to understand what it felt like. It felt... *riveting*. 
 
 This year, it's a new victim. You there, staring at the computer reading this prompt. Did you like my details? Because now, that's what i'm gon na do. 

