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I always thought everyone was capable of murder, they just need one more push. I was no exception.

The push that drove me to butchery was mother’s true, endless, sobs on how she ended up with an ugly life and distraught children.

I heard people black out before snapping but I was one of those grateful ones that remember everything.

The push drove me over because she cried true tears about her damned life curious how it could happen to someone like her. Talking about it boils my blood. She ruined so many lives that Satan started slacking off in his role.

I had to stab her. The thrust took a lot of courage, maybe fearlessness. It was definitely wrath that helped with the first plunge. Then it was easy. I couldn’t stop jabbing her, even after she fell on the floor, even after she started twitching a little. The police said it was a total of 64 stabs. It became my favorite number.

That wasn’t it though. I still skinned her. I couldn’t stop myself, I didn’t feel like being stabbed to death was a great end for her. She still pissed me off lying there.

Again, it baffled me how I wasn’t repulsed by ripping her skin from her body. In fact, my mouth was watering.

She was then beautiful to look at. Skinless. It’s how she truly looks without that layer of snake-skin.

I wasn’t done yet.

I chopped up her skin to little pieces, set the oven and prepared a casserole.

It was truly a meal worth while


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