Journal Entry #43
Name: Nancy Bowman Age: Twenty-Two Hair: Blonde Eyes: Green Power: Hydrokinesis Cause of Death: Blood Loss Date of Death: February 24, 2014
There are days when I just can't control myself. When I need to kill. Sometimes, I fear that it isn't even about my son anymore. That it's not about retribution, but instead because I like it. Taking life wasn't something I wouldn't ever have thought I would like, but here I am. Knee deep in death and stuck in it's thick black tar without escape. Maybe it's time for me to embrace it. To just sink into the darkness and never resurface. That might be best for everyone. Even Valeria. It would break her, but at least there's a good chance she can move on. All I've ever done so far is hurt her, even when I try not to. She can't understand and I don't expect her to.
Nancy Carter was just a catatonic release for me, in all honesty. No thinking, no stress, just release. I don't have to worry about anything, except getting caught, but I've taken the precautions to ensure that wasn't going to happen. Even the muffled screams she tried to give off was calming. Like a melodious sound of a violin, this time played by two very elaborate vocal chords. Music to my ears.
As wonderful as the screaming might have been, the electric saw drowned it out. Much like how Nancy Bowman drowned in her own blood. The blade severed the jugular vein and the carotid artery. Within minutes, Nancy stopped screaming. Not because she was dead, but because she was unconscious. There was still life in that body of hers and with every stream of scarlet vigor that squirted out of the slit on her throat, the more that life diminishes. It was beautiful, really. Watching someone die. There's a macabre pleasure in it, a deep art rooted in evil and I sat right in the front rows.
Her blood was like honey once it started to congeal. Slow and steady. And soon, it was a gelatinous blob of red blood cells. There's some cannibalistic humor in this, but the point's already been made. I would never be able to bring myself to do that. If I were to, then I'd consider myself a true monster. At least as of now, the form I take still has a sense of reason even if it's slowly slipping away. Still, I can't help but to feel her blood between my latex covered fingers. This was her life, what sustained and kept her alive. Funny how something that can bring life can also take it away. It's poetic, in a sense. Nancy Bowman died drowning in her blood, drowning in her life.
Rest in peace, Nancy. If you can.
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