Weekly Writing - The Serial Killer

wo 29 september 2010 12:49:57

It’s no use. Those fucking bastards got me cornered. Damn them all. If only they could see what I was trying to do. I had to create a better world for those girls, they were lost without me. If only they’d let me finish the job, now I will always feel that some of them got away. Though I can comfort myself in the fact that they will forever be scarred, perhaps they will continue my work. Oh God, I hope so.

God, if you can hear me, I know there’s not much reason for you to listen to my pleas for I am probably the biggest sinner in the world. I still hope you will have mercy on this horrible man I have become. Let them shoot me, kill me as soon as possible because I do not want to live behind bars. I will never survive in prison, not after all the girls I’ve taken away. God, they’re here, perhaps I will meet you soon and perhaps I will never get the chance. Either way, do not spare me.

Please, I beg o…


In a dark and abandoned warehouse a slightly panting man turned around towards a police officer pointing her gun at him. Though he could hardly be seen, it was clear he was pure evil in her eyes. Twenty long years did he manage to evade the police, and now this promising young rookie managed to hunt him down and even surprise him. He knew of course that one day he would met his match, but he never expected it to be a young and beautiful looking female.

He smiled with a slight sneer as he closed his troubled eyes. His fingers clenched around what seemed to be a knife. A deep breath before he engaged a startling fast leap towards the officer who had little time to react. A shot was fired and the world stopped for the crazed psychopath who had murdered dozens of teenage girls. He smiled and let the air rush out of him as he felt his body being punctured by the hot lead bullet. It seared through his flesh and with a thud he fell on his back.

He felt the life ooze out of him and with an eerie but happy face he surrendered himself to the inevitable outcome. His time was up, it had come and he would cease to be.

“All rise! the honorable judge Clinton Pulaski presiding in the case of The People Vs. Jonathan Gerard Morgan.“ An older man with a white bushy mustache walked in a room full of people. He stood behind his desk and motioned for all present to sit down. The entire courtroom was abuzz with media and a slew of angry looking people. Behind the defendant’s desk, a shriveled husk of a man sat hunched forward, trying to shy away from the crowd. Three officers were standing behind him, acting as shields for any oncoming attack.

This was the man who had kidnapped and murdered more than 30 girls, who had wrecked 30 families. America hated him and they would finally see justice brought to the sleazy slime ball the media had turned him into.

The prosecutor had prepared his opening statement to appeal to the jury as soon as possible. Even though the defense, consisting of two young and brash lawyers who didn’t care what kind of monster they were defending, raised some objections during this statement they were silenced pretty fast. In their turn, they tried to make him look more humane than Mother Theresa. It was no wonder they were shot down fast and within a few hours Jonathan was presented with a sentence.

His eyes lit up with rage and fury when he heard that he would not be getting the electric chair. How could they not do that? How could they not see? He was a monster, one who did not deserve to live and one who was no longer meant for this world. Had the defense cracked the jury? Or was it something else? What was going on?

He awakened himself out of the self-induced dream, looking around, he found the judge. With a devilish look in eyes he looked at the man with the bushy mustache. The man flinched for a bit, though no one else saw it. Jonathan was a predator and had developed a sixth sense for this kind of psychological warfare. He was probing the judge’s mind who, after a while, found he could no longer take this kind of abuse and ordered the present officers to take him away for process.

Within a few days and a highly secured transport he was sent to one of the many maximum security prisons. There, he would remain for the rest of his life. Well, that wouldn’t take long, he thought to himself. Unfortunately, they wanted to keep him alive, and even though he could not understand why, they we’re doing just that. Jonathan Gerard Morgan was put into a specialized cell to which no other prisoners had access. It appears death would continue to elude him and he started to weep the moment he was alone in his cell.

Thirty years later

“Morgan, wake up. You’ve got a visitor.“ A demanding voice could be heard through massive steel the door of his high security cell. He yawned for a bit and opened his eyes slowly. He raised his hands only to see that they had changed again. It was his weekly ritual ever since he got locked up. Through it, he could keep track of his aging body. Small liver marks could already be seen on slightly wrinkly flesh.

Yes, even he was ageing, though years ago he would’ve preferred to just die. But these days, that would be an affront to the Lord he served know. The one true Lord of Man, God.

He stood up, his body feeling a bit weak and frail. Though he was allowed to train every day, which he did, he could not stop it from growing old. He stretched for a bit, making a slight grunting sound, and walked towards the steel door. A panel was slid open through which he had to stick his hands after he had turned around and faced it with his back. This too, had become a ritual each and every day.

Only this time, he had a visitor.

He wondered who it could be, he didn’t know anybody and even the guards tried to stay away from him as much as possible. Oh well, he would find out soon enough, he thought to himself. Of all the people in the world, though, he did not expect “her“ to show up.