I remember where it all started; when I first got my taste for blood. The first time was actually an accident. It was a dark night. Silence filled the air. It was a heavy and strong sensation, the kind of silence that remains so still, that it becomes ear piercing. The scent of death arose from the limp body that laid in a continuous pool of blood that had been excreting from the fatal wounds. I had no clue what was going on, or who that was, or how any of it happened. I felt something heavy and metal in my right hand. Once I looked down and peered at the steel blade I held with a ‘death-like’ grip, it all came back to me.
I then knew exactly who that was and what had happened. No longer was the silence sending chills throughout my body, but now serving as a sign of relief. That freshly dead corps that lied at my feet, was my wife. I remembered how fed up I had become with all of her nagging and how I just couldn’t stand to listen to that bitch’s voice anymore. We went for a walk after dinner one lovely, yet, very dark night. Once we reached the edge of the woods, before turning back around, I acted swiftly. Grabbing a handful of her hair from the back of her head, I immediately took control. Before she got the chance to let out a single cry, I made a deep, clean slit across her throat with the blade I had hidden in my sleeve. It was a very quick death. A death I hadn’t planned. A murder I hadn’t even realized I had done, until it was too late.