“The dreaded menace known as The Carver hasn’t been found. He’s still on the loose, but FBI reports state that we are making progress. They predict him to be found within the next month.”

I shut off the TV and sighed. They were starting to get uncomfortably close to me now. I hadn’t killed anyone in about 5 months.

I started getting restless. Everything started to feel torturous. My longing to feel the warm blood of some unlucky kid on my hands and the victim slowly dying before me was starting to well up, filling my mind. I couldn’t think of anything else, my bloodlust filling my vision.

Maybe I didn’t need a victim to fulfill my twisted desires. Maybe all I needed was right here. I looked down at my arms, inspecting them, thoughts slowly creeping into my mind.

Then I jerked back into reality. No… it wouldn’t be the same anyways.

But killing someone would be too risky, especially when the Feds were right on my tail, nearly breathing down my neck. Maybe, just maybe, it was the only option.

I needed to at least see some blood. Even if it was only a small flesh wound… I just needed something to hold me over until the coast was clear.

But… what if I died in the process? Then it’d be all over. I don’t want it to end just yet. I sighed, considering my choices. Finally reaching a decision, I stood up and lumbered into the kitchen, grabbing a small knife from the kitchen. I looked it up and down. Too small. I dropped it, metal clanging against the floor as I passed my hands over them all. I pulled another knife out. The blade was serrated and probably around 5 inches long. I flipped it in my hand, moving back to the living room. I leaned up against one of the walls and slid to the floor, my wrists exposed on my knees.

I took in a deep breath and slashed it against my wrists, then dropped the knife, clutching my new wound. I only felt it sting for a mere moment. I watched the blood slowly fill the crevice in my skin, and felt my face contorting into a twisted grin.

Getting a slight high, I picked the knife back up, staring at the blade. Slowly, I brought the blade to my wrist. I took a deep breath and sliced twice more, carving a twisted, jagged triangle in my wrist. Blood seeped out, spilling onto the floor. Wasted, but I didn’t mind too much. I switched hands and copied the same morbid triangle onto my other wrist.

I started to feel giddy, like a child who had eaten too much sugar. I started to chuckle, watching blood seep from the deep gashes in my arms. I started to crave more. I decided this was not enough.

I examined the now bloodied edge of the knife, grinning. I could just barely see my reflection in the blade anymore, blood dyeing the once-silver blade a dark red.

I knew I needed more, but I didn’t know where to go next. I could continue to slash at my arms, I could mutilate my legs, hell I could move on to somewhere a bit more dangerous. But I started to think a little more logically. If I kept at my arms, I wouldn’t be able to extract the precious red substance flowing just beneath my skin. My legs, I reasoned I couldn’t need. But, I could bleed out if I cut too deep into an artery.

My stomach could work… Sure I may bleed a lot, but I wouldn’t bleed to death. I would get a much better high because of the amount of blood, but it was much riskier. Thinking, I looked back at my life, the victims. I wondered what seeing your own death would be like.

I brought the knife to my stomach, preparing for the slice. A knock came at the door.

“Police, open up.”

My eyes widened. My mind raced as I thought of what to do. I looked around for somewhere to get out.


I looked around for something to defend myself. I had the knife, but that was it. I wouldn’t get too far. The knock came again. I sighed as I lifted up the knife, gripping the handle with both hands. I brought it down upon my stomach, feeling the blade reach into my insides. A guttural noise came from my throat as I felt blood rush up, starting to spill from my mouth.

The door smashed open, a few SWAT members broke in, guns at the ready. They spotted me and shone their flashlights at me.

They were stunned at the sight. I took delight in their horrified expressions, starting to laugh, some blood spilling out from my mouth.

“Well, gentlemen,” I croaked, still chuckling. “Looks like you’re a little late to the party.”

“Place your hands where I can see them,” the commanding officer demanded. I grinned at him with bloody teeth. I looked at the knife lodged in my stomach. I weakly tore it out, blood starting to pump out of the wound like a waterfall.

I started to black out, but grinned as the officers grabbed me, struggling to put my hands behind my back.

“You are under arrest for the murder of…” the commanding officer began, then listed the names of the victims I had claimed over my career. I closed my eyes, not caring about anything that was happening anymore.

They arrested a dead man. But they could never punish me for my crimes, no… I was free. Free from judgement from those who would despise me as I entered the courtroom.

But I was happy. For once, I was happy. I would have rotted in a cell, anyway. Besides, I wasn’t really free in my home country. After all, what does freedom mean if I’m not free to be as twisted as I wanna be?