-Here is the story of a animal that died as a man, soulless and thoughtless he roamed the midnight sky with a fowl detachment for hunger never to be filled like a hollow hole of infinity. How could a man become an animal no one knows but the process is dark for sure. Howling incantations of his fallen masters only to fall on the victims and the killer’s ears when he said them, surely an oddity by any means.
-This man was struck, this man was beaten, this man was starved conversation, and this man turned inside out only to be a hollow transport to the bowels of hell. He did not waver his robotic confidence almost seemed to be designed for his purpose of ultimate destruction. His walk measured, his movements instinctive that any beast carries that walks this mortal plain. His triggers were as calculated as any dog would be. A ring of a bell a whisper in his ear or a twitch or movement could set him off in a blood driven frenzy.
-The knife was too sweet for him to not taste the blood of human bodily flesh. For every drip that had fell from the man’s knife did not satiate the madman behind the knife that struck only in darkness. Lost in his own ability to even a hint of human connection he only could enjoy the senses and instincts of a human but not appreciate the conscience of a sane man. For every perfectly placed slice and stab he did not enjoy the kill or even savor it like a conquering predator would. A strange anomaly indeed as he’d take his victim voice box and then begin the chasing them down any path he methodically calculated to work to his blade taking their lives.
His road was a ridden one full of objectives and missions and nothing else, nothing more just meat-bags to gut and render motionless. For every carefully pronounced step this man made seemed to give him a god-like resolve to his prey that fell beneath his precise strike of the knife. Was this a game of mere numbers to him because he did take a finger, or a toe, or an ear it didn’t matter just so long as he could pin it up in sewer that he called home as tasks were completed .
The sewer was quiet, only drips and drops would be the only conversation a man could have besides the scurrying of rat’s feet. I don’t know why he chose to reside there but for some reason he would find peace in the sewers of Venice. Like the catacombs rested remain of lifeless organic matter.
For tonight he strikes again his patient knife and their unsuspecting throats could anyone control this madness, anyone at all?