Before she was a prostitute, she was a little girl who
climbed onto her daddy's lap and said, "I love you!" Before she
started taking drugs, she was a little girl who used to cling to her
mother's leg and plead, "Don't go, Mommy!" Then she lost her sense
of self-worth. She still loved her family, and although they didn't
understand her, they still loved her. Her child loved her without
reservation.
To society (the big "They"), she was one of the "disposable"
people, a throw away, because she couldn't, or wouldn't conform. Who
cares? Just another whore. The police thought of her as a nuisance.
When she disappeared, no one paid much attention, except the father
who remembered the little girl she used to be that somehow got lost
in life, the mother who loved her and blamed herself, the only child
who cried each night for it's mother, just the brother and sister,
bonded by blood.
"Girls like that disappear all the time. They move on to where
the grass is greener." Sometimes. Sure, I killed your
daughter...mother...sister. It was the most incredible high I ever
had. I was her god. I could make it hurt as much as I wanted it to.
I could choke her into unconsciousness and then bring her back. I
loved the way she begged for her life, loved the sex, loved turning
her into a nothing that would do whatever I demanded. I made her
say, "I love you. Please hurt me some more," but I knew she was
lying; all women lie. It felt so good to choke the life out of her!
Why did I do it? Because I knew I could and I thought I would get
away with it. I would have, too, if it hadn't been for a "routine
traffic stop" and a cop who got lucky! Am I sorry? Damned right, I'm
sorry, sorry for me. She was a nothing, a less than nothing. Who
gives a damn about a whore? I dumped her at the side of the road
like the garbage she was. I can't believe I might lose my life over
trash, and they were all trash.
It's kind of cool, though, having my picture in the paper, and
all. The reporters hang on every word I say. I'm more famous than
the President! Can you believe it? I have women writing me all the
time. They love me! I wonder what they would think if I could become
their god? You would not believe the doctors and students I have
writing to me, and they all ask, "why?" Because I could and it was
fun, you dumb bastards! Keep those cards and letters coming, folks!
I have never felt so important! Thank you.
P.S. Please send stamps. Stamps are money in here.
