Playful Killer

The person speaking to me in my head seems to be dancing. I can make that out from the warm inflections of her voice – a tell-tale sign of someone hopping about and singing aloud. Perhaps she’s happy that I got smitten by her bewitching cadence and gave in to her suggestion. Do all sadists feel giddy about successfully cajoling someone into killing others?

There’s something at the back of my head that bothers me about my actions, but all I can think about is making her voice even merrier. Mummy and daddy wouldn’t have liked me doing things at the whim of a stranger, but at least I didn’t talk to a stranger. I know it’s rather like splitting hairs, but as my summer reading story said, whatever keeps your boat afloat. Besides, it’s not like they can argue. They’re too dead for that now.

I never knew paying…