Journal Entry
Author Unknown
He was a large, jolly looking man. He reminded me a bit of Santa Claus. It really pained me to have to kill him. Maybe I’m losing my edge, but I simply wasn’t in the mood. Killing him didn’t give me the satisfaction I’d hoped it would.
It was almost disappointing.
Is there anything worse than a depressed serial killer? What a sad, pathetic existence. Killing without pleasure. What"s the point? It"s pointless. A predator who can’t muster the will to hunt?
Such a waste.
Needless to say, it was a low point for me. I didn’t think it could get any worse than that, but I was wrong.
There was James Simpson III. A mediocre banker, with terrible golf skills. Maybe I wasn"t in the mood for murder, but sometimes you mess with the wrong person and then you die.
I d
