Everything thrives off the death of something else. Death is a necessary part of life. Even vegans kill things, but veggies do not have a face, so they eat them, I hate to tell them this, but killing is killing. However, you can make killing fun. It doesn’t have to be a fucking somber time. The lead up is sometimes more satisfying than the act it’s self. All that planning, the stalking, making sure you have the right equipment, finding a place to play, then to dispose of the lifeless fuck-rag. All of it gets my cunt wet just thinking about it.
Having a place to take the prey is critical. Spare of the moment shit always backfires, that is how people get caught. Nothing is worth rushing over. Taking time is what makes the experience worthwhile. Instilling fear is the first thing, the unfamiliar, the brutality administered over a long time, erratic in it’s timing. It throws them off, making them on constant alert, it is exhausting for them. Placing them in a place with no outside light, no outside sound, no way of knowing time, that will break anyone.
Once you get them at that point, right at the tipping point, you bring them back. Showing care, kindness, regret, you gain their trust, then you start all over again. The emotional as well as the physical pain is a must. Make it last, days, weeks, months, but never ever hold onto them longer than that. The day arrives where you simply must do away with them. They become tiresome after a while, and you will crave something new. They are bruised, even fucking them has lost it’s fun because they just slip away into themselves. What fun is that? No screaming, no crying, no protesting, just dead weight.
One piece at a time you take from them. Keeping them alive by cauterizing wounds and cuts. You bury those chucks of your prey deep, no animal will find them, no people will stumble across them, the only thing that knows that those juicy piece of flesh are there are the trees, and they are grateful for the nourishment.
