They come here. Lost souls from all over the world. They think they have it bad at home. Step-Daddy touches them, Mommy let’s it happen. Blah, Blah, Blah. They always think other people give a shit, nobody gives a shit. I am certainly not going to shed a tear because Daddy fucked you. He has a dick, and dicks are made for fucking holes. It’s a fact, so it’s nobody’s problem that you don’t like it. However, what I do like about this whole mess your life has become is you ran to the one place on earth that I will find you.
Welcome to Sin City My sweet morsel. You will see things here that will make your home look like fucking nirvana. You will have things done to you that will push you to the very precipice of suicide. How can it get worse than that? Sooner or later, you will run into Me. I will plaster a fake ass smile upon My face, one that will almost make Me retch in disgust. Then I will put my arm around you, and tell you what ever you need to hear until I see that look on your face, that small sign that you are starting to feel safe with Me. Finally, someone is here to take you away, listen to your stupid sob story. I will take you under my wing, I’ll even allow you to stay in a suite with Me for the night, fatten you up on room service, pamper you, spend the next day shopping with you. This is when your happiness starts to set in because I have not asked anything in return. We will check out, we will get into My Bentley, then as we cross the Oregon boarder, we will stop for the night in some backwood piss hole. I will act disgusted by the accommodations, instruct you to unpack while I go and see if there is cleaner room for us.
As I leave the room and you start to unpack, you start pulling out instrument, after instrument of sharp steel. I step back into the room, brushing dark liquid from my rain coat. Your eyes widen as you realize what it is. I put on a cheerful smile, taking a few steps toward you as I speak, “The management and I did not see eye to eye, I have work to do, and I do not need any witnesses.” With those words I grab your throat, pressing my nails into your soft skin, I tell you how pathetic you are, and that the only way out of your disgusting life is for Me to release you from it Myself.
Sin
There are so many medical instruments I could use to dissect my victims whether they are dead or alive but one of my favorite choices is scissors. I believe scissors are much more personal than a knife or even a sharp scalpel. When using scissors, you get to feel every bit of flesh material slicing with each and every snip. The terror in the victim’s eye just sends chills throughout my entire body from the feeling of the continuous cutting. I can cut into the flesh precisely so that it looks more like a work of art than some deviant act. Like cutting up paper dolls, it looks like the shape I desire them to be. Perhaps it looks extreme when I completely snip off eyelids, nipples, and even the stupid bitch’s clitoris. Who gives a fuck when you are having fun with a sharp pair of scissors in your hands. However, that is all so trivial when in comparison to cutting them open so you can slice their heart out. Hmm, I wonder who will be the next one for me to cut up?
