Kind sir, I wish nothing more than to return home
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"Murray Glastonburg: Inside the Mind of a Psycho" (Another) He spoke with a dignified yet casual manner, wanting to both impress and relate to his
audience. The content of his speech captured the hearts of many with his meaningful
statements and his passionate argument. In addition to this, his voice was tender yet
stimulating and was laced with a faint southern accent. He expressed his deepest thanks
while the audience roared with approbation, then exited the auditorium feeling content and
ready to go home for another day. He hummed something like "Do You Hear the People
Sing" as he strolled down Live Street, which was dark and desolate at two o'clock. He
turned the corner onto a road that had been aged, less maintained, and even more vacant,
but this was his usual route and the shadows did not affect his tune and stroll. Dark footsteps
followed him and one dim streetlight exposed the synchronized shadows. The only
witnesses to the crime, the moon and streetlight, would hold their muted tongues and let
daybreak divulge the evening's secret. Slice, slice, slice through the jugular. The murderer took a sterilized scalpel - apparently
melted, boiled, then refashioned into a deadly double-edged razor - and made three
precise cuts in a row on the speaker's neck. A jagged heart outlined the hole where the
orator's pump of lifeblood was removed. A hammer shattered the corpse's knees and
reduced them to mashed potatoes with bloody gravy. The crime scene investigators
shooed prowling felines of hell away from the feast they had a few hours earlier. No hair
other than the victim and cats' was found. How would they know that I had waxed my entire
body and chopped my hair off with a dumpster-ridden dagger and how could any sane
person understand that my mind enjoyed every bit of the pain? I knew that the psychiatrists
in my area would puke at the daydreams I had before a spree. Some might wake up with a
frightened expression on their face, full of horror at the sight of my sinister face peering down
at them and jamming a dagger through their foreheads and a crowbar down their throats,
draining them of their luscious warm blood. Well, I'm sure some of them need a lobotomy. To be continued...
Continue: Part 1: "Murray Glastonburg...the...Psycho" Part 2: Voice or First
*Note: I am not sure whether or not I should make Part 2a the second chapter and Part 2b the third chapter now, due to
the material I composed recently. A decision will be made upon by a consensus of comments by the story's readers.

No copying allowed. All places and characters in this story are purely fictional. Any relation to them is purely coincidental. Isn't this a purely annoying statement?