Personal Narrative-Social Injustice

This short story is about my descent into madness, or how most would say I became a sociopathic killer. Now, you need to understand before you judge. The definition of descent is an action of moving downward, dropping, or falling, my point is I didn’t start out like that, certain actions and events had to happen in order to trigger it. Okay, the first thing to happen was social neglect, to sum this down basically antisocial behavior. The refusal to participate in groups was so often that I stopped being asked. “Was this on purpose?” maybe on a subconscious level, yea I wanted it. The next part is important because I stopped caring about my antisocial behavior or I stopped caring that I didn’t care about other people. Example, if a random
While hiding behind the dumpster I waited anxiously for two hours. Though my heart was beating fast it was as cold as liquid nitrogen onto a burning flame, a strange feeling indeed. Around ten-fifteen, just about twenty-eight seconds before ten-sixteen, I hear his footsteps coming towards me. “Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump,” and finally he tripped over the string, I eagerly leaped out and slashed down right between his shoulder and his neck. However, it wasn’t enough “HACK, SLASH, HACK, SLASH,” I kept at it for about five minutes then I heard it, his dying breath. “Sweet bliss,” it was like a secret aphrodisiac that only I was allowed to taste. “I’ve never felt this way before,” I thought as I looked down to see his mangled body. I was not about to let it end with him. That feeling of straight clarity, I just had to feel it again. So I dragged his corpse into the abandon building, ran back to my house and grabbed several garbage bags and ran back. My plan was to cut his body into pieces, bag them, and dump them in different locations. As easy as that sounds, it wasn’t, separating the cartilage and the tendons from the bones was difficult. Either way, I couldn’t afford to be sloppy, I buried each piece in precise locations around the neighborhood. Also I burned the clothes I was wearing, and I took some of the blood off the axe and rubbed it on the trunk of a car, the owner had an argument with my mom. I cleaned the axe and switched ours with his, just to add evidence to him. It’s not that I held any resentment towards him, he was just expendable. Nonetheless, I was going to continue, the police haven’t found the evidence I so plainly planted in front of them. Deciding to be smart, I waited a week to begin, “What I like to call,” the hunt