I’m a Writer

Completely and utterly awesome

Fictional Kevin


Even his close friends found it a little creepy – the way he devoured everything surrounding violent death. Overall he was a likable guy, but his “hobby” of studying things like poisons, exsaguination rates, body decomposition was disconcerting.

He would explain, “I’m a writer.”

When he first met her, she found it off-putting as well. She didn’t think he was a serial killer, not really, but she did make him send a photo of his driver’s license to her before their first weekend together. She liked him, but his interests seemed intense.

Most murders were mundane. Boring to him. The heated alcohol argument ending in a blood-slick knife. He enjoyed thinking about the more intricate. Studying the mistakes. Realizing almost everyone who murdered someone they knew made the same mistake – they only planned how to get away with it after the killing had occurred. The killing was the goal, not getting…

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