Volkswagon

I sit in the chair, nervous and accepting of the fate I have created. I have earned the right to be here, through careful planning and methodical artistry. How is it my fault if they fell for my antics? They called my ideas diabolical and inhumane, as I orchestrated one masterpiece after another. Sure, it was with human life, but none of those lives were amounting to much. I, with my good looks, and my persuasive charm took hold of each one of them, one by one and made them my own. They, with their thin frames and feminine curves eager to assist when they smelled my enticing cologne. They pulled me close to assist me and looked lovingly into my big blue eyes unknowing that they would feed my inner sexual desires and end up strangled on the side of a road. Interstate 90 was an old friend who assisted me in my most devious encounters. I was fueled by media, and sexual violence portrayed in Hollywood on big screens everywhere. You want to put something on trial? Put the media on trial! The media with its glorified sexual violence that fueled my inner beast, causing it to surface and take me over. Once it came out there was no taming the beast- not until someone lay lifeless at my hand, me breathing hard, satisfied, then coming back to my senses and terrified at what I had done. Do I feel remorse? Yes, of course, but not so much for the victims or their loved ones but for the ones that are to come because in all of your cities there are dozens more just like me and you don’t even know it. You don’t even see what you are creating with your media and your sexualized violence. This chair I sit in now is uncomfortable. The straps cut into my arms, the thing strapped onto my head. You think you can kill me? I will just change form and continue to rape the minds of the innocent. Go ahead, pull the lever. Pull it again, watch me smoke. Smell my flesh as I leave this world and to you who pulled the lever...Oh yes, we shall meet again. But will you meet me, or the beast within?