Monologue of a Serial Killer

How was I vatic to k instanter that this was wrong, when it felt so right? Everything my father has taught me is wrong He taught me not to get laid, taught me not to feel, fix no compassion for others. Howhow could this be wrong, my whole life a lie thats what it was, thats what I could reduce it to, a lie.Where had my go been when my father had been teaching me these things? Where had aunts, uncles, grandpas, grandmas, cousins teachers, anybody been to tell me, to show me thatthat all of this was wrong. Wrongthat intelligence information doesnt seem real now, and it will never truly seem real, because Ive never cognise anything else.I sound like Im trying to shoulder the blame but Im not, Im truly not I justI felt so accepted by him, and loved, so loved that I didnt really need anyone elseyou know, the kind of love wherewhere anything could happen, and that one somebody would still be there still there listening to everything you ever save to say, any problems and they say o ne word, two words, a sentence and everything is bettereverything is fixed.My father is the kind of person I always wished I was strong, capable, a true mana real man individual I would never be. My father says my mother held me too much when I was a child he had to get me away from her quickly, soso he found something to bond us together, found something that my mother could never be a part of, would never be a part of. And my mother, my mother didnt seem to notice how I changed. I changed so drastically in the space of about 5 months my perspective on life changed, suddenly I started to view everyone as a victim, as an outsider, and lastly the only person I could trust was my father, the only person I believed was him my father, my best friend, my partner, my mentor, the one person who I could go to, who I knew could never judge because his crimes are worse than mine, much worse.Im told that Im a victim in all of this a victim of my environment, a harvest-feast created by my fath er for his own means. How can I believe that? Howhow can that be true afterwards everything he said, everything weve done together, always together. I told him we shouldnt have taken her, that last one she was wanted, she had friends, she had a family, she had a future, sheshe was somebodyloved. But he had to have her and I couldnt tell him no, he was the superordinate hed say, and I was his studenta student still after 12 years, 12 long years stretching out behind me.When I look at those years now I see there was no love there, how could he ever love anything more than what he did to those girls? He was alive when I watched him do that his eyes, they sparkled and twinkled in the night. I try to remember a magazine when Ive seen him happy like that with my mother and I cantI cant. Ive seen him smile, obviously Ive seen him smile, but happiness is something a child should witness from a parent in normal circumstancesbut then again whats normal? They say normal is gardening, cooking , cleaning, washing, playperhaps driving, stalking, watching, learning, catching, cutting, killing, diggingburyingnone of that is normal, so Ive been told.My mindmy mind is mixed up and all I can hear is my mother cryingcrying trying to convince herself that she didnt know what was going on.I want to see my father, but Im not allowed. As if anything he could say would influence me more than he has done already theres secret code they can say now to make me confess, to speak a bad word about my father. I am hisforever hisbut he will never be mine.