Dear Reader,

It was a cold dark night...
Oh come on, who am I kidding? It's always cold and always dark. If it was sunny and warm there would be no story. Well, there might but it would be a lot less interesting and much less disturbing. I mean seriously, if you were me you would have stuck to the shadows too.

This is my story. Who am I? That's not important, what is important is that I tell you my version of events before that cow from the press posts the tale everyone is waiting to hear. Detailed, horrific and dramatic...but all lies.
Except for the part where I killed you.

Stop laughing.
You died two months ago. I know because I was there, so you can quit pretending you are alive or just reading a book. You're dead. Buried, cold and still.
They didn't let me see you after that night but I have it on good authority you were put to rest in your favourite black number, you know- the one you wore for special occasions. Shame I never got to see it.

Anyway, where was I?
I don't care what the public think, when they read the story it will be twisted and marred. All the art of my craft soiled with words like 'monster' and 'psychopath'. Ha!
I am ashamed to say you weren't my first, but you were, without a doubt, my best. My favourite, even. You decided your own fate. I guess in the end we all do. You chose to tread the path of righteousness and I chose to cut you down to size. 
Did you honestly think no-one could touch you? That you were immortal?  
Who's laughing now?

Without seeing me you probably think it was a spur of the moment killing. I can assure you- you weren't just in the 'right place at the wrong time'. I planned every detail. Followed you, watched, waited and finally took you.
Part of me wishes I hadn't done it, just in case the afterlife is as beautiful as it sounds. You don't deserve for your soul to basque in glory for eternity. If Hell exists, that's where you belong. Rotting, tortured and beyond salvation.
I hated you. I hate you. I will hate you until I die, probably in this tiny cell but I can live with that until then.

You know, I've changed my mind. No-one should know the true story. It doesn't matter what they think of me and you...well you're dead.

See you soon...

Dear Reader, copyright of Lucy Marsh. 12/01/2014