I'm not like the protagonists of most stories. Their tales end with justice triumphing over evil and the culprit receiving the punishment they deserve.
My story, on the other hand, is about how to walk out of this high-walled prison cell in a perfectly legitimate way.
At this moment, I sit in an interrogation room, a murderer. I think back to this morning, when that ugly man was surrounded, examined, and photographed by a crowd. A peculiar sense of satisfaction welled up inside me: my own wretchedness stayed hidden from public view, while his ugliness was scrutinized, photographed, and dissected for all to see. Not only would his life be condemned, but it would bear the mark of his crimes forever.
I know that people love stories about serial killers and depraved murders. They fear the cruelty of the killers, yet are curious about how someone becomes a monster. They love to gather around and discuss the cases, while secretly wondering: Who is the killer?
But I'm not like those other killers. I'm a murderer who turned himself in, and will escape judgment under the law.
From here on, I'll lay out the details of the killings for the police officer sitting across from me.
Tattered Robe
You Hired Me to Collect Bodies, So I Dissected My Ex-Girlfriend
The Corpse Collection Files