For all anyone could tell, it just looked like a shipment of drugs. Twenty nine tightly wrapped bundels of varying sizes piled up neatly against the bathroom wall. But they were not drugs, it was John, dismembered, cleaned, then chopped and tightly wound in cling-film. It was a task which had taken me over nine hours to complete.

Just shortly after, I brought the first window box in. After emptying out the soil I laid the packages containing John's hands and feet at the bottom. Then I refilled it, placed it back outside and returned with the next one. And it continued like that until noon, until the final package was gone and all that was left of John was a wheelchair, an ankle chain, a bucket full of organs and intestines and a pair of black, Elvis Costello type glasses.

It was in that grisly act, the chopping and cutting of body parts – on my knees in Y-fronts and a blood-strewn wife-beater vest – that I decided I wanted to live, that my life was worth fighting for. It was me kicking for the surface; a desperate bid for survival


  1. You're not turning yourself in? But surely someone will find out sooner or later =\ Either way, i'm glad you want to live.

  2. Go for it killer!

    That's what I look for in a man - the survival instinct!

    I know my effeminate gays and I know they are equipped with more vim and voive than the Muscle Marys, who are leather and steel on the outside, but scared little kittens on the inside.

    '... dismembered, cleaned, then chopped and tightly wound in cling-film' –

    Ah the memories!

  3. Oh, man, you should've just tossed them in the ocean. Even if they washed back up, you can't identify hunks of bloodless meat. Or maybe you can. I'll have to dig up some law texts.

  4. @ Soup!: No, a drastic change of plan. This way I've at least a chance to remain free. I don't want to go to prison... the first blow was an accident. X

    @ Abigail: Brian's a great example of what you atlk about. He's so fairy he almost floats, yet once you get past his projected exterior he's one of the most brutal, sado, cockmunching little shits ever to be born. Brians ruined my life! How sad. X

    Simon: No, the ocean always gives back what you put into it. Disposing of it/John that way would have been insanity - I choose the sane man's method: window boxes.X

  5. Glad to see the exhibition of a considerable amount of vim, vigour, and
    good old British spunk!

    I reckon you need to forget about the window boxes for a long term
    resting place ... you will get caught. Take a leaf out of Bricktop's
    book - take a trip to the country, and find a pig farm ... they will
    devour the lot, in minutes - and leave not a trace - not even teeth.

    And get rid of that bracelet, too. After all, if the fucker has fucked
    off, why is his bracelet still there? mm?

    And lastly - tell no one - ever. Bragging killers inevitably become
    banged-up killers.


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