Ouroboros

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It was in these moments that Al Elloan felt like God, when he was covered in someone’s blood. He savored the moment of having control over life and death. It was an ephemeral pleasure, but it was one of the only things that he truly enjoyed in his life. His job was menial, his love life was non-existent; the only time Al felt alive was when he was standing triumphant over his prey with weapon in hand. He had murdered over a dozen people and he had no intentions of stopping. There was no one who could stop him.
One of the most exciting parts of it to Al was the stalking and memorizing the patterns of the people he decided he wanted to kill. He would watch them go to work and make a schedule for them. They knew nothing about the terror he was about to visit upon them. He would write down what times they were most likely to be caught off guard. His favorite part was when he finally jimmied the lock on their house and began looking for a weapon to use against them. He never brought his own, he liked to let inspiration strike and see what he could use against them. There was always something he could use. Like a golf club, a cleaver, or a nail gun.
One of his favorite memories was surprising a young woman in her bedroom with a heated-up curling iron that he used like a baton. She didn’t even try to escape when she saw him, she just resigned herself to her fate. She stood paralyzed as he approached her and knocked her senseless with a powerful backhand. The sizzling slap of scalding flesh excited him so much that he thought of it late at night when he was alone and his hands were wandering southward. The image of her bruised and scalded flesh sent him over the edge every time.
Another pleasant recollection flooded his memory. He had been waiting for a man in his garage with a hammer. He didn’t notice him until it was too late. It was all too easy. He incapacitated him with the hammer and set to work breaking all the bones in his hands. When the meat screamed, he set to taking out his teeth too with the hammer’s claw. He didn’t like it when they screamed or pled. They were just meat to him, something to give him enjoyment. They didn't deserve to plead for their meaningless life. They existed for him.
Recalling those two stirred something deep within Al. He wanted another memory. He wanted another victim. It was so soon after his most recent kill, but he knew he could not deny himself this pleasure. He would find someone new, someone to give him that transient rush that he so desperately needed. Maybe a married couple this time? Better yet, a family? It didn’t matter. No one could stop him, not even God. There was no God, there were no people, there was just Al Elloan. 
Al Elloan could not see the signs. The way the world extended only as far as his consciousness clawed. The way the world ceased to exist when he closed his eyes at night and exploded back into being upon waking. There were people in his solipsistic world because he wanted them there. He thought, therefore they were. He was the only person in the universe that had free will and sentience. The others were automatons born of his mind, something to keep him entertained. There were homunculi that existed as facets of his psyche. Al knew none of this, he only sought the pleasure of the kill. He didn’t even realize that he was killing himself bit by bit. Al would continue to kill until there was no one left and he consumed himself.
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