The Heart Taker

I love a good heart. Don't we all?
A fatty little organ that pumps and distributes the essence of life throughout our body. The most important aspect of our being, an invaluable, central core. They say the human heart is the most significant object in this universe. The maintainer of life, the producer of love, the symbol of peace. A world without it brings not just the death of flesh and tissue and nerve, but the death of our most precious, most valuable ideals.
You understand this well, yes? The tear-stains soaking your eyes and cheeks would imply that much. You're so afraid. So horrified. I don't blame you. I would be as well. In fact, I was once in your position. I've felt the infinite pressure of helplessness pressing against my chest like hydraulic machinery. Unforgiving, unrelenting, uncaring. I almost feel bad for you. You who remains, your body slumped against the wall. It hurts, doesn't it? The slits across your achilles tendon. That knee of yours, bent backwards all crooked-like. Like a snapped twig hanging by a thread. That leg of yours just won't quit, will it?
What's that? You'll have to speak a little louder. That cloth shoved straight down your throat makes it hard to hear you. Fine, fine, I'll remove it. What is it?
Oh... I see. Why did I do it? Is that what you're sputtering over and over, like a broken record? You only had to ask once, really. Now be good and say "ah!", and I'll gag you again. It's only fair. You asked a question, so it's my turn to talk. Not a single part of that requires your tongue being in action at all. 
Where do you want me to start? Your dear old dad hanging from the ceiling fan, slowly drifting in circles non-stop? Course, the fat bastard would've just made the whole thing come crashing down had I tied him up there as he was. So I guess he had to lose his guts first. He seemed like the type to be afraid of heights after all. Too soon? Sorry. Well, there's him, then there's mom. Your mother, not mine. Figured I should clarify. Someone really should warn her not to stick her hand into the blender. Or her face. Or her neck. How the hell did she even angle that part of her body inside that small little space? Kidding. I helped her out. Guess that's the gentleman inside me. Sorry, I'm rambling.
"What about my little brother?"
That's what you're gonna ask me right now? How fuckin rude. You threw off my mojo, I was really getting into it you know. Whatever, be a prick I guess. Your little shi-... brother... is fine. He got away. I got a policy against killing kids. Got a problem with that? Wait, how the fuck are you talking? 
I forgot to put the gag back in your mouth? Oh, silly me. I guess I did. I can't even be mad at you about that, my bad. Let me fix that. Okay, that's better.
Where was I? Right, your brother is alive. Is that a good or bad thing? Did you want me to have killed him? Yes, no, maybe so? As a big brother myself, I could totally understand both sides of the argument. You're crying? How the hell is that an answer? Tears of joy, tears of sadness, it's all so ambiguous. Can you just use your big boy words?
Right, the gag. I'll just keep that out of your mouth from now on. This shit is way too complicated.
You're... still crying. Oh, now you're forming words. Babies' first words coming right up, huh? You must be real proud, struggling to do something that infants can do. Speak up! I'm giving you permission!
"Thank you...", you're thanking me? For sparing your little brother? Your father is hanging from the ceiling fan by an intestinal tract wrapped around his neck, and your mother's body got shredded by a fucking blender of all things... and you're thanking me? You're real weird, you know that? If you're gonna thank me, thank me for how I killed your mom. I went out of my way to make it creative. A blender, seriously? Do you know how inconvenient that was? How many bones I had to break, how many joints I had to dislocate, to fit her body parts inside a god damn smoothie maker?
Whatever, my job is a thankless one. Now, enough small talk. You must be wondering why I did all of this. Right? No? You don't wanna hear it? How come you never support my hobbies? I really feel like I'm doin the heavy lifting in this relationship. At this rate our honeymoon phase is gonna end sooner rather than later. Why can't romantic terms apply to a killer and victim relationship? Don't be so closed-minded. It’s the 21st century, times have changed. 
Give me a moment while I dig around in these ultra convenient plastic bags... here I go. And there you go, vomiting. Disgusting, get a grip man! You act like you've never seen a heart before! A real heart connoisseur, that's what I am. A true visionary, who can appreciate the beauty of the human heart. Why do you think I do this? Cut open the chests of my victims. Reach into their bodies, cracking and pulling apart their ribcage. Gripping the beautiful, fleshy mound in my palm. That sensation of holding that which defines life itself. How could anyone deny there's something truly special about that?
You look unconvinced. I swear on my soul, this was purposeful. There is meaning in your parent's deaths. No matter how loudly they screamed, how terribly they cried, in the end there was significance. To collect their hearts... to collect the home of the soul itself. It's as if I am collecting their love. They aren't truly dead, my child. They're with me now. Don't think of the mangled, heartless corpses of your loved ones as empty husks of those you once knew. When a person dies, they are given a gravestone. A burial. Think of their bodies as exactly that. Naturally, even when someone we love dies and is buried, they live on with us. Is this not the same? 
Come on... it's simple math. The heart is life. The heart is love. So, the more hearts there are congregated in one area, the greater the volume of life and love. Can't you see that? It's beautiful. Yet it's tragic all the same. Think about it. The body is a prison of flesh. Can you guess who the prisoner is? The heart, that's right. Bound and restricted by the needs and desires of the body. Every moment sleeping is a moment we spend not truly living, not truly loving. The same goes for every minute we eat, drink, and work. How can a heart be truly free, when so much time is spent neglecting it? I'm simply freeing that love. Liberating it. I'm a goddamn hero, I'd say! And you... you can be next. You will be next! Yes, cry! Cry more! Sob until your tear ducts empty and run dry! Let it all loose. Pure, raw emotion that comes from the heart. Cry as I trace the knife along your chest. Cry as you shiver in fear. Cry as you...
What's that? You want to know... what else is in that bag of mine? What makes you think... oh... you see something else in it? A lump, stretching the back out ever so slightly?
Heh. I don't know if your heart can take it.
...
You sure, buddy? 
...
Last warning... final chance...
...
Surprise!
It's a third heart! What a twist! How do you like it? Does it satisfy you, to know what more was in that bag of mine? Does it? Does it? Does it? Well? What's the answer? No? No, I suppose not. More vomit, more spit, more tears. I'd be disgusted if this were my first rodeo.
Hah. You're pretty endearing, actually. To have believed me earlier. To have believed I spared that little kid. Hell no, what's the fun in that? One cut, two cut, three cut, four. Five cut, six cut, blood galore. Hand and feet, fingers, toes. Eyes and ears. Teeth and nose. Etcetera, etcetera. I can't remember what all I removed from him. I stopped keeping track after a while. I do know something for certain though! I took... I took his...
Can you guess?
That's right! His heart. You're very, very smart. Good for you. Yeah yeah, I took my time with him. Made it hurt bad. Real bad. Cryin for mommy and daddy bad. Chokin on his own blood bad. Bitin off his own tongue on accident bad. Going into shock and staring up at the ceiling after my hand entered his chest bad. Not to mention the body spasms... What a mess. But it was all worth it in the end... for this special prize right here.
Shh... don't scream. I'm just getting started with you. There'll be plenty of screaming for you to do later. I want to get creative with you. Make you a nice little art piece before I take that heart of yours.
And just so you know... I lied. All that poetic bullshit about the heart... nobody really believes that shit. The heart isn't the essence of life. The heart doesn't contain the soul. It doesn't make us valuable. Doesn't make our lives meaningful. It's just a pretty little prize for me to dig out of prey like you. Hope you didn't find comfort in the idea that the people you loved died for a reason. If you did, that was really embarrassing. What kind of naive sucker are you? I just wanted to hear their screams. What, not even a chuckle? C'mon, take a joke. I'm just messin with you. Whatever, be that way. See if I care! 
Now do me a favor, and give me your best expression of fear. I really, really want to savor this.
Category:Crime
Category:Mental Illness
Category:Dismemberment
Category:Icydice