Tag Archives: Murder story

I Just Killed a Man – Story By Alexander Kennedy


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I Just Killed a Man

What have I done? I am beautifully crafted with a handful of red, heavily I am bound to this tool until my fingers lose grip. I want to go to that place, the one that calms me, no more shakes. It is a kind of hunger; I have starved myself for to long, blooded bulimia… that is it. I have painted their life story over these walls; the house will remember the novel until rubble is its end page. Wandering eyes wander for better times, this wasn’t me, I am a protector, it makes no difference as I have no story.  My first few chapters were blurred by staining. They won’t understand… they never did to me, how can they connect correct actions into opened cuts? I don’t know if I feel better, I don’t know… shake my head to stir the pot, the truth will be in the end result. Did you hear that? Have I received an extra eye? Seen me murder a man, I could have infected their life, forever.

I re-pick-up my instrument and step to play some notes, if there is more than one, a symphony I will take from their lungs. I map my head around the corner, no one to be hidden, my mind is flickering and in over thought. No more thoughts are my own, taken by haunt, aging on the spot, engaging and caught, that’s why they got chopped. Why is there a why? Echoed and yelled, a deadly spell, granted and wished upon, I rubbed the knife and made no wish. Come back to the scene, lifeless and no audience showing the elements. I watched him now as I watch him before, in my eyes I visualized this moment over and over and more and more. Fate for him was a date I would never forget, chiseled into my memory each bang with the hammer was a lunging motion with my utensil. Do I truly understand? Do you? …No. I have killed, to be honest; the rush was a heart thumper that pumped the honesty from my heart. Like my first sex act in a diaries note, yes, this room is unhygienic and grime licked but in either position you would not care unless the thirst was drank away. Why am I still here? Still thinking of this… The deed is done, leave.

No, I can’t, I want to soak up the enormity of this, when in my life will I get this chance again? Whenever I want, Invincible, untouchable, unreliable, that’s a lot of ables. The answer I already know to the question I am about to ask, if that was me, would you cry? Nope, If I was in that state, there would be no humane connection in emotion, a name spoken once in a casual conversation, is that all I am worth? I am a God in my own right now; I can make life and take it from those who do not deserve it.

Just slide down the wall and watch, don’t blink, do not even breath heavy, do not give into the fear of what might become from this event, which wants to crash upon you, it is just an emotion within you and you control you. Look at the blade, am I really that stretchy? I am a monster; I am an alien, is that why I did this? My nature is to blame then. The law will be here, I give it hours to days, they will catch up to me and on the third Sunday I shall be judged, so be it. I should stop myself now, put my self out of this world before the misery sets in. What have I done? What have I done?

He should have listened, shouldn’t he, my want wasn’t that steep for him to jump, his pride and manly standard brought him to his back, his fault, his. The angels are looking down at me with a shaking finger then pointing to the floor, hellbound, I should be putting my hands together to pray but I can’t drop the blooded instigator from my finger-tips. No more from his mouth now, that’s what I was chasing. How did I get here? I mean be pushed into doing this… I am smarter and I have stronger will, Murder! …Murder! …What have I done!?

Perhaps he is merely lurking in a slumber waiting to see me cry and jumping from this story, perhaps not. Let myself now be judged by me and me alone, I am one of those people who should be locked up indefinite, kept from socializing, kept from me, I deserve what he got ten fold, just a matter of timing. Step to the window, this maybe the last time to see and feel freedom. Look at the instrument again, play it one more time, now for your encore, show this world what truly happens to man when he is cornered by the world, God, take your life in to your own hands and scream to the Heavens so that Hell shakes even the darkest of souls. My actions are not meant for this world, so neither I am, do it do it now. Spread your wings and give back to the world what it has given you. Look… this is me, is this you wanted, well you finally have. What have I done?

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Fiction Writing For Adults – The Serial Killer Part 3 – The Kill of Love


A quiet family meal, Grace sits up close to me so I can wipe her mouth when the food falls off from the fork. Alan sits shovelling mash potato into his mouth, slowly trudging his way through his meatballs.

A male reporter mimes his way through a subtitled story on the television that’s been muted.

“All I am trying to say is it’s a doctor’s duty to make sure he takes better care of his patients and not shoot up on morphine when conducting interviews.” He grumbled over his chewed food.

“What’s a duty?” Gracie interjects.

I wipe her bottom lip with a napkin, gravy.

“It’s someone’s job sweetie. I totally agree with you, it’s a misuse of his power. He wasn’t diagnosing his patients properly and some of them ended their own lives as well as others. A total travesty.”

“And he was getting high from his own stash; any drug dealer I lock up knows that’s the first no-no.”

As Alan shakes his head forward into his piled food, I am the one who is ravenous inside. No one knows this but Dr. Jeremiah Rivers was my doctor as a young teen girl, he was the one to give me help when Lacy Burns was murdered – Yes, by me. – Now as I clean-up our dirty dishes and get ready to go to my second job all I know is the story of her will be on my mind. Your first love and murder usually rest on you heavier than any other.

“I will hold my heart over you.” She injures the demon within me with her words.

The date was early 90’s and lacy and I were sitting making daisy-chains in an open field just behind Donnie Larks farm. This was our spot, our time and how we showed love to one another. For teens worldwide falling for the equal sex for a time in curious nature may just be a fad, but for us it was the real deal; Lacy and Sally forever carved into trees we held each other in. Here we lay staring into each other’s starry eyes. Our ankle socks pulled up high as well as my hope for our love.

“Are we going to be together forever?” I look for my insecurity to be laid to rest, her words will heal me.

“You don’t have to ask, Sal. I love you.” She sucks her tight lips into her mouth. I should have read the signs at this moment.

My world becomes smaller and we are the only two inhabitants on it. I jerk my face quickly towards her and peck her on the lips.  This is how I want my life to be until the end of time.

“Say something, I want to hear your voice.” I urge.

She turns on her side and arches up her head with her hand. I look up to the sapphire sky with lightly dotted clouds.

“Once upon a time, the sun and moon were in love; a man fell in love with the sun, but with a passion he hated the Moon. So with his magic powers he separated the Sun and the moon forever. Now the Sun shows her face during the day and the moon took upon the night, one day every thousand years they meet in an eclipse, but during their time apart they send wish messages on the wind, depending on the power of the wish, depends on the speed of the wind.”

“Run away with me.” An idea sparks my words.

“What? …Where will we go?” She squeaks.

“Anywhere as long as it’s with you, it’s you I want to be with, that’s all I know.” I pull her closer and hold her head on me.

We made plans to jump town and get on a train and head into the sunset far beyond our eyes can see.  So here I am waiting under our tree, stars and moon watching over me. I am so in love, I don’t even realise she is twenty-five minutes late on us meeting.

Where should we go? We can always get part-time jobs build up our money and head for Paris, a dream you can almost touch.  I look ideally at my watch to figure out what could be taking so long? Maybe her father has found out about our running away? She got lost in the dark? Kidnapped? ….Cold feet? Possibly.

After a long night of my hope waiting in the darkness as a thrown out dog, I head to my heart owners home for answers. Knock-knock, her mother answers in her 50’s style dress code, she is very beautiful.

“Hi there Mrs. Burns, is Lacy home?” I politely cluck.

“Hi Sally, I am sorry, Lace has gone on a date with Jason Stewart from school; you two are so close, I thought she would have told you.” My heart breaks, love has become her weapon to use against me, she has shot me so many times in the same spot.

“No, she didn’t mention it to me, thank you.” I turn and the door closes on me and our love.

She has destroyed my world I guess that is her nature, but revenge for this hurt turns into an idea which springs up instantaneously. Stick to the rules of yourself, do not hurt anyone to further yourself and you will live. A monster is born.

After 22 hours of persistent phone calls and door knocks she has agreed to meet me, but we must keep it a secret as I am sure this will be our break up, she can only kill me once.

Moping across broken twigs and dead plant life, her head in between her legs to show the hurt she put me through, she knows she is in the wrong.

Her hands stretched out to bargain. “Please Sal, just hear me out.”

Biting my tongue and holding back my shattered hearts pieces I hold cupped within my hand, I nod.

“I think we should just be friends, it’s not that I don’t love you it’s just that I can’t love you just yet.” Here come the water-works. “And I know what we have is special but we are living a lie if we think we can get away with it and it not slip out and have everyone call us out.”

One thousand and one things to say and she has me stumped, she really is my kryptonite.

“So why when we started to do this did you continue, if deep down you were feeling like this? Stopped me before I fell by myself in love, huh? Lead me along the road of a happy future and you hitch a ride from someone else and leave me stranded. How shitty is that?”

Nothing but the caws from crows and hoots from owls fill this awkwardness.

“Yeah well, it’s not like it was real or anything.”

Right there I become a libertine, my thoughts clear away all I want to say as my head rises to darkness.

“You bitch, that really does hurt me. You better because I am going to chase you.”

The fear of her life lies on her face, she about turns and runs for her life.

We lollop through the low branches. Pants and slight breathable squeaks shunt through the nightlife.  As she turns to see her stalker she is clothes-lined by a branch is hurtled backwards to the floor. I stop my chase and walk to Lacy, she is going nowhere.

“Why couldn’t you just love me?” I sputter up the shards of hate.

She tries to show words but her mouth is battered from the impact. She reaches out her hand and tries to bring me down to help level for a makeup hug.

“You made my heart bleed for you, now it’s your turn.” I reach for a branch and crack it straight through her rib cage and have it protruding from her beautiful heart.

The love has gone.

Dr. Jeremiah Rivers was the psychologist assigned to Lacy’s case to perhaps find who did it and also give the ones she loved some mental support.

I guess he didn’t do his job properly and now from my point of view he could have stopped me years ago, I wonder what other monsters he let slip through his fingers. It doesn’t matter, I am going to pay him a visit and get the answers I want.

Time to for my dark side to take control.

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Psychological Fiction Writing for Teens & Adults – The Serial Killer Part 2 – Hollywood in Flames – Written by Alexander Kennedy


So here it is, the second part of Alex Kennedys “The Serial Killer” Stories. We have been overwhelmed by the emails from fans of psychological thrillers asking for me. So the wait is over. We hope you enjoy. Like, Comment and Subscribe.

Caution Advised: Bad Language.

The Serial Killer Part 2 – Hollywood in Flames.

I kill and mangle insides without a second thought but I love Grace more than life itself. I do wonder sometimes while she is within my arms if she will ever amount to being a monster like her mother.

“Mommy’s going to work, come give her a kiss.” I urge from the hallway.

Little Grace toddles over to me, gripping the dolls hair as it’s dragged along the floor. Blonde curls and rose cheeks and a smile to ease the demon.

“What time you gon’ be back?” Gracey pouts.

I lower myself to her level; taking one of her hands and re-raising her sad face that has found refuge at her feet in a sulk.

“Well past your bedtime. Mommy has to go talk to a bad movie man who has done some really awful things. But I tell you what, when I get back home I will come and tuck you in and kiss you goodnight. Okay?” I hint with a wink.

Her eyes brighten up with a quick show of her gums. She scampers off, bare foot across the laminate flooring to her cartoons playing in the other room.

The way I look at parenthood, to protect the one thing I love more on this floating toilet I must kill like a African wildcat to ensure my pup has a safer chance of survival within this dangling rock.

I grab hold of my handbag full of torture techniques and weapons, disguises and phony I.D’s. What more could a suburban female killer need?

I enter my car and turn on the radio to Eminem, this guys lyrics hit just the right note for the symphony I will be playing with someone’s lungs tonight. My target, Jack Foreman, Hollywood actor from such action movies like, Enter the bullet, Beats of the bad and my personal favourite, Tainted. But tonight Hollywood and I will be making our debut in a new slasher-horror movie, I will write as I go with the flow called; you like to take the purity from little kids and that really pisses me off to the point where you have to die, asshole! …Good title, huh? I’m sure it will be a blockbuster hit worldwide.

I know I’m a small-time T.V. reporter for channel 43, every other week when the regular guy is sick, but hey, I’m working within a global recession. I can’t stand with all the reporting saners and still get in.

He will be locked away in his hotel room, a scared king in his castle, with over fifty networks from around the globe circling his moat, nibbling at his door handle for the chance to ask just one question or get one quote from his people. So a diversion is needed for us to be all alone, so I can take his soul he has taken from the innocent. This is a once in a lifetime, one on one converse, where all doors are open as well as his windpipe.

I pull up across the street of the Tyrann Hotel, which stretches to the clouds and camouflages into the night the further you look up. Flashes from photographers and limelight’s for the news anchors enlighten the feet of the skyscraper. I am a superwoman; they call me the woman of steel. What is a skyscraper? Probable rubble; but I always get my man and will go through hell fires to ensure this death.

My disguise on and my fury on fire; I exit the car with the master plan of extinguishing a star. All eyes of the surrounding area are focused on the media, flash riots and speculations. So I slip blindly passed the by-passers and cameras in my dock martins.

I enter the underground structure of the skyscraper, dynamite would be a great idea if I had any, drag the star down to the ground, I don’t, but this is my justice I must see through. A plan of how to enter the building still baffles me, everything is security locked and swiped.

Just before the nervousness of failure snuggled into me like a bad idea; when a stroke of luck in the sound of clonks from over within the darkness echoes through the doubt, within the shape of heels across the oil spills and tire burns on the floor. A middle-aged woman; grasping her bag that rests on her waist; her wide eyes show so much hope to the light that rest behind the door to the car park.

“Excuse me, do you have the time.” I query. At first she seems startled to my presence; a sigh of relief is puffed when she realized I am a normal girl, just like her, sort of…

“Oh God, you’re one of those reporters aren’t you?” She begins to walk fast towards the door, I slink behind. “The answer is no, I’m not letting you in, so you and your blood sucking vulture friends can fuck off. We’re not allowed to let any of you in or say a word or we could lose our jobs.” She asserts.

“I’m sorry, I have offended you.” She stops in her tracks and turns with sorrow. “But bitch, you need to learn some manners; what mommy and daddy weren’t strict? You’re lucky I don’t kill you where you stand; and I am no vulture, I kill my own prey.” With that I pummel her face until she falls over, knocked-out. A small price for her to pay to make this world a little safer from bad guys, now I know what you’re thinking but my evil is necessary.

I thought she may have been a receptionist or a cook but I have just hit the jackpot, a cleaner, with access to everyone’s room and lives.

Standing in the elevator watching the light jump from number to number, I look upon my thoughts and back track my overreaction to my addiction of murder, victim to victim. Why should the people in power take what they want? I am the result, the aftermath, the monster my dad and his friends made on that day.  School was a nightmare and my dad had heavy feet, not only on my ribs but also when he walked on the floorboards of our broken home. Mom left us both for another man with another family; I guess it was her loss.

I’m stuck in a world that doesn’t understand me, I just don’t fit in anywhere; I think deep down I like it this way, alone.

“Sally, get your ass up already!” He rumbles the windows when he shouts.

I could slash out my eyes to not witness anymore hurt; I do hear that if you lose one sense that your others heighten. I creep down the stairs, tiptoeing in my sneakers upon the edge of each step.

“I’m up; I will pick something to eat on the way to school.” I report quietly.

He sits on his faded patterned, raggedy chair; an opened paper obscures his entire nefariousness to me.

“Good; make sure you get there on time, I don’t send those school cheques for you to sleep in and be tardy. You hear me, bitch.” The paper comes down. His bilious stare helps tense up my bruised stomach. Bar brawling scars echo on his nose and cheeks. His exterior is that of a builder and that is because he lost his job building after he started drinking when mom left, she has a lot to answer for. He glocks a full mug of coffee in front of me; waiting for me to step out of line somehow.

“Get out of here, and remember what I said. Oh and I am having some friends over tonight, for some beers.” The paper rises again.

I do a kind of weak curtsy to him before I make a hasty retreat to his eructs.

{High School}

I have a secret. To tell you the truth, I was a girly nerd, a nerd who wanted to be more. But how can you be more when you’re in high school? Ritualistically bullied because of my body’s small build and my adventurous nature I take when I escape into learning.

I walk down the busy hallway, eye shy within the traffic jams of people, honks of nicknames and insults along with clips of closed lockers. I huddle into my homework with both arms; I stare at the floor, a meter in front of me the whole way to my class, English lit.

“Hey skank, you’re walking in my way, your bad.” I get shouldered by a Lacy Burns, the make-up queen. My life is hell here.

I wasn’t in any click or associated with any group, I couldn’t even blend in evenly. I did try to dress accordingly, a blue shirt with a black dragon logo on the back, fitted jeans and my sneakers; still wasn’t enough for the pop-kids.

I never wanted to be this girl but this is the result of my history that shifted my geography, since then my mathematical problems doubled, tripled and quadrupled and within my science all I am left with is the P.E. I learned that made me run away with a pipe-dream for bad English and dark-side of the human anatomy and biology.

{Hell-House}

I dragged the tips of my feet through the front door, unravelling my arms from my backpack. I glance into the living room. A football game, a few packs of beer and extreme whiff of weed, smoke fills the room as angry faces indented in the atmosphere.

“I’m home dad.” I chimed in over the horde of grunts and belly laughs of drunken men.

Not even a look of care. I slink off up the stairs, counting ever step to my mortifying loneliness.

An hour had breezed by, when an unnerving thought sprinkles over my skin to give me goosebumps. Silence has moved in downstairs. I waft down my Superman comic; the creeks of floorboards outside my room were deathly deafening. The stairs lead straight to my door, I don’t have a lock on it anymore; he kept on breaking it down. The door flings open to the reason of my addiction. I won’t go on and put my mental thought process over what 4 fully grown men and my dad did to me; you have an imagination almost as sick as mine, use it, but please keep it there.

I will tell you later on that night, I remember brushing my hair in stupor, one stroke at a time, prolonged and emotionless. I place my brush next to my make-up bag, not breaking eye contact with myself in the mirror. Red marks and slight scratches show off in the mirror as highlighted sex brandings.

I wipe clear everything on my countertop.

“AAAARRRHHHHHHHH! You fucking bastard; fucking evil sadistic fucker! You want a piece of me, huh?! Get you fucking ass up here and fight me like the cunt you are, Dad!” I dared him as my monster surfaced from the grave I had kept it in. I don’t break contact with both sides of myself in the mirror, looking for a familiar side of me to creep behind the shimmer.

The sound of beer can’s being trampled on and kicked to a side echo from downstairs. He is coming, the oaf. No more backing down Sal, these people have made your life hell and expected you to live in it, so why not show them the hell they so easily send you in everyday.

As he stomps I march for battle, fist clenched and teeth bared. From within my bedroom I see his head bob and weave to aside, still shitfaced. I shan’t even let him get that far, I take off running for him and by the time I know it, I am hurtling myself through the air, open palms in his direction. I collide with him and we both tumble-down the stairwell.

I remember waking up sometime later; this was the last time I was ever in his arms and also the last time he was on top of me.

And ever since I have always found and detested men or women who take advantage of their position within this world, whatever the power.

The remembrance of murder will have to wait, the ding from the top floor is about to go. I will rethink about past murders later.

I need a plan for this guy; think Sally, think… Ding*

I exit warily, peaking around the bends with my peepers. Two bodyguards are yakking to one another outside of room 126. Now I must make those cretins skedaddle for about five minutes without Jacky boy.  Sally, you’re an evil genius.

I reach into my bag and retrieve a fake news reporter I.D. card and a powerful camera but the necessity must be able to carry it within my pocket. I exit the elevator, walking in the completely opposite direction; I can feel their eyes on me. My time here must be terse, so let’s get to work.

I turn the corner, my back up against a wall near to the stairwell. I have one finally look around. I pull the fire alarm lever. A shrill pulse chants through every hallway, the elevator doors close along with my back of tricks lying on the floor, I will get it later. I can just about eavesdrop on the bodyguards trying to figure out what is happening and what to do, over the shriek.

I head through the stairway door and head to the reclusive shadows of the last flight of stairs, I sit and wait. One of the bodyguards chops through the door, walkie-talkie in hand shouting orders at the security downstairs.

Round about now, an assemblage of paparazzi are edging their eagerness through the security officers and entering the building. Jack Foreman has been left all alone within his room to ensure his own safety until they figure out if there is a blaze somewhere in the building or if someone has a deadly prank to play. I strut down the stairs; the ringing of the siren imbues a ring within the ear. I trudge while the sound of screams cannot be heard.

The corridor horror-show is empty, a time to strike. I love fire alarms, when you have a system like this one, where you have to swipe electronically to get into a room, in the result of a fire alarm all room doors open automatically to certify safety is carried out.

I walk straight in through the door; from under my blouse I retrieve the black-lace with knife in it, pushing the material in my back pocket. He stands at the window wall; the skyline of the entire city is pictured perfectly from this angle. A brandy in hand, his thoughts blank out the alarm and hustle downstairs, he swigs another dreg.

I wrap my gloved hands over his forehead and press the blade against his neck, his glass drops to the floor.

“People like you shouldn’t be allowed to live!” I snarl over the racket.

Within one flash I stripe him across his Adam’s-apple, the blood sprays over the window, bloodstained glass. I look at his peripheral vision, his eyes glued to the horizon line as he has reached his own. I let him go, he shucks to the ground lifeless. A star has been extinguished.

Now here comes the tricky part, I wrap my weapon back in its lace-case and put him to bed under my waistband. I fix up my disguise and retrieve the phony I.D. and camera and begin to take pictures of him lying in a slump. The blood flood edges my way.

At that moment the Fire-alarm stops screaming. I hear a multitude of footsteps stampeding in my direction. The door bursts open.

“Oh my God is he dead? He’s been fricken’ murdered.” A male voice says.

I stand in stun. Is this security or a bodyguard or is it who I am hoping it to be? A man stands at my side, scruffy looking with long bedraggled hair, big thick glasses and a camera in hand.

“Hey, I’m Dave, channel 9, central news. Did you find the body?” Dave ponders as he winds up his camera. The party gets bigger as another several men join the carnage of the murder scene. Each taking pictures from all different angles.

Security bursts in from the door, tackling Dave and another couple of men. I stand in the corner as tussles and scraps break out between the paparazzi and the security.

“We need more security up here now; Jack Foreman has been murdered in his suit!” One security officer barks down the walkie-talkie.

And while the room turns less violent with thrown punches and name-calling, I make my retreat out of the room. The doors to the elevator open as soon as I reach them, I walk in faced down to avoid the cameras; I pick up my bag and hoop it over my shoulder. I press the G1 button on the panel, halfway home.

The lobby of the hotel has become overrun with reporters and police officers and without an effort I exit the building to freedom and scurry over a couple of roads to my parked car, away from this madness.

A sigh of relief I exhale. I turn the key in the ignition and begin my journey back home to my little Gracie, need to tuck her in and kiss her goodnight.

I stand in front of the camera, microphone in hand. I feel comely to the eye of every man surrounding me.

“3, 2, 1 and… Action.” Chris my cameraman points in my direction.

I put the microphone just below my chest.

“Good-evening, Mark. All we know at this time is the actor, Jack Foreman, has been murdered within his hotel room at some point last night. This is the man Hollywood dubbed the next Paul Newman of our time. But recent weeks of the actor’s life have been sent into turmoil after allegations of sex acts had surfaced, that is the reason behind him being held up within the hotel, behind me. His people and the police have not released any other details of the case or the why, but all we can do is keep watchful eye on what the investigators and pathologist say when they have done their reports. We know there is a strange female reporter and a few men found at the scene that the police are interested in talking to. It is a sad day for fans worldwide. All of our thoughts go out to his friends and family from channel 43 news. This is Sally Rose, here at Tyrann Hotel. Back to you in the studio.”

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