Page 298 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

Another note to self: build upper body strength.

Also invest in an electric saw maybe.

The hands go first. Then each arm.

I use a blowtorch to cauterize the wounds so we can keep this nice and slow.

Feet next. Legs in two portions.

He died sometime between me taking his little piggies to the market and his right femur.

I wrap the pieces in red biohazard bags, sealed tight.

The zip ties go in a dish of disinfectant. I have plans for those.

After bagging the tarps and sterilizing my tools, all that’s left are discarded gloves and bubblegum-pink coveralls.

Amazon lightning deal. Gotta love it.

Everything goes in a rolling garbage bin. Fitting for this piece of T-rash.

I change into pink scrubs, knot my hair, and wheel the party to the incinerator.

I don’t flinch pressing the button. As I watch flames consume what he built on the backs of broken girls, I just smile.

With the doors shut and fire blazing, I pull out my phone.

Search:origami heart tutorial.

Murder’s done so, may as well do crafts while the evidence disappears.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m crouched on the floor, shaping zip ties into something almost… delicate.

A pink heart—sharp-edged, a little crooked but not bad for my first one.

I hold it in my palm and look it over. I love it.

Finally, the peace that silences my mind settles like cool water over fire.

There’s no static. No racing thoughts.

Just calm.

It used to scare me—how much I liked this part.

The stillness after.

Now? I’m going to let it in.

This peace is mine too.

Ping.

DECLAN: on my way.

I step out of the hospital’s abandoned wing as his SUV glides to the curb like fate knew I needed a ride.

It gleams under the lights—sleek, black, smug with secrets.

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