Serial Killers-Personal Narrative Fiction

4. Serial killers also show signs of a psychopath though this is not always the case. Psychopaths lack empathy and guilt, are egocentric and impulsive and don’t conform to social, moral, or legal norms. Psychopaths have a distinct set of rules for themselves. They appear normal and are often very charming and charismatic.

America has some of the most infamous serial killers who marked history, serial killers who once didn’t even think to harm any human being. Many people grow up differently from others, some people grow up in a safe environment surrounded with caring people and others grow up in a completely different environment being missed treated by others, therefore are serial killers made or born?

     A serial killer is a person whom everybody knows as a friend, a lover or even a father but no one knows about his killer instinct until it's to late. Serial killers have plagued this country and others for many years. They are hard to find and virtually undetectable until they start murdering the innocent.

The worst night came after my mom left us. Why she didn’t take me, I’ll never understand. It was almost as if she’d left me for dead; the result of her absence had an obvious consequence. I wish I didn’t have to take her place, but I did, and now I know how his words feel, stabbing you repeatedly. I know how his hands feel, leaving imprints on my face. I know how her

It was February 12, 2006. My wife and I are about to get ready for the day we’ve been waiting for, we are finally going to seek justice for the man that killed my innocent 4 year old daughter. Since March 3rd I have slept absolutely none, but after today everything will be finished with.

This series follows Lydia Strong, a woman who 's mother was murdered when she was a kid; Lydia also came home one day and found her with her throat slit from ear to ear. She helped the police catch her mother 's killer way back when. This changed who she was, and would effect her development and make her who she would become. Now, she writes about killers-working as a true crime author and investigative consultant- and has an obsession: seeing brutal killers brought to justice.

Sugar spins & vaporizes on my tongue; your skin becomes crystallized. Take me out of my head; make me forget. Steal me from my body for a night. I need your eyes. I need your bullet.

When they woke the next morning, they wasted no time getting ready. They needed to stop by Kate’s apartment before they went to the precinct since she refused to show up to work in jeans and a ratty t shirt, even if she would change into her spare clothes immediately. She still took the time to take a shower at the loft, and Rick suspected it was only because she liked his shower more than her own, even though she insisted that it was only to save time.

Dean see Adriana music hit she walks out in tight leather bottoms similar to Nikki. He notices she is wearing a black Seth Rollins shirt. Roman notice he is staring to long. Dean mind was going to early the day.

This was the first time Kimberly had ever been in jail. The process was not only completely foreign, but also scary. She was going to be booked and put in a cell with other women to await a bail hearing. Some of whom might be in jail for what she’s accused of doing. During the transfer to the police station she pleaded with the officers in the front seat. She tried to explain, but all they commanded her to do was be quiet and to tell it to the judge. Kimberly knew she was doomed. People were desperate. They wanted a face to put to the serial killer and they had picked hers. She was guilty in their eyes and nothing was going to change it. When she came to that realization, she slumped in her seat. She answered all the questions they asked when

The knowledge was debilitating, and there was nothing she could do about it; nothing at all. Just as she feared her mind would snap from the constant spiral of it all, the alarm on her phone woke her.

I lie in bed and stare in fixed fascination at my night light. I miss you in the most unusual and unexpected way. My fingers itch to type and hit ‘send’ sweet words and late night confessions. The need to be understood at 2 am and the longing for unreal kisses on my cheek intensifies. I want to say a lot, but I don’t know if I should. How strange it is what I am craving. The false impression of presence in the persistence of absence.

Clock strikes and we climb up the stairs to a balcony where the night untraces the constellations of your cheeks

It’s hard for me to produce a humorous essay without delving too deep into philosophical matter. Often criminals make all kinds of mistakes resulting in getting arrested. That’s because they relied more on their impulses rather than their heads. As a result of their bad judgment they wind up in penitentiary.

My day begins again with a drone of the same ringtone of the alarm. Getting up to open the window forgetting about the same old raven bird that stares at me with its whole black eyes sending you into a black spiral. The sense of nostalgia hits, rain leaves its own scent like the scent of an ex-lover’s. After all eternity doesn’t wait for the past to catch up, you just keep on going with your life as I have. Making my way to the kitchen I avoid all the papers on the floor scattered like a tornado threw up and shredded its life. My hands twitches to grab the phone eager to check for the ghost messages and calls. Putting down my arm as soons as it raises “don’t do it”. I turn in circles to find someone but in its leave was nothing. “ I know” I whispered to no one. The hallway was filled with darkness except for one room whose light was slowly dimming. Darting past the shadowed hands reaching for me I went into the room. Searching for that dark grey raincoat that was hung up on a hanger in the half empty closet.