Journals of a Psychopath



Think twice before reading this shock horror novel

Blackclaw Woodlands

The larceny connected to her life the forfeit, Heather deserved the punishment. Dragging the altar across the dirt, I dumped her. Chaining her arms and ankles, Heather lolled sedated in the middle. Heather’s eyelids fluttered, the Trees watched while she became alert.
      “Your sacrifice will make me clean by the shedding of your gore.”
Brushing her silvery-blonde hair, glossy, the tresses untangled. Bathing her honeyed-place, the water from the river served the purpose. Heather’s legs endeavored to fasten, but the chains grasped her too securely.
      “Please? If you are going to slay me do it soon.”
The needle pierced the sex-flesh it glimmered in the amber glow from the firestorm Heather’s skirls expanded. Wriggling, striving to evade the needlework, she urinated in the process, her pee trickled onto the cord made it damp. Transforming, into the patchwork, the silver-thread dragged through her skin. Pulling, the vaginal lips together and she screeched. Wrenching the hood from my hair and Heather logged me in my grandeur.

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