Journals of a Psychopath

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Clarkson roams the pages of this novel, he sacrifices silvery blonde haired women.

The First Sacrifice

Kneeling beside the altar of my perversion the insanity was absolute. Between my fingers, an ear, I rubbed the hearing-organ with my other hand. Faultless, the diamonds in the earring sparkled and thrilled my senses. Caressing the gems, the reflection from the fire heartened. Steeped with blood my robe clung to my body, excited sexual arousal reached a crescendo and semen-ejection the reward. (The significance associated to the sacrifice the purification of my soul.) Singing in tune with the squall and the edge of my cloak billowed with the wind. Surveying me, her viewing-orbs (eyes) seemed glazed in death and dull. Absorbed by the blood and her tresses looked stringy. Swaying the Trees browsed the robe and the pure white silk hood that concealed my silver-blond hair. Dancing about the body waving my arms from east to west, my form rocked in cadence with the Trees. Flames from the firestorm leapt and emphasised the night-butterfly fluttering above the ear. Pressing upon me sponsorship the Trees and the Archangel my gods bestowed was certain. Grateful to the Idols who maintained the mission, I leapt. The Trees and the Archangel (also known as the Darkest-One) informed the title the Purifiers and the other labels chosen for the Trees were approved. Thanking them for my craft mindful the Archangel could be fearsome, the black cowl he wore accentuated his faceless form. The Woodlanders and the Darkest-One afforded the aliases to delineate the Voices. Subordinate the Speakers held rancour. Sharing the power, the Purifiers and the Archangel controlled the situations. Repulsive and large the black-angels granted support to the mission. From their noses, the fire flashed and six feet long the wings fine, the bodies dense and scales hugged their form. Glaring, the spearhead of the black-angels pointed. Swivelling their heads at the same time the pack imitated the first. Correction to women owning silvery-blonde hair vital, the victims endured sexual mutilation. Exacting chastisement, unruffled and charming, I deceived the prey. Huge and unpopulated, the haunt was blanketed with snow. The white-terrain was central to the rituals and the blood seeping into the snowfall crucial.

The Journals

Reading these pages you will embark on a trip of enthrallment. Transporting to places you have not visited and your mind will be synchronised. Running alongside each other, the two worlds created by the Purifiers, the Archangel and circumstance are recorded in the binary Journals. Interlaced with psychosis, the biospheres became entwined, yet separate. My higher province was denoted by the screams from hapless females. Frustrating the lower one boring, (the Trees ordered me to work in the gas station) the purpose linked to the fiasco a mystery.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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