They always say "he just snapped".
It's not really like that you know. It's more of an oozing, like silly putty when you press it against a newspaper. It's not like one day I just decided to kill people. Heck the first one was almost an accident, the asshole who cut me off then flipped me the bird. It even got written up that way, that he was a reckless driver that just got a little too reckless and clipped the fender of his T-bird on the guard rail and that was enough to flip him over and peel most of his face against the surface of the road.
It was so easy. And it felt good. Satisfying in a way that I'd never felt before, powerful.
Next was the old man. I crushed his ribcage while giving him CPR, and drove one of the broken ribs into his heart. The paramedics said it could happen to anyone, that I was a good Samaritan for trying to help. They didn't know the things that he had done to me in the dark. They didn't know how much I had studied to know just the right spot to push.
After that I took into forensics with a vengeance. I learned about police procedures and trace evidence, and that everyone leaves tiny bits of themselves behind at every crime scene. I also learned that the Tyvek suits that the forensic specialists wear to keep from contaminating scenes with their own cells are cheap and disposable, and they are the same ones that you can get at the local Home Depot to keep you from getting splattered with paint.
And I learned how easy it is to yank a hair or two out of someone's scalp when they're standing in line in front of you at the grocery store. Most of the time they never notice; other times they think it was a mosquito or some sort of bug bite. And nobody ever notices a few clothing fibers missing.
Skin cells are a bit harder to come by. Q-tips seems to be the best, a little bit of earwax goes a long way.
At first I just disposed of the bodies. It's really not that hard to make a body disappear when you have time; various critters will strip the flesh down to the bones in a matter of weeks, lye made from wood ash will dissolve flesh completely and end up making soap, and concrete covers a lot. The hard part is moving the body without leaving evidence. That's why now I just leave them wherever I kill them, and leave little bits of trace evidence for the sniffers to find.
The other part is keeping it random. Cops love patterns. That is the downfall of every serial killer ever caught: they got stuck in patterns. Patterns make you predictable, and predictions will get you caught every time. Heck, the best serial killers aren't even known because they change up so often that nobody realizes they are the work of one person.
I suppose I shouldn't have even written this, but nobody will believe it's real anyway. It's all just a work of fiction.
Keep telling yourself that.