Devil Boy

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

I must have been reincarnated from a demon! After enduring ten hours of agonizing childbirth, my mother died. In my father's eyes, I was the murderer of his wife, and his heart was filled with extreme hatred for me. I grew up in this environment of hatred and lack of maternal love. At school, I was the nemesis of every classmate. I would sneak up on a girl and put a dead earthworm into her pencil case, experiencing the wicked pleasure amidst her screams; in swimming class, I would dive under girls who couldn't swim but were floating on the surface in a life ring, grab their feet and pull them down forcefully, enjoying the wonderful feeling of power and weakness amidst their fierce resistance; I would also put a wriggling caterpillar on the proctor's skirt during an exam, experiencing the pleasure of defying authority amidst the screams of the whole class. During

the summer vacation when I was 15, my father went on a business trip and, worried about leaving me alone at home, took me with him. This trip changed the course of my life forever. Our plane crashed; my father and 92 others perished, and I was one of the five survivors. When I awoke from my unconsciousness, I was shocked to see corpses strewn everywhere. I wasn't afraid; instead, I felt that this was how life should be. The scattered limbs and rivers of blood filled me with an unprecedented excitement and arousal. The naked female corpse about two meters away gave me a prolonged erection. The body lay face up, spread-eagled, half of her breasts severed by a sharp weapon, an aluminum rod inserted into her lower abdomen, blood seeping from her open vagina, staining her pubic hair together. This was the first time I had ever seen a woman's private parts. The scene before me was deeply etched in my mind! After my father's death, my uncle became my guardian. Because of the commercial insurance my father's company had taken out, I became the legal heir to a large sum of money. Given my situation, my uncle sent me to a boarding school. At school, I remained silent, burying myself in my studies. My teachers and classmates all thought I had suffered a mental breakdown. I think they would be terrified if they knew my true thoughts—every full moon, I have an urge to kill, and I know I will do it. Day after day, I gained admission to a medical university with excellent grades. At university, I absorbed all useful knowledge, spending my days between classes and the library. Anatomy was my favorite class; I loved the feeling of the scalpel sliding across the human body, and even more, the trembling sensation of holding the bloody viscera in my hands. After each anatomy class, I would lie in bed, thinking about the lifeless bodies in class and the female corpse beside me during the plane crash, and masturbate incessantly. In the library, through the internet, I researched numerous violent, gory, and sadistic websites. I became familiar with serial killers in various countries this century and understood the legal systems of different nations; hacker websites honed my skills in various cracking techniques, and I learned to make bombs from everyday items. I relentlessly enriched myself. In short, I studied everything antisocial because I hated everyone. After graduating, I was assigned to an internship at a hospital, and I resigned after completing my internship. Yes, I'm about to begin my plan, my life.

First, I sold my parents' house in the city center and bought a secluded villa in the suburbs. I renovated the entire plumbing and ventilation system, and under the guise of custom kitchen equipment, I ordered a huge stainless steel countertop—my workbench. Second, I bought a Jeep for transportation. And just like that, another serial killer was born. "Okay, I'll let you go after I'm done," I said, pressing the cigarette butt against her navel. A scream, a puff of smoke, and a wave of pleasure washed over me. I took out duct tape and sealed her mouth shut; her scream had almost ripped my eardrums. I then found some strong clamps and clipped them to her nipples, labia, and other sensitive areas. Her facial muscles twitched in pain, but she couldn't scream. Seeing her pained expression, her writhing, obese body, and her slightly parted red labia, I felt a surge of pleasure. Then I lit a candle and dripped wax onto her vaginal opening. The dripping scalding wax caused her entire vulva to tremble uncontrollably, and the butterfly-shaped appendage on her inner thigh seemed to come alive, fluttering as if about to take flight. I began to get an erection; it was time to end it. I clamped her nose with a clip, and she strained until her face turned bright red, her eyes bulging as if they were about to pop out of their sockets. I continued to drip wax onto her vulva while masturbating, watching her writhing body and her scalded labia, enjoying the exquisite pleasure. As the wax accumulated in her vulva, her writhing gradually ceased, and the butterfly-shaped appendage trembled in its death throes, but my pleasure grew stronger. When the butterfly-shaped appendage stopped trembling, my semen struck it like a jet of water.

The moment her breathing stopped was the beginning of my ejaculation. My body erupted like a burning volcano. When my panting subsided, I saw the girl slumped on the table like a piece of dead pork, with streams of fluid seeping from her face, vagina, and anus. Could it be that she, too, had reached orgasm at the moment of death? Regardless, I've rid society of a menace. The next step is dealing with the body. "Dissect her!" you might say. No, this obese girl's body is full of flesh and fat, offering no aesthetic appeal. I can already imagine the thought of cutting open her stomach and revealing a patch of white flesh. Then, cut off her genitals as a souvenir? No, how could a criminal of my wits leave any obvious evidence? Of course, photos are another matter; I can claim they were downloaded from the internet and are untraceable. It seems I have to find another way. Thinking this, I had an idea. I went back to the bathroom and carefully cleaned myself. I made a cup of coffee and microwaved a sandwich; I needed to replenish my energy, as I had things to do later! I checked my watch; it was already 3 a.m. After smoking a cigarette, I went to the autopsy room. The body was already cold, completely devoid of color, even the previously bright red labia majora had turned dark brown. But I knew that once I started, a large amount of blood would flow out.

I changed my shoes, took out the necessary tools from my small cabinet where I kept my equipment, put on rubber gloves and a mask, and began to get busy. First, I had to destroy her fingerprints, which was the most important thing. I used a small scalpel to make a circular incision along the fingerprint area of the corpse, completely eliminating the fingerprints, and placed the cut parts in a stainless steel cylinder for disposal after the entire work was completed. When I finished the excision, the corpse's ten fingers were covered in blood, like the claws of a demon that had just dug out a heart. Okay, the next step was to knock off her teeth. Teeth are also very important evidence, especially for someone who has seen a dentist. I used a hammer and a small chisel to knock off her full set of white teeth one by one, and the "clinking" sound throughout the autopsy room was incessant, sounding to me like beautiful celestial music. The third step was to destroy the face (readers with weak hearts should not continue reading). First, I pried open her lips, widening them with a knife, then pulled them apart from her jawbone, and finally ripped the entire face off, throwing the ripped skin into the bucket (to be ground into mincemeat and flushed down the drain later). Her torn face was a bloody mess, her two exposed eyes staring blankly at me. Perhaps you're scared, but I won't, because I'm born evil. After tearing off the eyeballs and throwing them into the bucket, I washed my hands at the sink and lit a cigarette. The next step, the most difficult, was to dismember her. I took out a large carpenter's saw (bought from a free market in another city). You might ask, why not use a knife for precise dissection? Yes, in my experience, I could easily separate her limbs with a scalpel, but if the body were discovered, it would leave clues—that a medical student did it—so I decided to use a saw. I placed two thick books under the corpse's neck and began sawing. As the saw was pulled back and forth, blood and bits of flesh splattered everywhere, covering my face and body. If you saw this, you'd probably faint from fright. A young man, covered in blood, was sawing off the head of a faceless woman with a large saw. The squeaking sound stimulated my nerves, and I pulled the saw back and forth like a madman. The head gradually tilted to one side, the esophagus, trachea, and blood vessels severing one after another—yellow, blue, white, like cutting an electrical cable. I was completely immersed in this frenzied action. With a muffled thud, the head detached from the body and slid to the ground, almost hitting my foot. I quickly picked up the head and saw that another piece of flesh had been torn off the face. Next, the upper limbs, relatively simpler, each arm severing in an average of 5 minutes. I suddenly realized that this girl not only had very little pubic hair, but also no armpit hair—how strange! When sawing off the legs, I hesitated. Should I saw off at the root of the thigh, destroying the entire genital area? Or should I preserve part of the thigh while preserving the genital area? Finally, I decided to saw it off at the root, because moving a torso with parts of the limbs would be more troublesome. I started sawing from the leg with the butterfly. With one saw, a piece of white flesh turned up, and blood gushed out; with another saw, yellow fat was turned up, and the butterfly's wings were severed. With the last cut, the entire thigh, along with half of the vulva, was severed. The torn labia, hanging on the saw teeth, trembled, as if tempting others as they had in life. After sawing off the other leg, I plopped down in a chair, exhausted. Yes, I had been working like a lumberjack for an hour. I lit a cigarette and did some mental calculations. The head and limbs weren't very big or heavy, easy to carry and move, but the entire torso, like a large rectangular block of meat, weighed a good 30 kilograms. How was I going to move it? I might as well go all the way. With that thought, I picked up the saw again, cigarette in hand. After roughly measuring, I began to cut her body in two from below the breasts. As the saw went deeper, her lungs, heart, and other organs slid out, which I threw into a stainless steel bucket one by one. Okay, job done! I'd cut the person into seven pieces. I found some large plastic bags (also from a wholesale market in another city), wrapped each piece in several bags to ensure no leakage, and then put them in the freezer. After finishing, I checked the time; it was almost 6 o'clock. I really wanted to go to bed immediately. But I'm an organized person, so I moved the garbage disposal, poured the pile of rotten flesh from the bucket into it, and with the roar of the motor, a bunch of meat scraps flowed out, which I flushed down the toilet. The disposal couldn't be kept either; I'd just throw it away when I had the chance. Afterward, I used a high-pressure water jet to rinse the entire dissection room and the worktable until not a trace of blood could be found. Then I wiped it down with disinfectant, and finally rinsed it again. The white floor and smooth worktable looked brand new. I then placed the books used to cover the body and the used bath towels into a metal basin, poured in gasoline, and set it on fire. After a whole night of work, I was finally done.

I returned to the bathroom, took a thorough shower, lit a cigarette, and it was time for bed. Postscript: Over several days, I disposed of the body and the shredder from the freezer into several reservoirs in the city. If you ever buy fish and find a finger inside its belly, don't be surprised!

[The End]

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