Nobody showed up to my wedding, even though I sent out 50 invitations. The problem was 49 of the people were dead when I sent them out, and the 50th person died shortly after I tracked him down.

Across the rectory's east lawn, through a blizzard of flying leaves, something long and thin was flapping in the wind. A ragged figure in a white nightgown hanging lifelessly from the trees.

Never shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to dust. Never shall I forget these things, even if I am condemned to live as long as God Himself. Never.

I should have known when I first saw that picture. For it is a very remarkable picture. It is the picture of a murderess painted by her victim-it is the picture of a girl watching her lover dies.

We can be anything we want to be in this life. And I’d like to be you. But there can’t be two of us, so I’m afraid you’ll have to be eliminated. You have become redundant.

I stepped on the bug to prove I love her, and show that I’d kill for her. Is there really any mystery as to why the guy she was talking to before me just disappeared out of her life?


[S]he was in a pretty crazy place, screaming and waving the bucket-knife around, spattered with blood from head to toe. Lee was lying on the floor, quietly pumping out his life through his throat.

I turn off my cell phone and reluctantly slide it down my pocket. My hands are shaking. A large knife appears in his hand.”William Wilson in the short story 'Metro' by Steen Langstrup

Instead of making trash cans cylinder shaped, they should make the mold look more like a person, to help with that ever baffling question: Now that I’ve killed him, what do I do with the body?

He had been dazzled. Because of the dazzling brightness, he had had to kill [Seigen]. All who had encountered Seigen had had their hearts stolen by that brightness. That envy had turned to malice.

If it weren't for greed, intolerance, hate, passion and murder, you would have no works of art, no great buildings, no medical science, no Mozart, no Van Gough, no Muppets and no Louis Armstrong.

As if one killed by calculation! A person kills only from an impulse that springs from his blood and sinews, from the vestiges of ancient struggles, from the need to live and the joy of being strong.

It felt odd to have interrupted the life of someone she knew nothing about, to kill someone she had only just met, as though killing needed intimacy, deep knowledge of the other, to make it all right.

There was no black or white. Someone who had been good her entire life could, in fact, do something evil. People were just as capable of committing murder, under the right circumstances, as any monster.

The question is, If I killed your husband, would you seek revenge, or would you send me a Thank You card? I think I know the answer, so here is my address: Jarod Kintz 12321 Karma Circle, Jax, Fl 32223.