The Dead and the Dying by Amy Cross

far too much blood is starting to pour from the incisions. Starting to panic, I realize that I need to take more drastic action, so I stand up and head through to the kitchen, where I grab a pair of large cutting shears from under the sink. This might be the blunt approach, but I figure it'll work better. Once I'm back in the bathroom, I kneel next to the body again and slide one of the blades into the small incision I've already made. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the inevitable flow of blood but focusing, as much as possible, on the overall task. If Sam Gazade was able to do this, there's no reason why I can't. Closing my eyes, I start to cut.
    Once the guy's pectoralis muscles have been removed and placed in the ice box I prepared earlier, I decide that it's time to get started on the next part of the job. I reposition myself at the other end of the body, and for a moment I'm transfixed by the guy's penis. This is the one element of this whole grizzly process that I was slightly looking forward to, but now that I'm ready to make the cut, I feel myself starting to waver. I open the shears, but I can't bring myself to cut the damn thing off. Finally, placing the shears on the floor, I lean over the toilet and start to vomit. Damn it, I bet Sam Gazade didn't have this kind of problem. Then again, I guess he actually enjoyed cutting up the bodies, whereas for me this is just a necessary evil. I never, ever wanted to have blood on my hands, but there's no other way I can complete this work. I have to get over myself and focus on the endgame.
    Eventually, as my stomach starts to settle, I decide that it's now or never. If I don't act soon, I'm going to end up sitting here on the bathroom floor all day, waiting for the moment of inspiration to strike. The truth is, that moment is never going to arrive. At least when I've made the cut, I'll be able to move on to the next stage, which involves cutting the eight-point star into the stump. For some reason, that part of the whole thing doesn't fill me with any dread at all. I just need to get part the moment when I have to remove his penis. Taking a deep breath, I grab the shears and place the blades on either side of the offending organ. I figure I'll make the cut after a short countdown, starting from ten. This is definitely the most difficult part of the entire process.

Silk part II

Prologue
     
    "Is there any chance that Sam Gazade might be granted a last-minute reprieve?" the news anchor asks.
    "None at all," replies his guest, some smug lawyer who's been drafted in to fill a few minutes' airtime with his pointless, ill-informed opinion. "Technically, there's a possibility, but it's almost impossible to imagine a context in which any serious movement could be made in the time we have left, especially since Gazade himself apparently has no desire to push forward on this."
    With the noise from the television in the background, I continue with my work. It's getting late, and I've spent the best part of an entire day working on this asshole's body. I'm sure Gazade worked much more quickly and more efficiently, but my tardiness isn't a real problem. When I was planning this whole thing, I factored my squeamishness into account and made sure I had plenty of time for little delays. In the end, I'm actually slightly ahead of schedule, which I suppose means that I'm a better murderer than I expected.
    Murderer.
    I'm a murderer.
    The word sends a shiver down my spine, but I quickly remind myself that the label isn't strictly accurate. Sure, I killed a guy, and I'm planning to kill more. To be precise, I'm aiming for four victims. However, I'm not motivated by any of the things that usually prompt someone to do something like this. I didn't commit a crime of passion, and I didn't do this in order to gain any kind of financial benefit... In other words, none of the usual reasons that people use to justify their actions. No, I did this for one reason, and one reason only: I wanted