I'm Obsessed With Serial Killers

The thing about humans is that we are all creatures of habit. We follow our daily routines and when something changed, it's unsettling. It's not just something that compulsive killers like me have, everyone is locked into some kind of routine, and I suppose accepting that was my first step to calming down about my need to kill.
I couldn't hunt when I was on edge, it was just too risky, I would get too impulsive. This is why self-reflection became crucial before my routine could go back to normal, but it has already worked. All I needed to do was to accept the normalcy of routine, and the hunt was back on.

Another day walking around town alone didn't seem like the most appealing thing to me, but I didn't really feel like inviting Lily to go out, either. The thing is, she is the only person I ever do stuff with (besides my family) and sometimes I just really need a break from her. Not that there's anything wrong with her, I mean, I like her and all, it's just that I can't spend so much time with any one person, regardless of who they are.
So my options seemed limited, and I set out to take a walk alone. Rather than going to Haight Ashbury like I normally I, I decided I'd take a stroll down the Castro to see if I could find anyone worth pursuing. Sure enough, there was a woman on the sidewalk panhandling for change. I could tell by her eyes that she was a drug addict, which meant she probably wasn't lying about being homeless. I just had to survey the area, looking for her sleeping place, like I always do. Three kills and my stalking routine was already made, I guess the FBI was onto something when they used the minimum of three victims to define a serial killer.

Like most homeless people do, this woman slept in a bush at night, in the open but tucked away just enough so that passerbys wouldn't see her unless they stopped to look. Unfortunately for her, I was one of the ones who stopped.
Taking advantage of the drugs I knew she had on her, I gently snuck her bag away from her, replacing it with a rock of the same size as I cooked the heroin and readied a syringe for an overdose.

Amazingly enough, I managed to empty the syringe into her body before she woke up, and at that point it was only a matter of time until the drugs had her out completely. I waited this out by drawing lines on the pavement with a small, black rock I found in the street.

When I was sure that the woman was out cold, I smoothly undid her pants, taking them off and undressing her from the waist down. Spreading her legs out, I couldn't help but feel a singe of uncomfortableness upon being around another person in such an intimate way, but it soon faded with the mutilation of the body.
Sliding the tip of the longest knife I own into the hole between her legs, the swift movement of pulling up came with considerable ease. The newly sharpened blade sliced through the organs, muscle, and skin until it broke through to the surface, taking with it small pieces of intestine and rivers of blood. The warm mixture of red liquid and fleshy pink tissue bubbling up from the cut splitting the woman's body in half set my teeth on edge - I didn't even know if she was a corpse yet, but I didn't care much. Digging around a bit through the incision I just made, I found what I believe was her liver, and carved it out, this time saving a new body part for consumption (out of pure curiosity.)
Naturally, I kept the bicep as well. I am a creature of routine, after all.

I disposed of the body at the cabin the way I always do. Dismember, bag, dispose. I was now a four time killer.

Not that I was going to stop there.