I'm Obsessed With Serial Killers

I watched my victim as he slumped over, falling into a dead, probably dreamless slumber. I poked at his sides a couple of times to ensure that he was out before moving in on my kill.
With gloves still on my hands, I slowly pulled out my box cutter, pushing the blade out and watching the silver glisten in the moonlight. Soon enough, it would turn crimson with the blood of a worthless man. Biting my lip, I bent down over the man, a scene that would have looked like a drunken love affair to any unfortunate passer-bys. Shakily, I took the blade to the side of the man's neck, sliding it with a considerable amount of force as the sensation of tearing through layers of flesh vibrated through the handle of the knife in my hand. Seconds after it was made, the cut extending across his neck began to drip blood, but it hadn't been deep enough to sever an artery. Wincing, I folded the box cutter back up and took out my switchblade. I had to be hasty about this - I had been increasingly lucky that the initial cut hadn't yet woken the man up, but I couldn't take my chances with it. With the switchblade open, in hand and ready to deliver a blow, I drew my arm back, stabbing into the man's neck with as much force as I could produce. The blade ripped through layers of flesh, making its way through muscle and severing a few tendons that sent a pulsing sensation through my palm until I hit it. Right on, I hit a crucuial artery, and blood forcibly splattered from the wound, staining my clothing and the alleyway alike. I withdrew the knife, stabbing in two more places on the neck for safe measure before stepping back and concealing my weapon.
The man lay motionless against the wall, blood still spattering out of his neck in timed spurts, as if the pump were breaking. Soon enough, now, my victim should bleed out. Once the spurts had stopped, I bent down and kissed the man's bloody neck, sucking up a mouthful of blood and letting the lukewarm iron taste set in my mouth for a moment.
The world slowed and my mind felt at ease. For a second, I finally wasn't starving for anything. Savoring the moment, I swallowed and bent down to suck up some more blood, praying only that I stop myself before something caused me to fall ill from an overdose.
Luckily, nothing so unfortunate happened. Really, it makes sense, with my long-standing habits of drinking my own blood.
Once I had taken my fill, I took out my switchblade once again. Obviously, I hadn't thought this through as thoroughly as I should have, but I'm smart enough to improvise.
Hacking and sawing my way at the joints, I managed to dismember the body, sloppily disconnecting muscle and tendons then proceeding to place the atrociously cut parts into my garbage bag.
I kept the biceps in a separate bag to be taken home; I needed some dinner for tomorrow.
Being sure to seal my bags tightly, I took them back out to my car, hopefully nobody saw anything suspicious. Even if someone happened to catch a glimpse of me walking with these bags, it made sense since there was a dumpster right in the alley.
I was safe, or so I told myself. I had to be safe, I planned it all out quite well.

I took my time driving out to the old cabin, being extra careful to avoid all traffic violations I would normally find myself making.

Once I reached my recluse, I took out the heavier bag of body parts and lay them out in a circle on the cabin floor, almost in a ritualistic, demon-summoning pattern.
Now, normally, I wouldn't have ever dreamed of using my gas can I keep in my car on the off chance I run out fuel to burn bodies, but I didn't have any other option right now. So I dumped the sweet smelling petroleum all over the dismembered man, soaking him in the gasoline perfume. I felt the fumes enter my brain, leaving with them a dizzy, happy sensation. Smiling as my head spun in circles and my body floated in air, I lit a match and threw it onto the body, walking out the door as the flames spread around the circle.
Still high from the gasoline fumes, I stumbled into my car, taking a few minutes to breathe before driving back home.

I had done it. I was a killer, officially.
And all I could think of now was how to perfect my technique so that the next time ran more smoothly.