Jack the Ripper

Slipping
Entry 1, August 28th, 1888
I have started this journal to talk to someone, or, in this case, something.
I am beginning to have urges. Urges to…Kill…It is not normal people that I want to kill, no, not some random Joe or Fred I see on the street, but I want to kill the low-life whores whom sell themselves. Does that make my urges wrong, still, or does it make them right? Am I justified…?
No, no, no…It does not. I am a good person, and everyone has these thoughts…I am not a murderer.

Murderer!
Entry 2, August 30th, 1888
I almost did it. I almost murdered someone today. I had my weapon ready, but I couldn’t muster the courage to do it. Not tonight, anyway. I could have killed that whore, and that’s what makes me justified. She is a whore…I AM JUSTICE. I’m cleaning our planet of the filth that lives to sell themselves.

Who Am I?
Entry 3, August 31st, 1888
I suppose if you’re reading this, you know who I am and my actions have been exposed. I do not deserve a name after my actions. I’ve been having my urges long before the first entry made in this journal. Seeing these whores, selling themselves, disgracing the bodies given to them by our great and powerful God, it is what made me want to kill. I never really thought I’d do it, though. I never actually thought that I could really take another’s life.
But she is no human, no woman. She is a succubus whore, as are the rest of them. They deserve it, she deserved it. Her breath was soaked with the smell of alcohol and I just snapped.
I killed her. I slit her throat, slow and I enjoyed the feeling and the sight of her warm, sinful blood falling from her skin to mine with its scarlet droplets with the wafting smell of copper around me. I even got to hear her beg for her life, and it was blissful…She deserved to die, and I am a saint.

The Victim
Entry 4, September 1st, 1888
I have heard news of the woman. She was found by Scotland Yard not too long after I left the scene. I believe they identified her as Mary something. But I cannot honestly say that I care. She deserved it and if I am hanged for my actions then I will always know that I died with honor and justice and I will always be proud of my work…
However, they have no real leads, just a witness claiming to see a man with a coat and doctor bag. I will never get caught.
Perhaps it’s possible I am becoming too cocky, however, I feel strange. Like, I’m stronger. Is this what God intends when we do his deeds? Is this what Justice feels like? Is it bad, however, that I continue to have the thirst for blood? Of course it’s wrong, but only if I am thirsting for the blood of the innocent. Those are the real, true, criminals. So why is the feeling of blood so soothing to me? The spilling of blood is different when it’s in the name of justice. It’s right. I killed her because she was a whore! She abused her life, and I HELPED her. She cried for help and I gave it to her! I am not a bad person, I am not a monster.
However, it seems that I plan to continue to tell myself that until it’s true.

Evaluation
Entry 5, September 3rd, 1888
I keep trying to figure out how I really feel about all of this and I don’t seem to feel much of anything, anymore. I feel very numb and cold. But I continue without regret, because regret is Satan getting into my mind, and God shouldn’t let that happen. He gave me this job to kill these scums, and the prostitutes seem to not even be phased by the murder of my first victim. This makes it easy to kill again. This makes taking another simple, and God would be so incredibly proud of me.
Justice and madness are just alike, after all. And some of the most amazing men are usually mad, are they not?

God’s Forgiveness
Entry 6, September 5th, 1888
People still fawn over my victim, and myself. They call me “Jack the Ripper.” Not very creative, and I honestly laugh every time I see it in the paper. Jack the Ripper, how incredibly stupid. I have also read that my soul will burn, and that God is going to ban me to Hell. But, our great Lord has told me otherwise. He forgave me. God always forgive those whom do his bidding…
I am not worried for my soul one bit.

More Blood
Entry 7, September 8th, 1888
Finally, another kill! My God has graced me with her, and blessed her into heaven due to my cleansing. I escorted her into His sweet embrace, with ever ear-piercing scream.
I slit her throat. Oh, Lord…The sweet, iron smell of her gushing scarlet, dripping down my blade. But, no, I couldn’t have just that. I ached, no, thirsted for more. So, I took my knife and slowly ripped below her stomach, pulling out her entrails. The smell of everything, blood, stomach acids, filled the cool air of the night. I simply dropped her useless body, like a doll on the ground. And all I could do while staring at the mangled corpse of that whore, is laugh. And I still cannot stop grinning.

And Two
Entry 8, September 30th, 1888
Twice tonight I have spilled the dirty whore blood on the streets of London. Two women lost their lives by my hand, and God smiles upon me in every moment as I dismember them. My body is full of happiness and every time I see the light leaving their pathetic eyes, I feel the tingle of being the Chosen One run through me. I feel as if I am becoming more and more powerful, and God has made me his reaper. He blessed me with two tonight, and I thank him for this. I hope each women knows their sin, and beg for his forgiveness. And once I am in Heaven, I will be thanked personally by every one of them.

I’m Not Done
Entry 9, November 9th, 1888
God has finally allowed me to continue killing, and I have continued to escape capture. I only know of one more death God would like me to see through, and I plan to reap her soul tonight. When these women, as they’re being murdered, beg for the pain to stop, I can’t help but know God is letting them suffer for their sin, and I know that they are cleansed. I know he is saving them, with my help.
My final kill will be the history of me, and my final target is the worst of the whores I’ve seen. I may have to wash well after this, for my hands to be drenched in such foul blood is a sin in and of itself. May God rest her soul, and she repent with my help.

Final
Entry 10, November 9th, 1888
I have never enjoyed such a kill. Watching that harlot suffer from my blade was such a sweet ending to my reaping. She was so low, and he skin cut so easily and she had screams that bellowed through the night as she died. I loved watching every moment of her bleed, and smelling her sweetly toxic blood in the air.
With this last kill, I am pleasing God in the highest way, and becoming him. I am God, and I believe that spilling her blood, the most vile of the whores, has granted me with this. Her body was so mangled, and my work was so well orchestrated that I doubt anyone would ever recognize her.