It was almost too easy. The cabbie picked me up at the corner and all I had to do was signal for him. It was unfortunate for him, being picked by chance, but who was I to deny him the honor?
I got in the cab and took the seat behind him; it would be the most convenient for what needed to be done. I gave him a fake address and he started driving, talking about his kids as if I cared. I put on my mask though, the one I use when I am around normal people. I tell him about my Johnny and Natalie, the children that don't exist.
In my jacket pocket I can feel the knife that I bought at the military surplus store. From World War I, the man had said. It was five inches long, sturdy, but sharp after an afternoon of honing it.
I felt unease right before I was to make my move--not out of any sense of moral ambiguity--but of my own ignorance. You see I didn't know why I did the things I did, but the thrill of it sustained me, gave me life. Without it, I surely would perish, all the while knowing that I would be caught one day.
I shook these thoughts away because he had arrived at a stop light. The intersection was quiet, not a man or vehicle in sight. I slipped the knife from my pocket and in one quick precise motion, grabbed his neck with one hand and pulled back while sliding the blade deep into his side with the other. The blade had no resistance and I could feel blood run through my fingers as he struggled. He couldn't scream with my hand crushing his windpipe, but I suspect he might not be able to even given the option. His life drained away like leaf blown by the wind. I wiped the knife on his clothes and exited the cab.
I walked away like a normal person would. When things go right, even if someone was there they wouldn't know what happened until they approached the car. There was little commotion.
I resisted the temptation to flag down another cab, even if the hunger was growing. My excitement built before the kill, but like each other time, it plummeted afterwards. Only the thought of another cab ride excited me.
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