Clara or Daniel

Clara or Daniel Addas.




I sit down to write. Where to begin?
I suppose I could start with the simple staff. Go for something punchy (is it?) like: I have claimed three lives and failed once at an attempt. That won't really work. Who would want to read that?
Maybe if the police were actually as smart as they like to believe they'd be able to make an arrest that would spark the world's attention, put them in the front for awards, or even on a path of instant stardom (every police man's dream). You know, everyone remembers that cop. You know the one. That guy/girl who brought the serial killer to justice. I could start with something to insult the police (no big deal).
But instead I go for something simple:

Broken vows: A Memoir

There now. A start.
I must confess. I have no idea what I'm doing.
Blank page. Censor blinking. taunting. I take a breath. Square my shoulders, warm up the fingers and type, rather giddily:
This is not a how-to book. It's not a poor attempt at a (How to get away with murder Book version) retelling either, rather, it is, what most cynics and psychiatrist alike would call a tragedy. That being stated, my story is not unique; there is a large number of teenagers that go through this every year. In the event that it were a novel, it wouldn't win awards, nor would the critics commend it for its originality, after all, I am no one you would know; I am just a common (disturbed?) teen, who, in this day and age, has had the privilege to experience the high of taking a life.
If there's one thing I know it is that everyone (all of us?) have thought about killing another. Though others do it (Fantasising) just for curing boredom but man is so intrigued by people like me. Serial Killers?
What makes one a serial killer? Am I even one? I'll do my best to categorise this thing. I've murdered people. All brutally. I've enjoyed it. I've been smart about it. I won't get caught. They'll be a big pile of cases going unsolved. All my handy work. I'll gloat to those that lend an ear. Kill those that threaten my freedom.
I can assure you one more thing. Killers always follow the investigations. We're always one step ahead. And more often than not we attend the victims funeral. Cry even. Hoodwink everyone. That's my favourite part. It's like acting. Only ...you get to watch your audiences reaction live which is the best part.
So can I be really labelled a serial killer?
So where do I really begin? I killed my father. I haven't been arrested for it. I'll get away with it. End of story. Does this win the shortest, (and admittedly the most boring) badly written memoir award, yet?
Precisely six months ago. What prompted the decision to kill him, wasn't one specific thing, to be honest. It was these small and sometimes big threads that finally twisted together and pushed me over the edge.
If I ever get caught though, I'll present the prosecutor with the insanity card.
That's what I'll push my lawyers to do. Play the victim. Like so many others before me. Blame it on the abuse I suffered as a child. The emotional abuse at the hands of my parents.
I've always known I was gonna do it. I was waiting for the perfect opportunity.
The difference between killers like me and those that kill on impulse is huge. They get caught. I won't.
I had to wait until both my sibling I had equal motive now. But, as I'd planned, my twin is more the focus.
My original plan was to put a bullet through my fathers eyes. Nothing too drastic. Just something quick and simple.
Then it occurred to me. This doesn't have to be a traditional murder. Those are grossly overrated. I could do better. Create a scandal. Something that will make South Africa sit up and take notice. When I'm through with my father he'll wish he hadn't cheated on Mama. He'll regret the day he betrayed me.
What else could I do? Let him get away with it? With wanting to destroy my life?
I certainly won't turn the other cheek. Take it in stride (is that how the phrase goes?) Roll over and die.
For the sake of preserving human kind, forgiveness should be banned. Demolished.
My family really does believe I am mentally unstable. That I have multiple personalities. If I get to court, which is highly unlikely, I will use my lack of mental instability as the back up plan.
Rule 89: Always have plan B for plan B.
You're Brilliant. You're Smart. You Plan.
You won't get caught.
You're perfect.
You think of everything.
My parents are stupid and so is the rest of my family.
Either that or I'm a really good actor. Latter. Of course, I'm too good. Been faking all sorts of things from my grades to my illnesses since I was little. With time I've gotten better. More polished. Like the cycle of a manuscripts rough draft. I'm the professionally edited version now. The sharp dialogue, thrilling plot, life-like characters type of manuscript.
I have thought of a better plan. A plan that will bring money into the family. My father has been hiding just how badly Zain ruined him. If I can get rid of my father and get money in the process that'll be fantastic.
If the world wasn't so obsessed with labeling people like me crazy, they'd know that we aren't crazy. Not really. Insanity is just our ticket out of prison.
There's not just black and white.
Black representing people who are not okay in the head.
White being code for normalcy.
There are also people like me. People who represent the grey areas. The area the world doesn't want to acknowledge. People with no empathy. People that embrace their animalistic sides. People who don't suppress what nature intended.
Survival.