To be honest, there’s nothing compulsive about it. It’s just… natural. I wake up every morning the same exact way. My dreams are what some people would consider to be… upsetting. Disturbing. Stressful. I dunno, I’m used to them. It’s been that way for a very long time. Longer than I can remember. So long that I can’t remember waking up with a different feeling in my body. It just feels normal at this point. I get out of bed and leave the light off in my room as I take my morning piss in some attempt to savor the last drops of the dark night. After that, I brush my teeth, splash some water in my face, clear the crusted gunk from my eyes and leave the bathroom, closing the door behind me. Next I head to the living room to get dressed in the same spot I do every single day. But first I do some basic stretches (bad back), feed my cat, and gather my things for the day. Once those subtle chores are done I take off my pajamas, fold them, and place them neatly on the top of the white canvas couch that sits against my living room wall. Next, I quickly yet deliberately get dressed in this specific order.

Step one: Put on underwear. Snug, yet comfortable fitting, quick dry boxer briefs.

Step two: Put on shirt. Usually plain white.

Step three: Put on pants. Usually solid black.

Step four: Put on socks. The only element of color in the ensemble.

Step five: Put on shoes. Canvas. Simple.

From here, I gather my things, stuff my pockets, grab my day bag, give my cat a quick scratch behind the ears, turn the lights out and head out the front door.

This begins my favorite part of the day. The quiet morning. It’s hot where I live but, this early, you can still feel the crisp bite of the midnight chill. It’s serine. I head to my car slowly to try to make the feeling last, but eventually, I have to get in my car and start the day. Once, I’m inside the vehicle, the planning can truly begin. Depending on the day of the week, I decide where the most advantageous place will be to conduct my search for a participant. Weekdays, at this time there are some small dog parks just outside of town that are quiet, but predictably always have a few people passing through on their morning walk. Those aren’t always the best though. One yappy dog and, all the sudden, the whole street is waking up and paying attention to what’s happening. That and the fact that everyone has those ring cameras on their houses these days that can ID a license plate or even a face from across the street and well into the park. Not ideal. There’s some other good options like coffee shops, churches, Hell I’ll even drive an hour to the beach once in a while and see if there’s any stragglers having a contemplative walk in the sand.

Now, I know what you’re probably thinking. “Why don’t you do at this at night like most people?” And while it’s true, the cover of night can hide many deeds and the variety of impaired people you have coming out of bars and whatnot that are vulnerable and ripe for the picking can be tempting. But the truth? I like my sleep. And to do all this work feverishly through the night and trying to be done by sunrise feels… I dunno… desperate? It’s just not my thing.

And while I have many good options, today I have my eyes set on one place. A road, frequented by joggers, at the base of a local mountain called Extravaganza Ln. There’s a narrow dirt path that traverses the road in this secluded, wooded area that is perfect for remote interactions. The plan is usually quite simple. I pull my car just off the road, near the path. Pop my hood and put on my hazard lights. Then I stand outside my car with distressed look about me and wait for a concerned jogger to come upon the scene. Contrary to how most people operate, I usually wait for a man to come by. Although women are far more frequently targeting for their presumed disadvantage in size and strength, I find men are more easily persuaded to help a stranger precisely because they aren’t afraid of being targeted. When one comes by, I ask for help and give some story of where I’m going and how I’m running late and I know nothing about cars. Since there’s no cell signal this close to the mountain, I tell them I can’t call for roadside assistance and they usually agree to come take a look. This next part is easier than most people think. As they look at the engine, I hit them in the back of the head, right at the base of the skull, with a heavy rubber mallet. Hard. The rubber is very important as it does a great job of knocking them unconscious or even killing them without cracking the skull and leaving a bloody mess. At this point I quickly load them into my trunk that is treated with plastic and sound deadening foam, zip tie their arms and legs and I’m off. Easy peezy. The whole ordeal usually takes less than thirty minutes.

From there I head to my local storage unit where I do my work. Getting in and out is easy. It’s a nice storage unit with AC and power and I can back my car right up into it and out of view from the parking lot cameras. Once he’s out and on the floor, I drive my car back out and park it in front of the door. Now, usually the person is already dead at this point. People really have no idea just how easy it is to kill someone with one good shot to the back of the head. But, sometimes, they’re starting to wake up as I get them out. It doesn’t really matter either way, I’m going to take my time no matter what. Sometimes they’re even coherent enough to panic. I guess all the plastic walls and flooring as well as the tools freaks them out a bit. Now that they’re here in my workshop, I have plenty of ways of dealing with this. Slowly, with a cable around the neck. Or quickly, with a long screwdriver into the brain stem. Whatever seems more appropriate at the time. After that, I crank some music, crack open a cold beer, and get to it. I have a nice metal work table now with a hydraulic lift so I don’t have to hunch over the whole time and hurt my back. It’s makes the long sessions much easier. I have an extensive selection of surgical tools purchased through Ukrainian veterinary websites. They’re made for farm animals which feels appropriate in a way. People spend their whole lives wondering around, eating, drinking, being told where to go, what to do, all so they can produce a product for their owners. No different at all from the animals they so casually slaughter and consume without batting an eye. The shame of it is, at the end of the farm animal’s life, their bodies are harvested and used for the good of the public. But with humans, they are thrown out like garbage and wasted. Buried in the ground. Burned to a crisp so they can be placed in a vase over the fireplace to look upon. At least in this room, their earthly bodies do not go to waste. In here they have a second life. One that’s full of adventure and purpose! So much fun is had in here! I sing to them, dance with them, read to them, and when it’s time, I honor them by carefully dissecting them. I very precisely cut all of the muscle away from the bone without wasting anything. It’s taken a lot of practice, but I’m getting damn good at it. I remove the eyes, the brain, the organs… everything. When I’m done the skeleton is so clean, you could put it in your front yard as a Halloween decoration and no one would know the difference. Then, everything is separated and placed into different, appropriately sized, labeled containers and loaded back into my car to take home. The blood is kept in large plastic barrels that I store in my unit and slowly use or discard over time. The bones are placed in a box that I can take to the trash compactor and have destroyed. The meat and the organs, they come home with me.

When I arrive at home, usually in the early evening, I give my cat a head scratch, and put the meat in the freezer except for what I’ll have in the next day or so. I’ll usually cook up an eye and a piece of liver for my cat. He’s getting older and needs the nutrient dense flesh. Then, I’ll cook something for myself I’m partial to ribs and shank, so I’ll usually start there. I’m a simple guy so just a little salt and pepper and a few minutes on either side and I’m good to go. I’ll take that to the living room, put on one of my shows and crack another cold beer while I enjoy my dinner.

You see, there’s nothing compulsive, obsessive, mean spirited, feindish, or evil about it. It’s all part of the earthly journey. The circle of life. The endless continuum. It’s the way things should be. It’s natural.