Disclaimer: This story is not intended to be written as a warning for self-harm or harm towards another. Events, locations, and characters in this story are made up, and if any real connections are made, it was unintentional.

I wasn't always like this. I can’t even recall how it all began. It was supposed to be just a one-time thing but six years later, a new side of me has developed. I don't know what it is, but it helps me keep the fog in my head at bay. But now the euphoric feeling has taken root, replacing my head fog and the cure isn’t working for it as well.

It wasn't medication or weekly doctor visits. No. It was a sharp ax, six bodies, burning bloody clothes, and talk of a serial killer spreading around town.

I think I felt pity for the people, but it came off more shallow than I expected. Different from how people have described guilt. After the deed was done, the bloodlust would disappear, like it was never there. But it never lasted. It always came back, stronger, quicker, and each time more painful than before.

It was the beginning of summer. This was my sixth year of being The Axeman, as the townsfolk have so delightfully in my opinion named me. If I play my cards right, I'll go on to seventh. Ready to proceed, I dressed my best. I donned a black suit and a heavy coat of the same color. After finishing up with slipping on some gloves, I grabbed the biggest knife that I could find in my kitchen cabinet. I ran my finger along the edges, silently admiring it. It will be oh so unfortunate to use something that doesn't fit the title I was bestowed, but if it wasn't for my sloppiness, I wouldn't have left my ax at the scene of my last killing. I frowned and slipped the knife into my...