Memoirs of a Chainsaw

Returning to a more classic horror style. While creating supernatural content is enjoyable, revisiting the theme of a psychotic killer cannibal was refreshing and allowed me to alter my writing style somewhat. For this installment, I chose to write from the antagonist's perspective, as if they were narrating their life to someone else.

It was an excellent method to present a different perspective on a story, and I'm certain I'll use it again in the future.

Some call me a psycho,

Some call me a freak,

But this is my calling,

I’ll weed out the weak.

I’m here to tell you a story,

Of how it all began,

It might get a little gory,

For there was never really a plan.

My family kept me hidden,

From any unwanted eyes,

Interacting was strictly forbidden,

Truly this was probably wise.

Grandpa was a meat worker,

He taught us the ways of the trade,

We called him the berserker,

With how fast he swung his blade.

Drayton ran the only gas pumps,

Serving all kinds of treats,

All those tourist chumps,

Had no idea it was human meat.

He liked the open road,

I won’t mention his name,

Waiting for a nice carload,

To mark them as the next game.

My job was the best I knew,

To witness the last pulse to beat,

Each time my collection grew,

As I stripped the face like a sheet.

Killing was the utmost fun,

The feeling of prey and the hungry beast,

I loved it when they would run,

Time to give my chainsaw a feast.

Cutting up the bodies was after,

Hang the limbs in the barn to mature,

One hanging from every rafter,

It was hard to resist the wafting allure.

Sometimes one did get away,

Running as fast as they could,

More always come to the buffet,

They’re like termites in the deadwood.

A lifetime of constant slaughter,

Here is my stories end,

From a little Texas backwater,

Hey, you’re looking juicy there friend…