Next on the List

I've said it before and I'll say it again, aside from being an anxiety-ridden hypochondriac, I'm also a paranoid schizophrenic.

On a good day, I can manage being alone in my house for fifteen minutes. Now that there’s a serial killer loose in my town, I can’t manage taking a crap by myself.

The body of the third victim: five foot tall, 98 pound, nineteen year-old, brown-haired college student Brianna Denison was found less than a mile from my house. Her dead, naked body (I could be making the naked part up) lay rotting, for a week, in a field I can throw a stone at from my back yard.

And sure, I realize there are people out there who’ve lost a daughter and a sister and a friend; my heart truly goes out to them, but let’s be honest, this murder is about me.

The similarities between yours truly and what used to be Brianna Denison are striking. Now given, I do eat and hence weigh about fifty pounds more, but the height, the hair the age, it’s all the same. I’m consumed with the thought that if I unknowingly cross the killer’s path, I’m done.

Hell, I’m terrified to even write about the whole situation; I’ve watched enough movies to know that those who talk about the serial killer quickly become his prey. So here’s to hoping that you really can’t believe everything you see on TV.