He starts getting sleepy.

“This coffee is nice. What brand is it?” he asks, emptying out the cup. I watch him close his eyes and drift to a sound sleep. I carry this heavy person to the chair and tie him up. I get my grinder, hammer, and my taser, I sit, watching him sleep.

He’s taking too long to wake up. I glance at my watch then look at this dude, it’s late! I pour cold water over him and he wakes up!

“What the hell?” he shouts, trying to break free.

“Stop that, it’s effortless,” I tell him, as he’s trying to wiggle out of the chair. He protests then finally, sits still. He looks at me, as I grab my hammer.

“What’re you going to do with that?” he asks.

“Nothing painful really. I just want to see if your knees will break, if I hit them with this,” I laugh.

“You’re crazy,” he says, his eyes are full of fear.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I giggle, I hit his knee, he doesn’t scream.

“Men don’t cry,” he says.

“We’ll see about that,” I head for the grinder. As he hears its sound, he starts panicking.

“Please, I have money. Let me go and I’ll forget this ever happened, and I’ll give you money,” he begs.

“Don’t beg, it’s unattractive,” I say, slowly bringing the grinder to his shoulder. He screams, blood spills, the smell of blood satisfies me. I go deeper in his flesh, he’s begging for his life. I cut off his entire hand.

“Please..” he says, weeping like a baby. I laugh at him.

“Didn’t you say, men don’t cry?” I ask. He cries, in pain. I grab the hammer.

“What did I ever do to you?” he asks.

“You’re a man.” I tell him. He goes quiet; he doesn’t understand. I hit him with the hammer on his crotch, he screams loudly, his legs are now trembling. I chop his private part off. He’s watching in pain and agony crying his eyes out, there’s blood all over.

“Just kill me,” he begs. I laugh.

“Not so fast,” I tell him. “I enjoy hearing a man cry,” I kiss his lips, he resists.

“Don’t you want to kiss me? Are you scared that you’ll get aroused?” I laugh. He looks at me like I’m crazy, his eyes are full of tears and hate.
“Oh, I forgot, you don’t have anything to stick in a woman,” I laugh. I sit down. He’s weeping, his clothes are drenched in blood, mine too. I make myself some food. I eat and when I’m done, I walk up to him, “Let me put you out of your misery,” I say.

He doesn’t resist, as I bring up the grinder and it goes straight to his skull. He lets out his one final scream. I dump his body near the police station.

It’s eight o’clock at night. I turn on the television. I love watching the news, especially because I tend to be the subject.

“A famous business man has been found dead near a police station. It seems our serial killer has struck again. This man is believed to be armed and dangerous. If you have any information that could lead the police to arresting him, then please do come forward.” The woman reading the news says.

I switch the television off. Why are they saying “He” I’m a “She”, or is it because they think a woman isn’t capable of this? I get mad and I go out to hunt again.

***

Tell us: Why do you think the media assumes the killer is a man not a woman?