Prologue
Have any women out there wished that they could kill a man, even just once a month? Me too. Most of the people on my mental hit list are mostly men. Mostly. Now I’m not going to lie there are a handful of women on that list as well, but that’s not how this story is going to go. This story is about how I ended up one of the legal killers in the United States. I never thought I would say that but I did. I was only 17 at the time that this Law was passed. When the woman had chosen the man she wanted to kill that month she had to go to the police station and have one of the officers or whatever go with her. They would be there to make sure the woman didn’t get hurt or to make sure she only killed one man. They keep a log of all the men you kill.
Men have been dropping like flies. For the most part. The bad men mostly. Not all women are even allowed to kill once a month. They had given that opportunity to a handful of random women. Like me. I was one of the lucky few who are able to kill a man once a month. The first month I killed my dad. The next month I killed a family friend’s dad. He was an asshole. Not that they knew I killed him. Then I killed one of the guys who bullied me in high school.
I had just killed all the men on my hit list that I could get to. There are also a lot of people who don’t know that I am legally allowed to kill a man once a month. As long as they are 16 and up. Since I was still a minor I was able to kill other minors. Once I was an adult though I was unable to kill anyone under the age of 18. Which I didn’t mind. I had no reason to go around killing teenagers. Most of the people I kill and plan on killing are older men. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy killing the men who wronged me. I always have a really good reason to kill these people. Sometimes I even kill men for other women since they can’t.
I enjoyed being useful. I enjoyed being able to help people. It’s a nice feeling. Even if I am killing fathers, sons, husbands, boyfriends, brothers, uncles, and cousins. I didn’t care. I have reasons for killing them. Whether it means something to you or not. Because I mean it’s not like I’m killing innocent men. I’m killing bad men. And I mean no one is truly innocent though, are they? The answer to that is no. They aren’t. Being able to kill once a month isn’t all fun and games though. My life has changed a lot. Not only is it a pain in the ass to have to try and keep it a secret which I have for the most part… But it also feels like I have become someone that should be behind bars and never see the light of day again. It’s not just about killing bad men. It’s the killing that gets me. The fact that I enjoy it. That’s the problem. Not that I would tell anyone that other than my therapist.
She gets paid to listen to me bitch and complain about the killings I’ve done and will do, how pissed off I am, how annoying it is to have to go to the police station to have an officer escort me to and from the crime scene. She gave me this number, email, and address of a group for women like me. The women who are able to kill and they all come together and talk. Which was nice to know about. It was nice having people like that who understand what I’m going through. It fucking sucks. Most of the time I don’t care but sometimes it just fucking hurts. But I would never have gotten where I am now if it wasn’t for the fact that I was now able to kill once a month.
