Isocolon (i-so-co’-lon): A series of similarly structured elements having the same length. A kind of parallelism.
The sunshine. The trees. The birds. The butterflies.The creek. The lake. My camp. Finally, I had gotten away from it all. Off the grid, my ten acres of paradise was my refuge in all four seasons: hiking in spring, summer and fall, snow shoeing and x-country skiing in winter, swimming and fishing and canoeing in summer, and burying my victims all year-round.
I had brought the list of missing persons in Starbucks County to 15 over the course of 15 years, harvesting one victim per year. I was a disgusting excuse for a human being—the lowest of the low: insane, compulsive, uncaring, conscience-free.
I am a serial killer.
It started with gleefully crushing insects, then torturing and killing hamsters, mice, and lab rats. I did my first annual human when I was 22. She was a fellow student from the community college.,I had recently won the ten acres in a poker game. That’s where I took her. I killed her and buried her. I did this once a year for fifteen years.,
Nobody suspected me of the recurring deaths. I was a guidance counselors at the local high school. I had helped many students with their choices of college and vocations. I was loved by everybody.
Then I fell in love with Tootsie Keller. She had a small farting problem, but that that didn’t bother me. We got married, paid for by her wealthy parents. I thought my serial killing days were over, but I was wrong. One day, I woke up and wanted to kill Tootsie. I had no reason, I just had an urge. I lured her to my campsite and was about to split her skull with a hatchet when she turned to me and said, “I love you so muchChippy.”
They say love conquers all, but In this case it didn’t. I split her skull and buried her. When she went missing, the police searched my 10-acre paradise and found my cache of bodies. DNA tests and my flimsy alibis put me in prison for 125 years.
Even though I am guilty as hell, I feel no guilt.
I am a psychopath.
The Daily Trope 