He switched off the news and took a long drink of his cold beer. The adrenaline that had been flowing through his system for hours was finally starting to come down. He was starting to feel a bit normal. At least until the urge struck him again. All of his life he had fought the urge that dwelled within him and he had struggled against it for so long, trying to deny that it even existed. He had told no one about it; he wasn’t stupid. They would have locked him up in some looney bin when he was just a kid if he had tried to talk to anyone about the sinister feelings he was having, the feelings that only got better when he killed something. When he thought about it the idea struck him first to kill something when he was just six years old. He had been riding his bike through the woods behind their house. There were several great jogging and bike paths there where he had practically lived as a child. He had never been the type to stay indoors.
