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Campfire-733269-1-

I sat down by the warm campfire, and began my tale. Take note, Im not the best story teller, sometimes I just get a little nervous... "So there's this killer, right, and he's really messed up in the head, like psycho, abused as a kid or something." I paused for a second to look over my audience. They were staring very intently, so I resumed. "Well, anyway, this guy gets really depressed as an adult, so he tries to hang himself, but the rope breaks, and he's really bummed about that. He kinda snapped a few days after this, and he decides that if he can't kill himself, he'll just have to kill other people." I shrugged. "Makes sense I guess, right?" My audience just stared. 

"Ok, so one day, he sees this little old lady walking down the sidewalk in front of his house and there's no one around, so he runs up to her and starts beating her with her own cane, but this is taking way too long. He tells her that he will be right back, and he runs into his house and gets the biggest kitchen knife he can find, runs back to her, and slits her throat. That same night he gets woken up by loud knocks at his door and sirens. He gets out of bed and opens his front door. A police officer is standing there, who asks Randy, that's the killer's name by the way, if he knows anything about "this". The officer points to the dead old lady in the street. Randy then noticed all of the police cars parked around his house. He thought about lying to the officer, but lying is a sin.

So he says to the officer, "Sir, I did that, but I promise she hit me first. The officer then kinda just stared at Randy for a while with a really confused look on his face, and then he says, "Son, I think you need to come with me." Randy knew he would get in lots of trouble if he did that, and he tried to shut the door, but the officer forced it open and yelled, "Get on the ground!". Randy then grabbed the glass vase on the table by his front door and he smashed it on the officer's head. Randy sprinted out his back door, towards the deep woods behind his house, the bleeding officer in hot pursuit. Randy started to get really tired, so he stopped to take a breath, and while he did this, the officer caught up to him. Getting tackled by the cop didn't hurt too much, but being beaten by his night stick really did. "Police brutality, police brutality!", Randy yelled. A lot of glass was still stuck in the crooked cops head, and Randy punched the policeman right in the face, causing a rather large shard of glass to stick right in his eye. The man screamed, and Randy pushed him to the ground. "You crazy son of a bitch!", the enraged man spat. "Swearing is a sin!" Randy echoed back as he continued his run deep into the woods.

He ran so deep, in fact that the police never caught him. He survived in the forest by building shelter, and he had to eat bugs and dead animals, which do not taste good at all. After a year-" I counted on my fingers. "Yeah it's been about a year, he found a campsite much like this one, and  if any campers decide to camp there, they better watch out or they might see the KILLER!" I yelled that last part very loudly to try to scare my audience. They didn't even blink. We sat there for a while staring at each other. I scratched the scar on my neck that makes it look like I wore a tie too tight. One of the people in my audience suddenly fell forward off of the log that I had sat their bodies on so carefully. The blood from his bashed in head sprinkled my feet. Maybe they would've liked my story better if I wouldn't have killed them before I told it. 

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