In 1969, one of the most famous American murders took place at 10099 Cielo Drive, constructed by the infamous Charles Manson. Although all the deaths were horrific, the one that struck me the most was of Wojciech Frykowski. He had been shot twice, struck over the head 13 times and stabbed 51 times. 51 times.
It was the severity of how someone can continue to kill and kill and kill long after the man was dead that gave me a sinking feeling. How sick someone can be, how much vengeance someone has inside of themself, to be so ruthless over an innocent person. Stabbed 51 times.
And that’s how I feel, right now, because of you. I feel completely mutilated. I feel the knife wounds in every inch of my tiny body. I feel the open wounds burning, burning, bleeding. And you kept going, and going, and going. Because it wasn’t enough damage after the first 50.
What you did, you took it to a whole other level. Your shameless lack of guilt; your merciless self-denial of all your wrong doings- they fascinate me.
You shot me, bludgeoned me, you stabbed me until there was not a piece of my flesh left untorn. And now there’s not a part of me that feels alive, but you would keep stabbing if I let you.
And I don’t know why.
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