Because I am an inhuman monster, I tend to be logical.

And then more quiet, silence so deep it almost drowned out the roar of the night music that pounded away in my secret self.

And what did you do last night, Dexter? Oh, I played with my dolls while a friend chopped up my sister.

It was clear to me that it wouldn't matter what I did - they would never truly appreciate me or learn what I had to offer. They were far beyond fickle - they were insensible, like kittens,predatory little things, distracted by the first bit of string or shiny bauble that rolled across the floor, and nothing I could ever say or do could possibly make any kind of dent in their willful ignorance.

Killing makes me feel good.

I am not shy about admitting my modest talents. For example, I am happy to admit that I am better than average at clever remarks, and I also have a flair for getting people to like me. But to be perfectly fair to myself, I am ever-ready to confess my shortcomings, too, and a quick round of soul-searching forced me to admit that I had never been any good at all at breathing water. As I hung there from the seat belt, dazed and watching the water pour in and swirl around my head, this began to seem like a very large character flaw.

I really am guilty, of many somethings, all of them lethal and very enjoyable and technically not quite legal.