Marcus Fiesel: Foster Failure

Here I am locked inside my own little world
You think I don’t listen but I hear every word.
Sometimes I get frustrated because
You don’t understand.
It’s not my fault, it’s the way I am!
I wish I could say what I want to say
But I’m autistic, so that kind of gets in the way.
For those who don’t know me
They probably think I’m out of control
If only they could play my role!
There are lots of others who feel the same
A constant battle, a losing game.
For those who look after me its two steps forward but ten back
Will they ever get the answers they lack?
Family and friends try their best but they are exhausted
In desperate need of a rest.
Someday I hope they find the key
To unlock the missing piece hidden deep within me.
© 2012 Susan Logan

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BTK – Bind, Torture, Kill

“I can’t stop it so, the monster goes on, and hurt me as wall as society. Society can be thankfull that there are ways for people like me to relieve myself at time by day dreams of some victim being tortore and being mine. It a big complicated game my friend of the monster play putting victims number down, follow them, checking up on them waiting in the dark, waiting, waiting…the pressure is great and somt-times he run the game to his liking. Maybe you can stop him. I can’t. He has already chosen his next victim or victims. I don’t know who they are yet. The next day after I read the paper, I will Know, but it to late. Good luck hunting.”
– BTK

Dennis Rader BTK
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Wendigo

Imagine this: It’s winter, you, your brother and sister, and some friends are staying in an awesome lodge in the mountains, something you do every year. Everything is great, until a few of your friends decide to play a nasty prank on you. Instead of being the butt of their joke, you take off, only your sister pursuing you – that is until something else appears. It’s large, monstrous, and spewing fire. You both run until you’re cornered on a cliff, but you both slip and fall. Your sister dies instantly, but you’re still alive. Your body is broken, you can’t move, but you’re still alive. The creature that was chasing you has disappeared, and no one can hear your screams.

One year later, your brother and friends return to the cabin. You’re not the same person. You’re hungry, and you can’t control your insatiable appetite. You’ve become the same as the creature that chased you over the cliff. You are a wendigo.

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Albert Fish: Killer of Children

On Sunday June the 3 – 1928 I called on you at 406 W 15 St. Brought you pot cheese – strawberries. We had lunch. Grace sat in my lap and kissed me. I made up my mind to eat her, on the pretense of taking her to a party. You said Yes she could go. I took her to an empty house in Westchester I had already picked out. When we got there, I told her to remain outside. She picked wild flowers. I went upstairs and stripped all my clothes off. I knew if I did not I would get her blood on them. When all was ready I went to the window and called her. Then I hid in a closet until she was in the room. When she saw me all naked she began to cry and tried to run down stairs. I grabbed her and she said she would tell her mama. First I stripped her naked. How she did kick – bite and scratch. I choked her to death then cut her in small pieces so I could take my meat to my rooms, cook and eat it. How sweet and tender her little ass was roasted in the oven. It took me 9 days to eat her entire body. I did not fuck her, though, I could of [sic] had I wished. She died a virgin. ~ Albert Fish

Excerpt taken from a letter sent by Albert Fish to the mother of Grace Budd.
Albert Fish
Albert Fish
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