It started with simple things. Pesky insects flying around. With irritation, I would snatch them from the air. Their body structures intrigued me, so I decided to separate them into their corresponding parts. No matter how big or small, I took intricate measures to dismember the organism—the head, the thorax, and the abdomen. I remember snatching a dragonfly out of the air on my front porch. I first ripped apart its slim legs, then continued on to mutilate its tail apart from the thorax, then its abdomen, watching as the creature’s wings fluttered in panic. Amused, I carefully shredded the wings away, then tore apart its eyes, a little bit of green blood staining the porcelain color under my nails. 

It soon became an avocation. I would collect various insects, all plastered on my display collection with each and every body part pinned and labeled. The more I collected, the more I progressed with my collection, and so did my avocation. Soon, I moved on to small rodents, pinning down the head of rats and rabbits. 

My personal favorite had to be Bailey: the small, white fur bunny, pouncing around my younger brother’s room. When I first choked it by its throat, it squealed. I could feel resistance in the body, squirming and fighting for dear life. As I pushed my right thumb deeper into its throat, its body began to flail around harsher and harsher. It bit on my fingers, and my blood coated its entire body. This infuriated me. It’s fur, now stained with a pale red, would have to be washed thoroughly for my collection. With furor, I continued pushing my thumb down and soon, my sharp nails pierced through its soft flesh. I had made a gaping hole in its throat, its blood infusing with my own, creating a small pool of red staining the carpet beneath the body. In a few hours, after deep cleaning, it was pinned on my wall, its eyes glistening as if it was still alive. 

My excitement and passion grew, with my heart beating every moment I considered a new specimen to add to my collection. As I moved on to even bigger organisms, I acquired new tools for my progression. My switchblade was my eternal companion, along with a sharp kitchen knife for larger animals. Birds, cats, small dogs, were all mounted on the wall. It was a form of art. To share my creativity, I began to post pictures of my collection online. It was met with dazzling reviews, with many reciprocating their interest, sharing pictures of their small collection of bear and tiger heads mounted on their walls. Some expressed their art in different forms, creating extravagant carpets with the skins of wild animals. I knew not that so many shared my passion for murder and anatomical design. It was brilliant. 

I prized my collection, full of distinctive organisms that I had collected throughout the years. The basement became my exhibition: ripped insect parts were displayed on tables; severed heads and limbs of small mammals were plastered on the wall; leftover guts were littered on the floor, staining the wooden floor with crimson blood. A female wolf-head lay rotting in the corner. The stench was indescribably horrid and small pests plodded over the corpses, but I loved it all. Soon, however, I grew bored with mere insects and animals. My pastime only grew as time progressed, and I felt a fiery urge to move on to something bigger. Something more complex than what I had accumulated so far. 

On a rainy Sunday night, I began to devise my plan. He would come back home at 3:30 PM tomorrow; my chains and operating table would be prepared for his arrival. I would finally possess the paragon of my taxonomic endeavors: the human carcass. Who better to sacrifice than my younger brother? 

The next morning, as I waited for his arrival, I began sharpening my knife. I planned to take similar procedures to my past dissections. With a few swift strokes and some careful incisions, I would separate the legs, arms, the torso, the cranium—slicing through the delicate skin and into the redolent flesh below. His corpse would soon be the most valuable asset of my collection; merely the thought made my fingers tingle with excitement.

As expected, my younger brother returned home around 4:00 PM, stumbling through the front door into the house, his eyes glued to the phone in his hands. “Remus, want to check out what I have in my basement?” I asked, in an attempt to lure him and carry out my devious plan. 

He seemed to take no interest in my offer, only giving me a short glimpse, before immediately turning back to focus on the device in his hand. “Remus, it’s something super cool, you’ll definitely love it,” I added. “What?” he inquired annoyed. My brother and I didn’t have too good of a relationship—perhaps he lamented the murder of his pet bunny, Bailey. He was a rather melodramatic child. 

As I gestured him over down the basement, he rolled his eyes and complied, following me down the steps. The corner of my lips bent unconsciously, forming a smile. He was clueless, not knowing what I had planned behind my back. I found it hilarious. 

Remus jumped the small warning gate I had established before the museum. The instant his eyes landed on my collection of insects and animals, he looked appalled. “Cool, isn’t it?” I asked. His facial expressions, however, told me otherwise. “What the heck is this Romulus? This is disgusting! You really have gone insane, haven’t you?” he shrieked, almost about to throw up staring at the littered guts and maggots crawling on the floor. 

His words of mockery provoked me.  

I had difficulty getting him into the operating table, unlike the animals. His entire body was flailing and shuddering; his screams pierced my ears and my once unwavering movements shook with uneasiness. My efforts to hold him down did little; only the chains I had prepared on each corner of the table were able to restrict his movements. My knuckles grew white as I gripped my switchblade, envisioning his bulging larynx within my palm. With a moment's hesitation, I brought the edge to his throat, his eyes growing wide as the silvery blade neared his esophagus. 

He suddenly grew strangely quiet—so abruptly that I withdrew my weapon by surprise. After countless dissections, the movements of murder had become routine to me—yet today, my heart pounded with a portentous irregularity. The sight of my kin, perhaps, was the source of my distraught; never before had I operated on my own kind, much less a human so wide-eyed and defiled. 

I closed my eyes and grit my teeth. With a tight-lipped simper, my muscle memory took control. The blade quickly severed his throat, a spatter of blood tainting my sully attire. With the first incision made, a mechanistic initiative came over me.

I shall spare the details of his lacerative treatment. I shall admit, however, that the process was far from perfunctory. I ejaculated many a scream of rage as my knife caught in his tenacious human sinew. Once the epidermis was severed, I was met with an unsightly view. Despite years of dissections, the glimpse of his organs made me lurch. The biliousness was intractable, as if the Gods below had drawn a hook upon my stomach and were pulling me towards the underworld. Through it all, my walls of art surrounded me—dozens of eyes traced my movements, and I could feel the pulsing gaze of my victims around me penetrating the facade of my soul as I continued the procedure. 

A clean, six-by-three-foot area was designated for Remus’s corpse. Grabbing each part of his sliced assets—the arms, legs, torso, and head—I nailed his pieces on the wall. Once completed, I stepped back to take a look at my final composure. His limbs were painted with blood from the mutilation, remnants of his organs dripped to the floor below him. Remus’s eyes were bright white, with obsidian pupils in the dead center—a black hole. His expression was dead, his eyes piercing through me. I felt my heart begin to thump violently in my chest. I transfixed on the center of his pupil—the ominous ring emanated a sense of anguish, as if Remus was trapped in the infinitesimal space within his iris, mourning to escape. My face began to sweat. The world around me began to spin. The funereal darkness of his eyes drew me into a daze and I collapsed to the foul floor, the gleaming eyes of my slaughtered victims on the wall staring as I finally passed out. 

I woke up with a severe headache, my vision hazy and head dizzy. When my peripheral vision had cleared up, I felt I had gone insane. The dead animals on the walls were moving, each of their sights locked towards my direction. Scared, I jolted up, the corpse of Remus still in front. But something was strange. His eyes were twisted maniacally, the corners of his mouth bent upwards in a sinister smile. I began to hear screams and cries emit from his agape mouth, his tongue missing and his face smirking wickedly. I could feel my legs trembling in terror; I yet again fell to the floor. I looked in horror as the creatures seemed to be getting closer, their gleaming eyes inching towards my body. The animals and insects hoarded my body, and I began to scream. I felt a slight tingling sensation in my veins as a sharp fang of a severed dog head bit deep into my arms. A grasshopper I had mutilated crept inside my mouth, and I could feel the tickling in my nose, almost as if I had to sneeze. I shuddered in terror as the head of Remus, assisted by the severed legs, approached me. As his corpse slowly crept towards me, the cold steel of the switchblade that I had used to slice his throat grazed over my flesh, drawing a trail of blood down my stomach. With one last ear-deafening scream, he inched the knife closer to my neck and cut my throat; his dark, penetrating eyes peering into the depths of my soul.