I don’t know what made me start killing my students. Over time I realised that my victims
resembled my wife; personality traits, the same shade of blonde hair, the same facial features. I
killed one simply because she had the same coat as my wife.
I don’t want to stop killing yet. Like a smoker addicted to the nicotine, I can’t bring myself to put the
knife down. The pigs will never catch me, they are far too ignorant. Only twice they’ve come close,
but I can always throw them off the scent. I sometimes think that maybe I was born to be a ruthless
murderer, it’s painfully easy.
My name is William Britland. I am a charming, well-respected teacher at the Winchester School of
Art. I graduated from the University of Edinburgh with a first degree in fine art. Ever since then, I
have been successful with my paintings, especially life drawings. They sell better than any of my
I wouldn’t class myself as someone who is suffering from depression, yet every day a part of me
battles to keep myself sane. In the beginning, when I used to see my therapist, she helped me
realise that it all stemmed from the night of the 7th November, the worst day to ever grace the
earth. My wife left me, taking my most valuable paintings and drawings with her. I felt as though my
very essence had been stripped from me; she took my soul with her. I had put every fibre of my
being into my work. For seven years now, I have felt numb. I love that heartless bitch. I love her
and I hate her.
By Megan Bowers