I have inclinations to torture and kill. Musings, occasionally, of cannibalism and rape, but only negligibly. Not so with the aforementioned; they are not nearly negligible. Nothing really incites them; not anger, not revenge, not sadness. I can be looking at a book and spot a slash of pen on the corner and a thought of 'murder' and excitement will flash through my mind, then be gone as quickly as it comes.
It's not even an inclination, even. It's almost an impression. A feeling. Not words or images or plans (though I do think about those), for the most part, just a sort of vague cloud and influence. A macabre fascination with bones, blood, muscles, and skin; a fascination with pain, disease, and death.
I have done slight research into criminology, psychology, murder, and serial killers in an attempt to sort of understand it. It doesn't really help all that much. I do find myself sympathizing with or understanding the perpetrators, not just the victims.
I am intelligent enough to know the enormity of the risks and all necessarily involved processes. I am also smart enough to be able to avoid detection for a long time, but to know that I would eventually get caught if I kept it up. I have the urges, inclinations, intelligence and ability to become a highly successful serial killer, and currently the restraint and realism to not to. I don't think I'd feel bad about it. I don't feel bad about how I am, after all. This post, exposing my inclinations, does not make me feel anything, although confessions are reputed to evoke remorse, guilt and relief.

I am only 18, on my way to college with no idea what to major in. I have been pressured to go into medicine, and find forensics, infectious disease, toxicology, psychology, and history alluring, so I have a wide range of topics of interest to focus in. Therefore, I could, potentially, be in a number of fields where you most likely would not like one enticed by the habits of serial killers to be in.