When The Killer Speaks

People don't kill people. Boners do. Just ask me.

When he turned over in bed he did so straight on his morning wood.

"AAAWWWW!"

It was like a knife straight through his heart, piercing him when least able to defend. Punished for trying to rest. Tortured for wanting to live. Drowning in a sea of hate. A time to kill.

"Are you happy, god, you goddammed cocksucking asshole! Am I suffering yet enough for you? Wish I could make your goddam ass wake up in the morning with an aching boner, you fucking shit prick. See how your fucking ass likes it!"

But no relief came from his god or any god. Just pounding pain. Demons feasted on his brains, pulling apart nerve endings, chewing on them at will. Electrocuted by insanity, his body writhed in the early morning light of an unknowing sun. With no end in sight, black death pushed his head under water with merciless might. God's will be done.

He reached his hand above water but the room echoed emptiness. Had even a foul voice scorned him in his moment of need his fate would have been sweeter than the suffocating silence. Whatever women he knew before would not know him now. A steady drip of acid eating into his soul flowed from hell's mouth. If the end was not near, then he must make it so.

The gun meant power. Power to change things. Power to bend the world. Power to alter life as his had been. What choice did he have but to kill? How else would anyone hear his demise? In the purging personality parade of pop culture he was the laughed-at reject. Soon, no one would be laughing.

"If god cares then god can stop me. If god lets this happen then god's to blame. What does it matter what I do anyway? She's never going to love me. Make this shit stop! Somebody make it stop!" But death's dream answered the bell.

The world was on fire as he military marched down the road. Time to be known. Even in the last moments he prayed for the dripping acid to stop, to spare him. It did not.

If I'm not spared, then neither are you motherfuckers!

A uniform filled his car with gas. BAM!

A mother pushed a stroller. BAM!

A black man turned to see where the sounds came from. BAM!

A redneck with a concealed weapon started running away. BAM!

A speeding BMW screeched to a halt. BAM!

A homeless man cursed him, throwing a pickle. BAM!

"Everybody knows my pain now!"

Then he put the gun to his head. Click! No more bullets.

For one night the killer was the talk of the town.

"We Must Determine What His Motivations Were In Order To Prevent This From Happening Again!" raged the headlines.

"Obviously, anti-police rhetoric swayed him to shoot the cop."

"Obviously, the mother being Jewish shows a rise in anti-Semitism."

"Obviously, killing of the black man was racially motivated."

"Obviously, shooting the redneck proves a liberal agenda."

"Obviously, the BMW driver was a victim of class warfare."

"The homeless man was just random."

"Targeting police officers is completely unacceptable --
an affront to civilized society," sayeth the killer.

From that point forward, only nice things were said of police brutality, Jewish jealousy was better hidden at country clubs, civil war statues were dismantled, compassion was demonized as evil's enabler, and the poor were vilified for making the rich look bad. The homeless man was not mentioned; nothing to be done, as always.

In the interrogation room, the killer spoke again. "I had to do it! She doesn't want to be my friend. She hates me. She cut me off. I don't want her to feel bad for not communicating. I had to prove I wasn't worth being friends with, to let her off the hook. Now she's glad not to be my friend I bet! I did her a favor, at last. I finally did something good!"

"Dude, that's just plain nuts!"

The next year random killings doubled again.