You would never suspect I was a taker of lives. I didn’t grow up wishing to be this. I didn’t dream about killing my first victim. Synchronicity brought us together and started the deathly slow-train of thought in my mind.
Slowly, it snaked round my brain. She wanted to die so I started thinking about helping her. I started to think what that meant morally. Then I started to utterly despise myself for even considering those thoughts in that way.
I sank, into a dangerous place. A place where few return without sin in their saliva, gagging and ready to let it loose. Outwardly I was calm and normal, a cardboard cut out of myself.
Inside, a narrative raged.
My punishment, for creating these thoughts, was to kill her in fear. Transmute the fear. Dont ask me why but I was able to latch on to a shred within. A shred that told me, it was her fault.
She came to me with her storties of suicide and drawn out nights of dreariness. She asked me many times to just let her die. It created thoughts in me that I never wanted to think about. I considered it, for her, but then thought about what that meant for me. Euthanasia, the word sounds feel-good but the reality involves watching her eyes as she takes in her last breath, hearing that unnatural silence as no more breaths are breathed out but her cooling hands still lie in yours. Could you carry that? Shoulder that guilt like two heavy boulders never destined to leave your mind. Could you?
You were torn. I was torn.
The fear was quick to take over. I had already half decided so I had already agreed with myself that I was capable. It caused me immense inner torment.
Like I said I never grew up planning to take a life. I wanted to be a nurse in fact. Ironic.
I slipped into a silent inner darkness where I hated myself to oblivion, inside I could sneer and snarl at the hidden killer within me. My childhood innocence seemed like it was on videotape now. In the past, a picture of a life. Wasn’t me, in the pigtails. I was just playing a part.
After a time, the fear deflected the hatred from myself. I began to hate her. Syncrhnocitic our meeting was, she was destined to draw out the death lick in me, take me to the deepest, most inhumane parts of my humanity.
Few humans experience this, I tell myself as I close my hands tighter around her neck. She struggles to fight back and to breathe. It’s working. Such simplicity when you think about it. Why do people even bother with weapons?
At first I look away, only glancing to see how red she’s becoming. Despite everything I don’t want to look.
‘I’m letting you go..’ I start to repeat, a sob catching in my throat each time.
She should understand. She should. When i glance at her I see the thing I didnt want to see.
The fear. In her eyes, transmuted from me. Its what I wanted, to pass back the fear that she unloaded on me by asking me to end a life, to just let her die. I was never an ender of lives.
The fear in her eye still glints.
She fights more. This angers me. Why be scared when all you’ve talked about for the last year is this moment? She was a fake. She never wanted to die.
This was my fear, that after the point of no return she would be overcome with regret and panic would fly out her eyes but go nowhere as she flopped to her death. And leave me ever remorseful. A kiler.
You made me this, I hiss like a demented snake. It unravels. The deathly dream now fully dreamt, drawn upon this world, pushing her into the next realm. I never meant to become this vile version of me.
But she came to me. She came to me.