Never Enough Light in the World

There she was, Mrs. Savannah Weaver. Blond shimmering hair caked with dried, crackled blood. Her body stiff as a board as I pried her arm from the door handle and moved it into an outstretched position so I could hack it from her body. She must have pulled herself up from the floor using the handle. The streaks in her makeup still evident from all the useless crying. It's a shame really. When I met her the night before she had such dignity in the way she worked the room from one jibber-jabbing conversation to the next. Her smile lit the room with laughter and wit. Her mouth and lips pulled back now, contorted, her teeth exposed like gnashing, jagged picks. It reminds me of a scene from my childhood. Watching in curiosity the stillness of my dog, as death consumed her. That emptiness that death projects, and her sharp teeth and gums protruded like Mrs. Weaver. This crafty woman. This manipulator will not win another beauty contest. No more men will convince her into their bed. No more women will envy to live her life. She is now complete. Life is no longer a journey for her. She is now considered carbon.

Letter #2 to Channel 7 News

There will never be enough light in the world to consume men like me. I am a predator. I am your next door neighbor. I am your local grocer, your insurance agent, the guy that designed your company's website. Do you know me? The hardest thing to believe in this world is that I am like you. I am a soldier, an uncle, a father, a friend, a member of your society, a lover, a singer, a leader, a brother, a son, a man, a partner, a social security number, a citizen, a manipulator, a human being, a clown, an admirer, an animal. The best thing about our species is that we are thinking, logical beings. We are in fact animals that have taken it to the next level. When a lion hunts down its own and viciously kills, it is not excommunicated from the pack - it is respected. That happens to be the difference between animals and humans. We believe ourselves to have evolved past our instincts. I am a killer and you are the law abiding humans. I am the animal that needs to be caged. It frightens you to think that humans still have predators. You would describe me as a man who has lost his soul. Some would say I have no soul because I am an animal. To that I would reply...lions, and tigers, and bears, oh my! Lions, and tigers, and bears, oh my!
What makes a killer? You and I are the same. We are human. We are the killers of the earth. We kill off anything that gets in our way. Some of us are hunters for sport, some for necessity, some for no reason at all. We create reasons for our actions. Some of these reasons are masked by noble words. A hunter of animals stalks its prey, assassinates, then mounts the head for a trophy to remember the glory of the hunt. A hunter of humans seemingly does the same. What's the difference? In the end we are just animals. Our judgment as a logical species decides that is is different. We have written law. And the laws that we live and die by say that humans are better animals. We have a soul. Killing an animal is very different than killing a human. We have written a few laws that protect the other animals but those laws basically regulate killing the other animals in a human way. Is there a humane way to kill an animal? Either way they are no longer with us.
I really believe that emotion is what regulates humans. We have linked so much negative emotion with the act of killing another human being that it must be wrong. The majority of us believe it is wrong. We drive by a smashed cat on the side of the road like is was a empty plastic bottle that was discarded. If we saw a man with his head smashed open lying on the asphalt bleeding to death with his life draining away by the moment, suffering in anguish at the pain he feels as he slowly begins to grow cold and the images around him start to fade into darkness, we would certainly not drive by without taking notice and trying to help. We attach more value to our own lives than we do to other animals that inhabit the same planet. We dominate so we must be worth more. Can you imagine the dying man as an empty plastic bottle?
The lion that viciously kills the weak is our society that viciously kills all the weak animals, because we can. And for no better reason. As I kill the weak. Because I can and will always derive great pleasure from doing so. As nature dictates it to be this way. Let's raise our glasses in the air so we can celebrate you and I being the same!

Letter #3 to Channel 7 News

I am a selfish person. I killed for the first time to see what is would feel like. I have to admit I had a hard time feeling emotions. I have such indifference for everything. The value I place on human life is no more or less than the value I get out of changing the channel when I can't find something interesting on television. I have never understood the pain of losing loved ones or the fright that the majority of humans feel toward death. Life ends. It seems like such an illusion that this life that we live is so important. You grow up, you work, you eat, you sleep, you try to spend as much time in between rushing as many "quality" moments as you can with your family and friends, and in the end you die and that is the end of your life as you know it. And when the essence is draining away, as I am staring into the face of the dying, I try to find some glimpse of what was so important, some secret and divine meaning, and there is nothing, except life-less-ness. I emptied the jar of all the goop that made the jar useful.
Why is it so important to have that meaning? Life is so precious as we describe it. I would have to say in my observation, the vast majority of my life has been in watching everyone suffer through disappointment, unfulfillment, and lack of usefulness or stimulation. So why cling to our illusions? We dream of visions of grandeur and every time we think that one goal will enlighten or empower us we find that there is something beyond our attainment that still needs to be achieved before we reach the fulfillment of our illusions. These illusions are usually labeled as happiness, or success, or reward, or some other concoction that liquors us up and makes us feel real good and shiny and tingly inside. Fluff is our intoxication. Fluff is what gets us all by.