Slaughter

Slaughter

Samuel Bird

The following is a short piece of writing that is hardly a story. Wanting to explore the deep denial of being and refusal to participate in one’s life as given, I found the new evil as a part of the meta-sin. I became the character long enough to write the minimum, but it was taxing and painful. 

I didn't do it and perhaps if I did do it or was willing to admit to it, then they deserved it or at least I deserved to take it from them. I guess if my story is going to be told, it has to be told somewhere back towards the beginning. Somewhere where you can see that this horror was in fact a tragedy and I am not the antagonist but rather the tragic and the oppressed. Early years were spent in quiet consideration. Parents as far as you could tell, were kind and generous as they ought to be to raise a child that had all of its needs. However, there is something sinister, something quiet, something secretive that they did. They kept from me some happiness that they withheld. Some future they did not give. Something I had to search for myself and didn't find. I, from the beginning Was abused by the world around me and every moment one where I fell victim and every action one where I did my best to retaliate in response. So then, tell me detective that I am the perpetrator. Tell me that it is because of me that ills were brought about when it is clear from my story that I am the one who was perpetrated against and maybe I should be quiet. Maybe I should withhold why I did what I did or that I did it. Still, it will spring forth from within my being to let it be known that I am  what I was made to be. I don’t see myself as a Christian persecuted, for righteousness sake or who is hurt all the day long, but rather one who is hurt. And why am I hurt? For being the one who didn't fall for the tragic rules of man and of morality but saw through them and saw to something great. 

That specific part of the story? It started with anything I saw as less powerful than me. At first this was animals, family pets, neighbor’s pets and wild squirrels that I found. As time came on the pain that started out as an expression found itself in the finality of their lives. This oppression that I have been through was now able to be passed on. If the world sought to be a cause to me then I would be a violent effect and don't forget who is the victim of this tragedy here. It is I who was the one who was hurt originally and you may say I think that you have reason to believe that this suffering that I passed on was more than what happened to me, but only I initiated against this pain I feel is no longer just pain of its own volition. Now it becomes something more. Something I validate and in that I vindicate.  I reached out in love to the world seeking for it to give to me some back. I pushed away thoughts of violence and torture just in time to find an object of my attention. A Beautiful girl with a vibrancy of life from her that I sought to be next to and wondered if but momentarily I could be redeemed from the suffering that had to pass on to the world. I Made my efforts to court her and be a part of her life. Suddenly, swiftly, and aggressively I was rejected and when she said no to me, it seemed to imply her own agent hood that I disagreed she possessed. What I sought to receive I then had to take and then the thoughts that were swayed with horror, those thoughts came flooding back. A blade, like a falic shape, between the ribcage in such a way to stop the very heart beating that cracked mine. The puncture of lungs whose breath kept her supported as those thoughts came back to me as possibilities they seem to then be necessary. Necessary for me to follow through on what I had considered and then that great unfair pain she placed in my heart by rejecting me and forgetting my greatness was made clear. With the cessation of her very life now I was able to bring the pain that I felt into the world. I brought something about in it. And let it not be forgotten that I was the victim and all these petty little moments of pleasure and To give satisfying, passing joy, couldn't be filled from hatred that could never fully be emptied. She was the first but she was not the last. This thing will come up from inside me then seem to dominate me ever further and signify the truthfulness of the story that I had built, and perpetuated throughout my life. Now suddenly in my weakness I could be strong I could stop that which was done against me by a world that didn't care I did. I don't seek to focus on the actions that brought it about the literality of the events but rather the ecstasy. I could now pass on this great horrendous confusion to them in that moment of killing

Slaughter. I feel this command from the recesses of my being. Slaughter, and slaughter them. No doubt you wonder if I mean a voice, but I am no madman. I see the world for what it is and for this reason am less crazy than all the rest. The customs and the morality of man, nothing more than a tool of oppression for one against another. And what warrants this sentence of slaughter? Humankind is contaminated. A vile putridity permeates through their being. This is no new fact. It has resided with our kind since we mistakenly found our way from the earth. The modern age only brought its electric lights to illuminate what was true all along. Filthy, depraved, and disgusting. You people are the epitome of refuse. It is only not clear to you because you have no angels to compare to and no God to serve His judegment. I then am your God. And where do I find the facts of contamination that necessitates extermination? In the corruption and contamination done to me. 

You will no doubt look over the facts of my life and seek to know answer you find in your horror. The placement of corpses, the tools of violence, and any other question of how it was done is little concern to me. I wish to instead do violence to you by opening up what motivated it. Then my burden will be shared with you. You may seek to accuse or hold me responsible, but this simply ignores the facts. I was a billiard ball hit with suffering and slammed into another with suffering. You may note that the suffering that I caused was greater than the suffering that I received and this doesn't follow the law of conservation however I guess the you don't fully understand the depth of suffering I can feel and had felt, the suffering that was brought on by them. 

Them! Those creatures created by nothing and still being much less. The hurt they hurt, not one of ceasation like me, but of defilement, and so I was defiled. How could I view the world with any sacredness when they stole the last bit of virtue left in me? How could I live in a world where they did? Violence, more than excusable, was neccesitated. At once it made sense to me. These thoughts that sprang into my mind unwelcome, what were they for? Slamming my eyes shut and clenching my face, I would try to push them from me. However, here they were as not a temptation but an offering. A gift for the best and most satisfying ways to squeeze life from their bodies. The cunning and the lies needed to make sure there was still surprise in their eyes when the light in them went out. Knowing there was no truth, lying came easily. I simply repeated the series of facts they most wanted to hear. Building up their comfort, they would be most secure in that moment their body felt a pain it was not ready for. Turned from me in trust, my blade up into the base of the skull, destroying the ancient part of the brain. I would then turn the handle in my hand so the last view they saw was my face. I wanted to steal away anything that could take up the place for the fear. In that moment, all I was seemed to fall into place. It seemed too... perfect. That was why it was a sin to others. Something so paramount could only be reserved, and for who better than me? And to them, who better of a victim to be perpetrated against? 

You want a story, is that right? You want something to tell you that I am different enough from you that when your social mask is laid at your bedside, you don’t have to wonder if you are just like me. Well, I will give you no such assurance. The same desire sleeps in you. Pressed down within oneself to grow a society to complexity, you ignore this part of you that yearns to end others. You want to hear that something about my story fundamentally differs from you enough that you can find yourself comfortably in the civilized world as you see it. You get and deserve no such thing. After all, nothing about my life was in any way marvelous. This burning craving within me, I see it in every eye I see. The only difference is timing. Given immortality, a man would steal away others. I only differ in that I did not and do not wait. 

Make me your villain if it does you well, but you’ll always ask when no one is looking if maybe my life is only that which is common. Maybe I’ll give it to you, maybe you’ll get the story. You wouldn’t deserve it, but I think it would show you there was nothing that was remarkable about me. Father? He was a weak man. Very shy and soft-spoken. You were expecting some drunk or monster weren’t you? I would say he was more bland than anything else. He was so timid and easily pushed around, that he left when I was young to leave my with my domineering mother. Even she wasn’t violent. Never laid a finger on me in fact. However, it was her ideas, she held them close and didn’t mind using them against you when the time came. In her power, she didn’t mind taking every bit of it that I could have. No action I did could change my world, and every whim of hers would reshape it. Nothing I did could alter the world around me, but there came a time a time where this welling desire burst from me and necessitated that I steal back some of the power she had kept from me since birth. Every action I had every done was seen as lowly and pathetic to her. I felt filthy in mind and soul. At first she used guilt to have me punish myself, and then shame for others to do so. However, the efficacy of these methods wore on. If there was no possibility for me to be anything other than evil, then what was the point in caring for morality? The day I realized her morality was a lie was the day I removed this prison she had placed on my mind. I was then free to think as I wanted. And what did I want to think about?

From my earliest memories, these thoughts came. I remember sitting in the church pew shortly after my father left. In front of me, and infant born not too long ago. I was cast away to having his head between my palms as I squished in further and further until... What’s the matter? Don’t like that? Well, you get the idea. I would then come back to myself to realize that I had just lived out a thought that came to my mind. I was confused then until I heard the sunday school teacher talk about murder. He went over the idea quickly thinking it certainly couldn’t pertain to children as young as myself. I waited there in my seat for God to strike me down. I failed to murder yet, but it was on my heart. The rest of the few years were spent pleading to him to take these thoughts from me. When I met them, I knew why if there was a God, why he gave them to me. I remember the first one I met. There was still a question of if there was any divinity left in my soul. Perhaps in all my evil desires and wishes for the thoughts to not return, I was good. This animal in his wretched depravity stole away the last of these notions. If he took the dam away, here came a tidal wave of violence. My animal came alive in me as I screamed, and grabbing a brick, swung it to the side of his head, slamming the corner into his temple. His body made of refuse and sin fell to the earth as if it wanted to escape to the hell he deserved. It seemed only fair, if there is going to be them, then there needs to be me. 

My mother never found out about this and remained trying to control me. However, I could control more than she ever could. I could steal life away when I wanted. I was no longer just a part of the world, but could step out of it to prune it as I wanted. My alluding to this change didn’t change her efforts to exert power over me. Finally, ther time came that I had to live out one of these visions on her. Finally, I stole away power. If the world was nothing more than the interaction of particles, I would be one large enough to crush everything before me. How many? Oh, I don’t know. It went on so long that it is really hard for me to say. If I had to give an estimate, over two hundred. You seem surprised. How could you? I became what the world made me and it made something very efficient. No, I don’t know where all the bodies are. I never really had a system for keeping track of it. I wasn’t like them. No perversion was involved and no one was defiled. Once the life was taken, I did whatever was most efficient and secure to get rid of the bodies. I could think of an example. Let’s see, there was this one young lady I killed over on the coast. I found a junkyard. In the night, I moved the junk, buried her in a shallow grave, and took off. The smell was already unbearable and no one would be going out there anytime soon. No, I never asked for her name. Sorry, I can’t remember much from meeting her to burying her other than that brief moment when I took her out. No, again it was not sexual. It was something else. I would say that she was just too perfect. A still pond needs a stone to ripple it, a well presented meal needs to be consumed, and the best ancient animals made the best sacrifice. She was simply too perfect for this world and the art of taking her from it was its own perfection. It was too much and too good to where it seemed out of my control to take. Again, I don’t remember any details from it and quit asking. I only used that as one example, there are so many more. No, I won’t go through and try to itemize what I did. I won’t go through and systemitize something that was me being what I am. Oh come on, not a guess? It’s the same thing you are. Sure, why not? 

You know, I am starting to catch on to how you ask questions. When you aren’t trying to get details out of me, you are simply asking different iterations of the same question. Do you know what it is detective? You keep asking why. I guess I struggle to say why, but that was the point all along. I could never express myself and what was going on between my ears. In that moment I stole away their life, I felt like they knew me. They knew what I meant and thought. Their wide eyes filled with fear seemed to see me, and I mean really and truly see me. Life was a punishment for some wrong I didn’t know what I did until now. Now, I was guilty of the torment that was living. I had played out the role that I was told to live, and I did so until the curtains are ready to close. I am ready for whatever comes of this, but I hope I get to die. I hope you get to be there for it, and you pay attention to what you feel when life is stolen from me. It will be my gift to you for your efforts to chase me down. Don’t shy away or try to fight it. Simply see how you feel about it and find you enjoy it. Push after push detective, and we finally give. How are you not pushed? You’ll call it justice, but there is something that you felt when you saw those last few corpses I left. Fine, we can talk about something else, but you’ll remember what I said. 

I remind you, it is that simple. A thought comes to mind, and I do that thought. Not all of them of course, but the largest and most powerful are that way for a reason. If you are cold you pull your jacket in tighter, it is simply my way of doing the same. Can I be to blame for these thoughts? Yes, I guess I did say I think all people have these thoughts. Well, then I guess I must say either everyone should act on them, or I am special and privileged enough that I should. I am thinking probably the second. This may seem circular, but I think what definitionally sets me apart as one worthy of acting on these thoughts to kill, is that I am the one that is willing to act on them. I am what hides in every mind, brought into the world because I am not a coward. I didn’t need legal permisssion or an example. I saw the thoughts for what they were and allowed my self to lose pretentious conscientiousness to become these thoughts. I was a vessel and a conduit for the thoughts to come in, and to happen. I am still a normal, bright, and well adjusted man. For these reasons, I had all the faculties I needed to clean up and respond to the world after I had done it. Many people are born with proclivities, how is this one any different or anymore my fault? Even if you say I am evil, I was so tired of saying I wasn’t, that I had to concur. 

Well yes, I am the same thing as other people, but I disagree that this means I should have any concern for them. I am independent subject from them. What ties me to you in such a way that I would prefer you alive over dead? I just don’t see a reason. You have your gods, but they don’t scare me. You have your law, but it can’t stop me. You have your morality, but still I can’t see how me and a stranger just happening to be the same sort of animals means I should or shouldn’t kill him. That is a good question, I can say that I would not like being killed, but there is so much I don’t like. I guess there is no reason I could say someone shouldn’t kill me except that I don’t like it. Detective, I am willing to be consistent with this belief. I already said that you are welcome to kill me. You see, our kind is ripe for extermination. Name anything bad in the world and you will either find tha humanity has caused it, or without it they can’t experience it. So then, either I save the world or them by killing them. In fact, far from placing me on the defensive, this line of thinking has had me realize that I should be rallying more together for my cause. Put that on whatever paper is published in my wake. I am not only not apologetic, I am convicted to invite others to do as I did. Slaughter. Stop life before it spreads. Where it goes ti spreads all that which can’t keep it alive. Like yeast left in a jar to ferment until they choke on their own excrement, we find that the fact of life is inconsistent with its sustainable perpetuity. I now say it louder and with the violence it deserves. No! No to living! An end to life and to all living! Stop all that is by stoping all minds from experiencing it. Leave the world no further tainting by our being. Extuingush the clumps of cells we are that crawled from the mud in the first great mistake. Kill, murder, and slaughter!

Your attempts to call me back to some shared reality is so violently opposed to the facts detective. I see the massive chasm between what other purport to be their existence and what I experience. For this reason, how can I join you in a reality I am not convinced we share? My world is so different from yours to where their collision could only lead to their polar opposites canceling each other out. Another silly question. I don’t care how others feel or think about me. I remind you that my whole reason for starting this was forgetting why I cared what others had to say about me. They were simply what my tools of death were harvesting in. An object to me. I could build up any social or truth system they wanted to get them where I wanted them, vulnerable and scared. I took their lives as I gave away my freedom. Now, all I wish for is death. If I can’t cause others, I wish for mine. Deny my life. I gave away my freedom to these thoughts, and now I must see the last one through, detective. With my last wish, I ask to die. I ask to speak one more evil into the world by not gracing it with my presence. I thank you for taking the time to listen to me. I hope that I was able to perpetuate the chaos from the world into the legal proceedings that will follow. I hope they will honor my request, but I have a smaller one that is for you detective. The next time that you have that thought spring into your mind, don’t ask it to leave. Be with it, see it, and revel in it. Imagine what would happen if you brought it into the world. Imagine what would happen if you did it. If you did the only duty that proceeds from the fact of life. The denial of being, the stopping of thinking, the negation of values, and done with one swing of a blade or pulling of a trigger. Let it fester in you until you realize that its rot matches the rest of your wretched being and this is who you are. Let it mount until you become nothing more than an object to do, and do this. Slaughter.