Killing Them With Kindness

I've tried killing a man before. Frankly, I'd tried seven times. All seven attempts were uniquely unsuccessful. My first attempt--at seven years old--I tried to push my brother, James, over a cliff. He tripped as I approached, and I fell lazily on top of him. At fifteen, I stuck a knife the length of the blade into my mother's side. She turned toward me, asked me what I wanted and the knife simply didn't exist; there was no blood, no wound. Each time my plan became more complex, but each time I failed. It seemed that the more I wanted it, the more the world conspired against me. I experienced two types of failure. The first type, some natural, unexpected cause intervened. The second type, what I thought I had done I hadn't.

This time was different. For six years, I planned. For four more, I put my plan into action. I'm probably not the greatest orator who ever lived, but I'm very convincing. My eyes are penetrating and my tongue is soft. It comes naturally for me to help people see in shades of color they've never experienced before.

The planning years, I listened, and I stayed awake late into the night thinking. During that time, I learned that old men are librarians of knowledge. They can show you books of what not to do and books of methods tried and true. My other great ability: listening.

During the action years, I told my neighbors, friends and family my idea. I slowly convinced them of its truth; I even convinced myself at some point.

My plan hinged on one circumstance being true, the "loophole." I knew that, for whatever reason, I couldn't kill anyone by being malevolent, but I highly suspected that I could kill them by being sincere. Over the last twenty-six years, since my first attempt at murder, my thirst for blood and destruction has matured and deepened.

During the action years, my words were tiny pieces of devastation completely unrecognizable as harmful, living inside my friends and family: a hibernating illness waiting to kill them and everyone they touched. And my last act would be the catalyst to their annihilation.

These are my last thoughts as I hang here from a cross, the King of the Jews.

370 words

This is a contest piece for "Twisted Tales Contest" . Please don't send me your hate e-mail or hate reviews. I am a religious person. I just followed the contest specifications and created a twisted ending to a twisted idea. If you still feel compelled, send all hate mail to my imagination at [e-mail].