Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1815143-An-insight-to-a-young-killers-mind
by Mel.
Rated: ASR · Short Story · Mystery · #1815143
A very short drabble.
It was dark outside - I remember that clearly, God had only allowed me scarce sanctuary from the street lights above. Punishment?


I had done a lot of fucked up shit in my life, a lot of stuff I came to regret y'know? But this time, I didn't regret pulling the trigger of that Kommando LDP and seeing that bastards brains spray against the dull white paint of my dull white life. It gave it a kick no less, and I felt excitement pulse through my veins when I knew he'd breathe not a single breath ever again. His body had fell to the floor with a thud that day, and crimson life had leaked from him.. and I came to realise the difference between him and I.

He lived off of the pleasures of alcohol, drunken arguments, inflicting physical abuse on the women that fell pray to his 'charm'. He lived, a distasteful lifestyle, but it was living no less. And myself? I did not know what it was to live, I merely existed in a messed up world full of messed up people, and I was just another pawn on the chessboard that would be as easily discarded as it was picked.

But to keep a long story short, he was dead now and I was finally living. I often wondered what it was like to make a choice, I had never made many choices up until then - they were always made for me. My mother had felt the same way, she had told me to live my life the way I wanted and to never let anyone push me around. Great advice ma! I did just that. I did it for me, and I did it for her and I did it for any other woman who had been abused by a man or torn away from her right to make a choice.

If anyone were to ever ask why I killed him, I'd tell them why; because I was sick of the torture and pain he had put me through. I was sick of the torture and pain the man in my childhood had put my mother through, and I was disgusted at society's refusal to step in and say enough is enough. Killing was not wrong. Murder was wrong. And I hadn't murdered, I had killed. I had taken away his life to protect the people out there from him, and to protect myself, I had done it justly. And if the police asked, I'd tell them they did the same, the only difference was they were licensed to use a gun, and so what if I wasn't? And if the government asked, I'd tell them they also did the same, the only difference? They killed a mass amount of people on a large scale everyday without remorse. So really, we're all the same here.

So there I was, sitting under the flickering street light, unblinking, unmoving and eyes glazed over. But a smile was planted on my face, a sweet sweet smile. I may have looked zombie like, but I didn't care, I hadn't smiled in over eighteen years - and now I was because I was a survivor, and I was going to be okay again.
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