[This is a fiction I co-authored with Louise Norlie. I will be publishing the story in serial installments, every Monday for the next little while. Stay tuned.]
You may think I am cruel, that I am a sadist. Nothing could be farther from the truth of my desire. I took no pleasure in hurting and killing people. What I took pleasure in is the fear that hurting and killing inspires in others. If terror could be achieved some other way, it is quite possible I would have opted for that. But nothing – NOTHING – makes people afraid like the threat of being hurt, possibly killed, and “nothing” is not an option for me.
To inspire terror in God, does one torture an angel?
I am not sure when, but at a certain point, I lost my passion for terror. It just seemed like everything else.
However, I had been terrorizing for so long that a life without killing and maiming not only seemed impossible but utterly unlivable. What was I to do? Return to school? Why? To prove, like a marathon runner, that I could achieve something meaningless, something anyone could do? Get a job? Again, the only possible reason I could see myself doing this would be to live the “American Dream,” trying to blend in despite my absolutely nightmarish existence.
No. In the end I decided to go out with a bang. I thought it better to end my life than live a life without being manifest terror.