A few weeks ago I decided to count up the amount of people I had killed over the past five years. I’ll be honest, I was expecting a pretty high number, but upon giving it some thought I have to say I was really shocked. I wasn’t prepared for just how prolific I had been. I was also pleasantly surprised by my diversity in victims: men, women, children, animals (I like to skin these); black, white, Asian, European, Inuit. I’ve done ‘em all.
It was also pretty alarming just how little can spark me into an apathetic killing spree. Let me elaborate.
In fact, this happened only a few weeks ago…
I’m driving back to my house and trying my best not to kill anyone. I’m taking it easy in my beaten-up car and obeying all the signals and demonstrating good lane discipline. It’s a little rainy and the road is wet, but visibility is good and the traffic is moving along nicely at this time of night. Then… it happens. Out of a clear blue sky some air-headed pedestrian strolls into the street and takes the full brunt of my front grill. The guy disappears under my front tyre and I bump uncontrollably over his collapsing body. Looking in the rear-view mirror, it’s clear this guy is now nothing more than an abstract smear on the road – and I’m in utter bewilderment at the stupidity of the fucking idiot that has just broken my ‘no killing’ attempt to get home.
I go off in total anger. To hell with it… why am I bothering to conform to a society of people that can’t even cross a road safely? Selecting the semi-automatic that I like to keep fully loaded, and with wild abandonment I let a few rounds off. Without even aiming I manage to take down a few people walking into a nearby park. I hear the screams (that always accompany my target practice), and I’m immediately urged to stop the car, select my silenced MP5 and let the big dogs hunt for a while!
That night I killed around sixty people. Sick, eh? To be honest, what’s really sick is the amount of stories I have that run along this same adrenalin-soaked vein.
There was an occasion when I stumbled upon a woman cooing at what I thought was a baby in a pram, it turned out to be a revolver! The crazy bitch lunged at me with a scalpel and I had no option but to empty an entire clip into her skull. One time I was following this guy I needed to kill, got a little sloppy with my execution method and ended up taking out a dozen or so police officers. I was riding a horse (whom I had been with for many adventures), that got spooked by a rattle snake and bucked me off – I retaliated by giving my new Winchester rifle a run out… I had to buy a new horse after that incident as things got a little messy.
Trust me, this shit happens all the time, and usually someone, or something, gets dead.
I don’t blame myself; I blame how the social order I live within has raped and desensitised me to the vile criminal behaviour I frequently indulge in. I blame movies and how the power of celluloid has corrupted my mind with visions I can never forget. I blame music for providing the torture and emotional hobbling the movies simply couldn’t get done. I blame my parents for wiring me this way, and then my wife for allowing me to become such a vicious and competent killer – Christ! She even brings me tea whilst I’m butchering and dismembering whoever ‘deserves’ it that day!
Perhaps more than anything, I blame a guy who went by the name of zllEnVyllz. He was the bastard that introduced me to this world, he got me set-up with the right equipment and tools, he encouraged me to select certain scenarios to experience and thrive within. He more than anyone else told me it was okeydokey to kill, and then laughed at my attempts to best his efforts.
Such savagery takes up a lot of my time and I’m kind of addicted to it all now. Looking at what I’ve become, and the monster that dwells inside of me, I often wonder why I ever agreed to buy that damn Xbox from him!
Paul Millard 2014 (Gamertag: MacNu1ty)
… And if you were wondering, the games were Grand Theft Auto 5, BioShock, Hitman Absolution and Red Dead Redemption.
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