I murder men

I have killed over 30 men. 30 men dead in three years. 10 deaths a year. I wonder if that's a lot. When I close my eyes, I see all their faces run through my mind like a slideshow. Not that I regret killing them. I killed all those men. I would do it again. I kinda fell into killing really. I wasn't set on murder but all those men had to go. A needed service for the world. Self righteous, I guess a little. I know that I am not what you'd expect. I don't have beady red eyes, or an ominous voice. I am not followed by a cloud of darkness. I am very plain. I look just like you. That's how I was able to get so close. Close enough to do permanent damage. Bringing about their death. Helping these men meet their end. Don't know why all this came into mind today. Guess it's time to review my life's events up to this point. Reflection is good for the soul.

Sixty seconds flashes of inflicting death, flicker through her mind. The time it took to fire her gun and the time it took for him to close his eyes. I don't know if all the death affects her. She seems to move about her world with no remorse or regret. Their ends don't register anywhere on her either. She wakes in the morning and eats a bowl of cereal, going about a day as if her life was normal average mundane. Not sure how you'd tell if it did bother her. What does a death dealer look like anyway?

October 3rd was coming up, which meant so was the anniversary of his death. Her first killing. She opened her journal to look at the past notes. She spent most of that month methodically preparing for his big day. So when it finally arrived she was ready. She got out the playbook and got busy completing every task. The summer provided very little distraction. Longer days to plot and plan. When not inside going over how to get in and out unnoticed she trained her body. All the time she spent outside training had tanned her skin. She was the reddy brown she liked. It made her muscles look more defined too. With her newly short hair, she enjoyed the ease it took to get ready now. "Long hair with blood in it, ain't sexy" she said to her reflection in the mirror. She truly believed it. As if how you look when covered in blood was how everyone decided to cut their hair or not. Riken wanted to be sleek, quick and efficient. Everything had to contribute to that, even her appearance. She thought it weird that she worried about how she would look while killing. Then chalked it up to being a woman in a world of men.

"I wasn't gonna wear heels when I slit his throat, the least I could do was get my hair done."

I have killed over 30 men. It feels like a drop in the bucket. Everyday I see new horrible men crop up. They seem to crop up everywhere. I won't be able to rid the world of all of them. So I decided to deal with the ones that have close proximity to me. Rid at least my immediate world and life of the toxic males that walk about. Bad men go unpunished because most are too scared or too weak to confront them head on. I don't expect everyone to start shooting them in the head. But if at least a few times someone spoke up and said, "hey motherfucker that's not ok". If they were backed up and supported by others when they spoke. It might only be a small exercise to perform. I'm just saying it would do the world some good. Bad becomes stronger when it is not checked. So bad men get badder. I have taken up the task of restoring some balance to things. It is the natural way. If you are a man living a life where you cause destruction for no other reason than wanting to, there is an answer to your question. You won't get away with it forever.

I like that I am a woman who kills. It gives me pause seeing the look in their eyes when they know it's me that will end them. Makes me just a little happy. How do I keep myself in check, you might ask. Look if I was truly evil I would have met my end long ago. Everytime I decide on a man to rid the world of, the universe conspires with me. We all have a purpose. Some grand like the sun, others small like a leaf blowing in the wind. The universe conspires with them too. It ensures that they live their purpose to the fullest. I am no different. I was brought here to make the world a better place. This is how. I didn't set out to kill. It just started to make sense. It's my language of how I spell out my reason for being.

Clumsy. The best way to describe the first time you take a life. Clumsy which is why you need luck to help you finish the job. She was all over the place that night. It was a good thing she brought enough tools. What didn't she have.The bag had guns, knives and even poison.The first kill needed to be over quick. Poison takes time and you have to keep checking to make sure the job got done. Nobody has time for anything remotely like that. I think if you want to watch the person die and suffer, you have crossed the line. That line is so faint but it is there. Riken had no desire to watch him suffer. To hear the death rattle shake through his chest and come from his mouth like a final scream. Hearing the last heave and sigh of the final breath. Seeing his eyes stare into a far distance until the life leaves was more than sufficient. She didn't revel in what she was tasked to do. She just did it. Taking out the trash didn't require a parade. It just needs to be done.

Late nights are just perfect for foul deeds. The cover of darkness affords you the chance to act without having to see the truth. Demons fade away in the darkness. So it makes delivering death easier to stomach.

I have never killed in the daylight. Not a man or a bug. Something about seeing blood and destruction in the sun puts me off.

Killing can be soothing. It can put your spirit at ease. I know that seems incongruent from what we have been taught. Taught that doing unto others was the only and the truest way to our souls salvation. But being alive and having to live in this world is more than just about the work we do for our souls. We still gotta live here. I think that's why every religion has that all is forgiven loophole. Repent for what you have done and be true then all is forgiven. It's because God knew that a shit storm was left for us here to survive through. If it truly is survival of the fittest and being the best human you can be. Then survival comes with consequences. Survival comes with death. Every soul I have released needed to be. Those men had to die. They didn't and don't deserve salvation. I don't think I do either. I am here to rid the world of trash and disease, in the form of men. I will let someone else worry about my soul. Besides, I'll have that last second to beg for forgiveness if I need it. Or want it. It's as if God was at one time a man who had to make terrible choices. So he created a way out whenever you were ready to use it. How convenient, right.

I don't stalk. I wait. I let them come to me and they always do. It makes it more fun when someone just arrives on my doorstep.

Dark night. A really dark night. Not because the clouds covered the moon. It was dark because there was something to hide. He had hurt that girl in her own home. To violate someone where they feel safest is exceptionally cruel. He had wanted the mother too but didn't risk it. He could come back later. Plan out a whole new way to get in. Planning was fun for him. Thomas Gaines went after the unseen. The single Mom who puts her faith in locks and well meaning neighbors to keep her two person family safe. A true predator learns about his prey. Gaines had followed this family for days. Only deciding upon them after seeing them at a neighborhood festival. He watched to see who had Dads or any man around. This mother and daughter were alone. It was apparent. The mother sat with the other women but you could feel the distance. Not accepted into the fold because she was flawed. Married with children is how the story goes. She had worked hard to give her daughter every advantage but stigmas still remain. Not everyone has progressed at the same level or in the same way. The other women always remarked about how sad they felt for her, when she left to get a plate of food. She seems to fare well all alone but I couldn't do it - the others would comment. As quiet as they all tried to be about her "situation" she found out anyway. Even if the words are never spoken, the energies of sentiments are felt loud and clear.

He crept into that house like he lived there. He was unusually adept at moving in the darkness. Knowing every weird edge and angle. Even knowing where the floor would creak if he stepped on it. To say he had a gift for this kind of work just felt wrong. But it was still true. Gaines was born to inflict his evil on another and he was good at it. The need wasn't born out of a childhood pain or post traumatic reaction to stress. He really liked hurting people. So it makes sense that he would meet his end at her hand. She really liked hurting people too. Two sides of the same coin, you might say. He was almost to the top of the stairs when he stopped. He had this strange ritual of stopping, closing his eyes and breathing in the moment. The moment right before. Reveling in how he had the power to create a new reality. Killing is a lot about being arrogant and full of yourself. Again something the two killers shared. A full 20 seconds of breathing before he stepped onto the final step, made his way down the hall and pushed open the door. Heart beating with exaggerated excitement. The door opened. The dark inevitably flooded into the room. It was loud. The hairs on his arm all raised up. It was time to begin.

In no time he was at the foot of her bed. Standing there and waiting. One last moment to savor the moment. Her room was filled with all her hopes in dreams spelled out on the walls. Posters and pictures of places she longed to travel to. Far away lands and imaginary ones too. She was a good kid, who tried hard to make life as easy as possible for her mom. People would remark about how well behaved she was. How she didn't really act like a little girl at all. She was still very much a kid, she was just aware. Aware of the consequences in a way that only comes to you when you are alone and there is nothing else to do but think. Some Days she sat for hours just thinking about all sorts of things. In those times she came to understand a lot about the world and people. She learned about herself. She was the most self aware person she could be. That night changed her. Put her on the path. Without that day she would have gone on to travel the world and spread love. That night she decided that love was no longer her answer. She would save the world through fear.

I woke up to heat. It was his eyes. Staring at me creating all the hot. I was afraid but I didn't scream. In a flash I thought about how much worse this would be if my Mother got hurt too. After that I don't remember much. I remember waking up again and feeling a pain on my side. The scar from that night is still there. It's no longer tender to the touch but the damage is. There is no such thing as a wound healed by time. That's a made thing we think to make ourselves feel better. People make up a lot of shit. I rather have the truth. The truth is at least based on something semi real.

The cut was so long back then. I used to measure it with my pencils. Three sharpened pencils long. That's a really long scar. It fascinated me for a long time. The scar differed from my leg to my stomach. Once it got to my chest it was even more different then. It spread in some places and was so thin you could barely see it in others. Scars really do have character. I named her once. I don't remember what, or do I. Some things are really worth forgetting. It took so long to erase his eyes from my mind. The only thing that really helped was killing him. That same night I slept like a baby and never thought of his eyes again. I could finally close my eyes and only dream with mine.

Men act like they don't like to be teased.

The next 13 kills were routine. Bait, lure, confuse, put down. It was a dance. I get better at it each time. The first time wasn't really that hard. He came right to me. I still wonder if he knew or was ready to be put out of his misery. He remembered me. No need for introduction. I don't talk much anyway. I get right to it. Torture is more about excitement for the person inflicting the pain. They revel in watching someone be pulled apart physically and mentally. I don't have time for all that. I'm not trying to get off. I am taking out the trash. Ridding the sidewalks and streets of people who don't contribute enough to live. They are like mosquitoes. Sure they serve a small purpose but for all the damage they do, we can kill as many as we need too. It's funny, sometimes I hear people that agree with what I do. They quietly tell their friends I'm a good guy. And of course they all assume I am a man. What would it do to their small minds if they knew who I really was. A black woman killing white man because the world needs me too. 1 million miles away, is where my mind was racing. The blood on my shoes snapped me back into the present moment. There wasn't much to clean up. That was a good thing. I don't think I would have had the stomach for it. Sitting on her bed she tried to shut out the noise. Rain was not soothing at all to her. It was just chaotic noise. She was naked under her robe and felt comfortable and cleansed. It took much doing to choke the life out of him. What a dance it was. His feet thrashed. She had caught him at the right angle at the right time. Gunshot to the head quick and fast. Get in, get out. The usual game plan but sometimes you had to get in close. Get dirty. Risk getting hurt. Those bruises never really hurt. They meant something monumental had been accomplished. Those bruises were temporary badges of a job well done.

My head hurts. I have a headache. Sometimes it feels like pressure is building up inside my brain. Pressure I don't know how to release but one way. What does that say about me? I feel afflicted unless I carry out this mission of death. Fuck it. I'm just being dramatic. I do have a headache. I just have these little sessions where I feel conflicted about what I do. The remnants of society still plague me. When I let them. I then quickly remind myself that men for thousands of years - do and have done whatever they wanted regardless of who it hurts. So why should I spend my time obsessing about the right and wrong of it all. That man didn't care that that family would suffer. It would have cost him nothing to give them more time to pay the mortgage on their home. One month wouldn't have wrecked the company. He chose to not help these families simply because he could. He didn't want to and he liked the power in that decision. The decision to be indifferent. Indifference is worse than not caring. That insensitive motherfucker had to go. Just the principle of the thing.

Not all bad men inflict bodily harm. Some men use their words or their money as weapons.

I laid on my bed in a heap. Then I suddenly felt strange. As if someone were watching me. I looked up quickly at my window to see no prying eyes. I saw nothing but the window. Maybe I didn't look up quick enough. I decided I would try again later to catch them in the act. Looking into my room trying to learn about me. What I do. To what end. I took every precaution to make sure I was never followed. That when the deed was done, we were alone. I really don't care if people watch or know. I keep quiet because an audience would limit my work. Limit the scope of what I get to do. I get to kill bad men. Men who harm, men who steal, men who act with disregard. They are bad with a capital B. I don't want the interference of having to quantify why those bad men and not the others. Trust me, the goal is all bad men. I'm trying to figure all that out now. Right after I fall asleep. Maybe it will come to me. My eyes close staring at the window. Making sure no one is watching me.

He cried out. All that answered was an echo. He was running now too. His feet sounded like they were on top of each other. He was moving as fast as he could, which was barely. The wound was bleeding pretty good now. His head was throbbing. He couldn't remember if he had hit his head or if she had hit him. Everything was a crazy blur. The constant thought was this can't be happening. Not to me. He hadn't ever experienced pain like this before. The pain of betrayal. It hurt more than where she had stabbed him. Hurt more than where she had hit in the back of the head. I remember! Suddenly he thought. It didn't really matter. How do I not die was now the new constant ringing in his banged up head. His body yelling to him, save me. I don't want to die. Why is she doing this to me? I've been nothing but kind. Had he asked her why. He thought he had or hoped he had. If not then he really should. He deserved an explanation.

I was always polite to her. Held doors, said good morning, pushed the button on the elevator. Now he was being repaid with murder. See this is why I hate them. They are so stupid. They have no sense. Useless mules. It was these last thoughts that cost him his life. He didn't know that she knew. Knew all about his hatred. Knew all about how he tortured women, especially black ones. How he liked to dismember the gay, the sick folk he liked to call them. "There is a reason no one cares what happens to you, it's because they don't have to. You don't matter." He gave short speeches like these 10 times in the last three years. She didn't find out until the 7th time.

He had been so good at covering his tracks. Only letting it slip at a party when he had gotten a little too far gone and his tongue loosened. "I don't hate them. I pity them. They are a sorry bunch. Dumb bastards, all of them." No one dare correct him. They all abandoned his corner and he was at a party all by himself in the end. He left the party early not thinking anything of it. Not his hate filled unsolicited bigoted comment or surprise party attendees reaction. "You know what I mean, don't you buddy." He took the nervous grin as a sign of approval. Walking away feeling righteous. She had stayed at the party a little longer for a friend too shy to be there on her own. Walking by to get punch she heard his admission. He walked away and when his back turned she asked, "who is he?" "That racist idiot, that's Donald but pay him no mind. He truly is a waste of space." What an accurate description she thought. How she agreed with it. The shy friend was ready to leave for home the same time the idiot was. Friend left by uber. So she was free to begin the fact finding. Where do you live, idiot.

He lay there dying in his own pool of blood. The first place he met her. The gate door of the fence in his backyard. His backyard was his sanctuary. A calm place where he could escape the world. He buried the bodies there too. She had walked up on the tail end of him patting the dirt where the queer woman lay. The date didn't last long that night. She hadn't gotten there in time to save her. She hadn't planned on meeting him at the gate. Every so often she improvised. He was taken with her right away. Her forwardness he liked. Predators sometimes like it when the prey walks right up. He just didn't realize the roles were reversed. He would be her victim. How had he not noticed her before? She said they worked in the same building. That he had been nice. Always saying hello and opening the door. He invited her on that first day but she declined. He imagined her not wanting to appear too eager. Although he could sense she wanted him. He lived alone, he told her. He had always liked living alone. It came in handy. For her too. His solitude was good for her too. He wouldn't be found for three weeks.

I kill men. Have killed. Will kill again. I see no reason to stop. The reason I need to kill men remains. No efforts have been made to do better. I think it will go on like this for years. It will outlive me. For all the blood I spill, three more murder worthy men are born. My legacy may not be felt unless I can kill in larger quantities. Or kill an evil famous man. If not, no one will remember the time when a wicked man was hunted. Hunted and gutted. I want my work to be noticed. To serve as a warning. Maybe I need a sidekick. Someone to train, who will carry on in my absence. Batman has Robin. I think it's time to recruit.

Four steps forward into the darkness made me feel better. I needed time to think. It had been three days since I slit his throat. I wasn't sure how I felt about it yet. I needed time to process just what had happened. Everything had gone as expected. It was the fact that I had gone through with it that needed time to sink in. I had really killed a man. I was happy that he was dead, Most happy that I had done it with my own two hands. How about that. I thought I would feel different or feel something. But I didn't. I felt nothing at all. Trash has to be taken out. There's no parade for that. No one cares when you do the work that must be done. No one cared that he was dead. No one would mourn that he was gone. Ever.