I vividly remember the day her murder was broadcast live on television. It was truly tragic. Who on earth could do such a thing to someone so young?
I was overcome with horror as the case's specifics were made public.
How could a person do something like that?
Throw her body in the river.
My stomach filled with electricity. I've always felt strangely drawn to murder, for reasons I can't comprehend. When I try to discuss it with others, they look at me like I've grown three heads.
I don't find it offensive. They are foolish. They are unwilling to accept ideas that are different from their own.
What makes people “crazy”? Who decided what constitutes insanity and what qualifies as normal behavior, after all?
To answer my first question, I'd like to think “insanity” is preordained. Our consciousness determines whether or not we will belong to the laborious working class before we are born. Some are chosen to be "special," while others are doomed to rot in a cubicle.
To answer my second question, society is credited with starting the fad. This modified notion of happiness has been ingrained in the impressionable minds of people. It's a social norm to seek the simplest solution. I don't adhere to this rule.
Who established society's positions on various issues? Why, when there are much better alternatives, is it socially acceptable to waste your life away as a working class person? Why can’t we all be special? Why do some of us long for a life filled with drab white walls and mundane people?
It must be a natural human instinct. I suppose that others desire a life of boredom in much the same way that I desire a life of danger.
They are the ones who are truly insane.
My chuckle was barely audible over the piercing blare of the television. The noisy television is a frequent source of complaints. My neighbors threaten to call the cops if I continue.
Please, what are the police going to do? Arrest me?
They don't do much to help this desolate city. They are unaware that the loner who spends his days by himself, watching a loud television in a dark room, is responsible for the brutal murders of ten people.
I'll ask it again: How could a person do something like that?
Well, to that inquiry, I have a definite answer.
No, I'm not crazy; that is not the reason. Does leading an extreme lifestyle really qualify someone as crazy? Is loving the sensation of my heart pounding in my ears crazy? Is it crazy to look at myself, covered in blood, and smile? Is it crazy that I enjoy my way of life?
No, being crazy is not the answer to why I did it. The only way to end the world's boredom is to go crazy.
I did it because I am completely and utterly normal.