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The Killer In Me

November 27, 2007

I wrote this a while ago. I never finished it and I wasn’t ready to share it at the time but now that a little time has passed and I’ve had time to come to grips with the whole thing…


Deep down, somewhere deep inside, there’s a monster. It dwells just beneath the surface, lurking, patently waiting, and savagely anticipating those few moments when he’s allowed to be free. I keep this beast well hidden form others, chained and shackled in a deep dark corner, well out of plain view. It’s a monster that even I’m afraid to admit to knowing, but if you know what to look for, you can see that it’s a beast that I’m well acquainted with. It may only surface for a brief second, manifesting itself in a quick glance or a subtle look, but in that split second there’s no mistaking this animal’s black toothed grin and the hold that he has on me.

I know this beast all too well, we’re old friends, and sometimes it feels like he knows me better than I know myself. He scares me. It scares the shit out of me when I think about what can happen when I let this gruesome animal out of its cage. Without remorse he’ll rip through any and everybody that stands in his way. All I have to do is point him in a general direction, unlock the door to that cold steal cage that he calls home, and it’s like second nature. Cold and calculating, he does his job, and then like a well trained dog he returns home. Home to his cage, back to the cold dark abysses, quietly awaiting the next chance he’ll have to bear his fangs and draw blood.

This beast may go by many different names, to many different people, but to me this demon is… Violence.

I come from the type of neighborhood that makes most people lock their doors when they drive through. I come from violence, and no matter how hard I try to change, sometimes it still shows. I’m suave, educated, polite, and confident, but back me into a corner and I have no problem bearing my fangs and attacking anything that moves. I’ve fought tooth and nail to get out of government housing and be able to let my family live the Suburban/Rural American dream; free from the gang violence that I’m so used to, free from the drug dealers that were my friends when I was growing up, but mostly I wanted them to be free from fear.

Last night I calmly drove to my house, gun in hand, with the sole purpose of committing murder. No adrenaline rush, no second thoughts, no cold sweat forming on my brow. I was just going to walk up to this man, place the pistol to the back of his head and squeeze the trigger. No last words, no big speech, no climatic ending… just point and click.

I don’t know why, but even though it took me well over ten minutes to get across town, from where I work to where I live, I fully expected this ass hole to still be standing on my porch, trying to kick in my front door, and threatening to kill my wife and daughter.

I could hear the screaming over the phone when my wife called, the terror and fear she must have been feeling at the time was more than obvious from the sound of her voice. When I arrived I expected to walk into total chaos, and be confronted immediately by this raging lunatic, but to my surprise the police had already arrived and apprehended him: at the sight of the first police car, he ran, and after beating up one police officer, trying to take his gun and being tazered three times they were able to place him into custody.

This man tried to touch something that’s very dear to me, and I surprised even myself at how quickly and calmly I had decided to take his life. There was no hesitation, I got the call from my wife, grabbed my gun, and I was there… ready to kill.

It’s a startling thing when you realize exactly what you’re capable of.

After I wrote this I had no intention of letting anyone read a word of it… ever. Not because I was embarrassed or ashamed, but because it scared me. It scared me how easily I had decided to take another man’s life. It scared me to think about what could have happened if the police had not shown up before I did. But most of all, after reading what I had written, it scared me that I really didn’t recognize the man that had written those words.

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