“I wanted to kill her but, damn it, death was too good for her, too easy. I wanted her to suffer, long and hard. I wanted see her struggle, to hear the groans, know her pain and celebrate her agony.”

I stopped writing and thought for a while. Was this where I wanted things to go? If I just let my fingers do the writing, let them assume control of my mind, where would it take me? I decided yes. I would give myself over to the dark side. Let myfingers take control. Let my mind be captivated by an alien force. Let it be responsible for the outcome, whatever it might turn out to be.

I continued.

“She had bullied me all my life, her and her wretched family. I had been reduced to a skeleton of my former self; a robot, running here, running there, working slavishly without any appreciation, without any thanks. It had become unbearable and now that her parents were dead, it was time for her to go too.

“As I looked across at each of those two lifeless bodies, prostrate in a pool of their own blood, their wretchedness toward me now at an end, my heart danced. No more contradicting my every word, no more laughing at me, no more telling me what to do. They deserved to be dead. It was a fitting end to their arrogance. They wasted their lives wallowing in negativity, blinded by their own ignorance. The world was already a better place for their absence. Come to think of it, I could be awarded a medal for my actions.

“As my mind slowed from its frenetic spinning, as the adrenaline began to subside, a most incredible thing happened. I began to feel a lessening of my own pain, the slow departure of the black dog from within; the chronic depression I had endured for all the years of our lives together. It was subsiding in a way not previously experienced.

“The anger which drove me to hammer their heads incessantly had gone. My mind was relaxed, calm and steady. Was this all I needed to return to normal? Did I need now to continue the slaughter one last time, on her? She was still around, but not for long unless I could rationalise letting her live. My first thoughts were that she should join them and soon. But perhaps letting her live knowing that her parents must have suffered terribly, would be a more fitting result.

“If I were to be sentenced to a lifetime in prison, that would be like a new beginning, an opportunity to be someone, do something worthwhile and not have to hear the chorus of criticism, rejection and derision I had endured all these years; a new start, a new adventure into the unknown.”

I lifted my fingers from the keyboard once more. This was good, this was exciting. I was feeling happy for the poor man in my story. A double murder, another planned, he was feeling the joy of rebirth, his life transformed, carried from the darkness into the light. Was murder supposed to be this good? Did murderers actually feel this way? I should do some research on that. Perhaps I should try it myself and see. If I did, who could my subject be?

Who has made me feel miserable, suppressed my inner emotions so savagely as to have me consider ending their life? A few of my school teachers came to mind, the miserable bastards. There was my older brother who constantly stood over me with a shaking fist. But he was gone now, a victim of his own stupidity. Little wonder I felt no sadness when told he had driven himself off the road into a tree, the drunken sod.

Then there was Richard, my former boss, who called me into his office one Friday afternoon to tell me I was no longer employed, to clean out my desk and leave. He deserved a good sledge hammer over the head for that. I suffered terribly after that event and never found anyone willing to hire me again. I had to employ myself after that. Yes, I could take great satisfaction running a crowbar into the back of his skull. That thought sent a tingle through my fingers….

“If prison was my future, then I might as well be in for three murders than two. Yes, she had to be taken care of, as well. Besides, I’m here, in the mood. She’ll be home any minute now. Will I let her see the bodies of her parents first, or just take her from behind as soon as she walks in the door? Should I use the same blood smeared hammer I used on them, or get something cleaner from the kitchen?

“Little did I realise the complexities of taking a life; making decisions on the run. But the joy of it was the biggest surprise. The delight of bringing an end to my pain and all it took was bringing an end to someone else, someone or two, who didn’t deserve to live. I should have done this years ago. But I couldn’t. It was the children, they needed me. I was no use to them in prison. Better for them that I waited until they grew up and left home. So, it’s all good then.

“Just wait a few minutes until she arrives, put her out of my misery and then I can take a shower, have a light meal and then pop down to the local police station and hand myself in. Free meals, free accommodation for the remainder of my life, it all sounds quite idyllic. I wonder if I can take my movie collection with me. There’s still so many I haven’t watched.

Oh, I do like this fellow. So self-assured, so certain of himself. I wonder how he will fare with the other prisoners? Will they like him? I’ll sleep on it. You just never know where my fingers will take me tomorrow.