Without Reason?

Damien sat alone and allowed his mind to drift away, it was actually his second favorite activity. On this particular occasion he thought back to a time when he found himself sorrowfully alone at his bullshit job dealing with bullshit people and always maintaining his bullshit smile. This is easily where the emptiness began to set in, maintaining this false appearance for a miniscule paycheck. One might think that, given his current questionable mental state, he wouldn’t take the time to remember the little things such as a sunset. However, this particular sunset was terribly striking to him.
He was mere months removed from what would he had deemed a three-year waste of time, potential, hope, and effort. His girlfriend left him for another man or something; he struggled day to day to keep that smiling face on, and he shut himself off from the world. Alcohol and narcotics, while they couldn’t end the pain, sure could cover it up.
It was on this occasion, as he stared out the window and ignored his bullshit customers, that he viewed the most amazingly beautiful sight in his short life. A sunset that radiated with a flaming orange glow with a beautiful purple blanket shrouding the edges where darkness crept in. He held his gaze and watched as the striking blanket of purple completely engulfed the fiery orange sky and two things thus occurred to him.
Damien felt so alone at that moment, not so much lonely as though he missed his ex-girlfriend, but more actually “alone.” He desperately wished he could share this moment in warm embrace with someone who actually cared for him, but knew that he had no one. Maybe he always had no one. Maybe even when he thought he had someone, he was only fooling himself. The illusion may have gotten him through the years, but now empty thoughts of being lucky not to be stuck with another evil cunt were little comfort. Although he had been badly burned, even he knew that not everyone could be so heartless, in theory.
Secondly, he was bemused by the idea that this natural occurrence he had witnessed bore a strange similarity to his own emotional and mental state. He had once held high hopes and dreams for himself, sidetracked himself, lost his way, and dedicated too much of himself to the woman who would never be there for him again. After so much dedication, all he had left was anger and contempt. Now, like the darkness, which smothered the once flaming sky, so too did hopelessness and despair drown his high spirits.
He had too much pride for suicide, though the option never left his mind. In fact, he had many connections to obtain hard drugs and always planned on an overdose as his fallback option. He bided his time; holding down his bullshit job and waiting for death or at least some sort of change. After three plus years of being told he was never good enough at anything, he truly held little hope of succeeding at anything in life.
Then it happened, he stumbled upon something he was really and truly great at, murder! He failed in relationships, he failed in school, and he failed in life. But truth be told, as far as murder was concerned, he quickly demonstrated he was the god damn master.
The circumstances of how he managed to stumble upon this skill are not important, in the beginning his murders were relatively random. Maybe somebody said something that rubbed him the wrong way or maybe somebody was just an asshole, at first nothing mattered and he killed indiscriminately. However, he was never sloppy. From the beginning Damien was a true artiste when it came to violent murders and he was terribly careful not to get himself caught.
He loved the idea of creativity in murder, there was excitement in the idea that someone would stumble upon this victim and he thought of himself as preparing a show or some other form of entertainment for this lucky person who could stumble upon his art. Once Damien dismembered a woman’s body and haphazardly stitched it back together but not quite properly, in this moment he viewed himself performing an homage to Picasso.
If he felt he had the time, it was not uncommon for Damien to spend many hours with his victims at or near the scene of the crime. Not so much planning the murder or the torture, those things were easy for him and he pretty much just went with the flow of the violence, new and exciting ways to murder and torture were a plentiful supply in Damien’s sick head. Rather he spent the extra time perfectly arranging the carcasses, sometimes he felt the angle of an arm or leg was very important to the overall visual, or perhaps the removal of appendages.
Risky perhaps, but Damien had no fear left in him. He wasn’t afraid to die; he rather welcomed it, but just couldn’t bear to do it himself. Without love he had nothing to live for, and with no fear of death, he knew it was his duty to unleash his fury on behalf of all the desperately hopeless who were not blessed with his fearlessness. Besides, he couldn’t give up on life now; he was finally truly great at something; best in the world in his mind.
He spotted a reverend down the sidewalk, he decided to approach the man for a little meaningful chat. He doubted the man could help him come to terms with any of his unspeakable acts, but something in him said he should at least approach the man and see if he could offer any comforting words on his emotional and mental anguish.
“Excuse me reverend,” Damien said as he approached, “I’ve been feeling rather low lately and I thought perhaps we could converse briefly.”
“Can’t you see I’m busy here,” replied the reverend as he gestured toward the newspaper he was reading, “if you have some sort of issues get yourself some therapy, at least they get paid.”
Damien held in his fury, another potential victim was born every minute, his time would come.

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