The Apology : Containment












I was sure that growing up I was able to control myself fairly good. Some people annoy me to the maximum but I quickly regain my composure everytime I had the urge to punch someone. I know that it’s not that fault because sometimes people are just born that way. “It’s their natural characteristic,” as I would explain it to myself in a pathetic afford to keep myself contained from doing something “stupid”. Of course, now, everything changed ever since I started to hear the voices in my head. If I have known better, I would have done something instead of remaining quiet all this while. If only I did something, then I might not be hearing voices in my head. I would still be me.

“Why didn’t you do something then?” the voices in my head asked me during one of our conversations. “Well, if I did, I couldn’t stop,” I told them and while I have no way of proving it, I knew it for sure. “Stop regretting then,” they said. “You know you could just ignore everything we told you,” they said to me. “If you hate it, you can choose not to do it,” they said. “The price is simple. You die,” they explain. “I can’t kill myself,” I said to them. “Why not?” the asked. “You hate killing people just because they annoy you and by dying you will save many people from being your next victim,” they said. “Why not just take the Utilitarian approach and just sacrifice yourself?” I was asked. “Are you sure it’s the Utilitarian approach?” I asked back.

“Sure when I die I will stop myself from killing more people,” I start to explain. “But all my victims so far are bigots. They are either abusive, robbers, killers, racists and sexists. Now that they are dead, they will no longer hurt anyone. The accumulated happiness of people not suffering anymore from these acts of the people that I murder is higher than the good that will come from me killing myself,” I explained, trying to form a convincing argument. “Besides, I’m not a utilitarian,” I told them. “I don’t believe in letting a small group of people suffer for the ‘greater good’,” I said. “That’s simply bullshit,” I continued. “Plus most people claim to be utilitarians because of the name. It sounds cool,” I reasoned. “If you change it to something like murdertarianism, nobody will claim to be one,”

“So,” they said. “If you choose not to die, you will need to bear with the consequences and stop complaining,” I was told. “I’m not complaining,” I said. “I was just explaining why I didn’t do anything to people that annoyed me before you suggested that perhaps I should just end my miserable life,” I said. “Are you really sure you can’t prove that you will get out of control?” the asked. “Don’t you believe me? We live in the same body,” I asked them back. “I really can’t prove it to you,” I explained. Of course, that was the only time I ever lied to the voices in my head and I will never know if I knew I was lying because the subject was not brought up again.

There was once where I actually did something towards someone who annoyed the hell out of me. It was back when I still studying and we were given group assignments to do. Being the introvert that I was, of course, I hated it but since I wanted to pass, I tried my best to be as participating as I could. The only problem was that my somewhat de facto group leader was too pushy and wanted everything to be done perfectly and everyone to follow his idea. It’s not that he didn’t listen to anyone else, it’s just that whenever someone voices out an idea, he would raise his voice, simultaneously signalling his disagreement. I couldn’t care much at first because, at that time, there were no voices in my head telling me to go around killing people. Sure they were whispers in my head but it was nothing that I couldn’t control.

Unfortunately for the idiotic person, one day, I simply lost control. After the meeting, I was determined to give me pieces of my mind. He took the shortcut home, walking through the woods and I have always known that that was the silliest mistake anyone could ever do. You see, despite various believes, in the woods, nobody could hear you scream. Trust me, I’m a serial killer. I crept up behind him and punched him on the head, much to my surprise. He fell to the ground and I would have left but I couldn’t. Dark energy immediately surrounded me. I remembered all the time I had to keep quiet to not ‘hurt anybody’s feeling’. “Screw your feelings,” I said to him and started kicking him on the face.

Then, I took out my knife and started to stab him multiple times on the stomach and I was sure he died soon after but I didn’t stop. Every stab I did, removed a feeling of anger in my heart. “I think I’ll give you some makeover,” I said and cut off his ears. If that wasn’t enough, I took a large rock and used it to bash his face and just before I left, I cut out his heart and swallow some parts of it before spitting it out back on whatever was left on his face. I was so sure that I would be charged with murder that day but to my surprise, nobody found his body.


The Apology : Hate


Sometimes I can’t understand why some people have so much hate in them. I was a bigot once, but even then, I don’t know why I am so hateful. It’s true that I wasn’t as tolerant as others like I am not but I didn’t tell people straight to their faces to “Get Lost” or “Go to hell” simply because it would hurt them and hurting others mentally was not something that I’m good at nor is it something that I would ever do. Of course, now that I’m way more socially liberal, I never got my answer to how some people are just plain heartless. It’s true that something like this, coming from a cold-blooded psychopathic killer is ironic but everyone that I killed turned out to be some kind of a jerk.

Someone told me once that “Just because you don’t know anyone belonging to a certain group, it doesn’t mean that you need to hate them,” and I couldn’t agree more. I guess that sometimes, everyone wants everything to follow the norm, to “follow a certain set of rules that are mplanted to you since the day you’re born,” as someone said to me once. “Whenever someone or a group of people refuse to follow these rule, everyone will hate, they will discriminate them and they will do everything they can to get these people to return to the core of the rule and be ‘normal again,” the person told me. It was then I realised why suicide rates among a certain group of people are sky-high. When I truly understood it, I felt guilty and disgusted at myself.

It’s true that I never told them to ‘get lost’ or ‘just die’, but I believe that my silence towards the discrimination that happens, sometimes, right in front of my eyes made me a murderer. I was a murderer even before I knew it and that is something that is never justifiable, even by the voices in my head. I knew that the only way for me to have my revenge was to start to kill everyone that was or is discriminating people for who they are. However, I was never sure that that’s everyone that died because of bigotry wanted me to do. I wasn’t sure that they would want the family of the people who hate them to suffer the same way their family did.

Sure they suffered a lot during their life and who knows if they are having better lives, now that they are dead. But if there’s something left in this soulless and heartless body of mine, it’s some sort of a compassion. Somehow I know that murder is not the answer. I know that the people who were murdered by hate and bigotry would forgive their murderers because they are all kind and loving people. They deserve to have their last wish fulfilled.

The Apology : Nonsense (Part 2)


Sometimes I wonder why there are rules, rules people are made to follow without questioning. They say those rules are meant to keep people together, “To make sure that everyone lives harmonically, united under one god,” as someone told me once. “If there’s no God, would people still be united?” I answered back but the response I got was, “Don’t question that. God exists and you shouldn’t question what if God isn’t real. Our holy book says so,” the person told me. What makes me angry is that religious people always get away with circular reasoning but nobody else is allowed to do so.

I remembered the time someone tried to convert me to another religion. That time, I haven’t really distanced myself from God and the thought that my teachings could be wrong came into my mind. I stood down, listening to be a person talking for hours, teaching me something new: a new God with the same demands. “Take this book and read it,” the person told me and I did. I sat down, thrilled about the fact that I might convert to another religion which seems to be better. It wasn’t until I read the part where people are told to bash their children with rocks when they misbehave that I realised that every religion followers are the same. The cherry-picks phrases in the holy book and whenever someone points out a negative part, they would simply say, “Oh that, that’s not meant to be carried out literally. It’s just a metaphor,”

I met that person again and asked him about those horrendous phrases and I asked another question, “How do people decide which is a metaphor and which is not?” and of course, I didn’t get an answer. I met the same person again a few years later but this time, it’s when I started to hear voices in my head. “Kill him,” the voices told me and so I did. I followed the person home, snap a photo of his house and went away. That night, I went back and this time, I bought the book that he gave me. “Oh, it’s you!” he exclaimed. “You finally want to convert?” he asked excitedly. “Tell me,” I said. “We’re you a disobedient child?” I asked him. “Sometimes,” he said and that was when I smashed the book to the left side of his head.

Falling to the ground, he tried to crawl up but I kicked him on the head and he fell back, just as I slammed the door shut. Luckily for me, every victim of mine lives in some isolated area, so screaming won’t help. “You know what I think?” I asked him as he tried to get up. “I think stupidity should be in the lists of the seven deadly sins,” I said. “And the punishment should be beaten to death with the holy book,” I told him. He tried to scream but I was quicker. I smacked his right temple with the book and since it was hard-cover and thick, I could hear his neck cracking. “Please let me go,” he whispered. “No can’t do,” I said. “You committed a sin and now I’m your God,” I told him. “Pray as hard as you like. I won’t listen to you,”

That was when he threw his phone at me and it hit me on my head. I fell to the ground and he started to crawl away, presumably towards the toilet where he could lock himself. I was still seeing stars and so I couldn’t get up but he could. “Get up you stupid idiot!” the voices in my head yelled to me. As he got nearer and nearer to the toilet, I saw that he was able to stand up and so could I. It was in mere seconds that I managed to catch up with him. He turned around just in time for me to smack the top of his head really hard with the book. He fell on the ground flat but he was still alive. “Let me live please!” he begged but I wasn’t buying any of it. He looked up and I shove the book into his mouth. I kicked him really hard that it broke his neck, killing him for good.

(To be continued)

The Apology: Nonsense (Part 1)


There are some things that I never understood about life and they are mainly why somethings that happen are completely ridiculous. It’s not to say that I never did ridiculous things, sure I did like that time I slashed a person’s car tyre just because the driver was being rude towards some old people. I’m completely aware that it wasn’t the owner’s fault and however I try to justify my actions, I couldn’t do it. “Life is just like that,” I was told once and even though the person who that me those sentences could be an idiot at times, I couldn’t agree with him more.

The car owner did nothing wrong but he still suffered. It’s the same thing that’s happening to most of the people in the world. They are innocent and yet their suffer. They bow on their knees every day, praying to their omnibenevolent god but it seems that the suffering continues while those who are evil just have to wait for good to come. I would never understand why that’s the case but I do admire people’s courage and patient, most importantly their faith. Sure somethings works in mysterious ways but surely such deity doesn’t deserve worshipping? I guess I would never know.

Sometimes, now and then, the voices in my head would have a peaceful conversation with me that is when they don’t order me to go around killing people. And during our short but deep conversations, I ask them these questions about God and their answer is simple, “If there’s no God, who’s making sure all the evil people in the world is rolling in money and happiness?” and ironically, that convinced me that surely there’s God that’s no way near being omnibenevolent. It wasn’t a year later that I realised that I’m evil too but nothing good has ever happened to me. “You aren’t evil,” the voices in my head told me.

“You are innocent. The world made you this way. God made you this way,” they explained and I excepted it as a somewhat reasonable explanation. “God made you this way,” I thought to myself. That’s a sentence that people always use whenever they are questioned about something and while I find it a rather good answer to give to theists, it’s rather ridiculous. I talked about it to the voices in my head too saying, “Even if God didn’t make them that way, why should there be laws that prevent people to be who they really want?” and they replied, “Because religious people are easier to manipulate. It’s easier to feed them with fear, and when they are fearful, they would even vote for the devil disguised as God.

“Surely people aren’t that stupid,” some, I included would say but when it is really thought into, people are stupid, I included. We find small harmless things as threatening to the society, as something that would lead everyone to hell but we are blind when something huge like murder happens right in front of our eyes. It’s completely ridiculous, it’s not even funny.

(To be continued)

The Silent Night : Flash Fiction


I wondered why the neighbourhood was so quiet, especially on a weekend. Something told me to get out and do some investigating work but then again, I’m not the kind of person who gives a damn about what other people do with their lives. It wasn’t about half an hour after I closed my eyes to go to sleep when I realised that there was someone else in my house. I didn’t close the lights in the living room, thus, if anyone stood at the door, I would notice it and that night, someone did stand there.

My first instinct was to run but then again, it was a relatively safe neighbourhood which means that nobody has the slightest idea what it feels like to be robbed, let alone what to do in a house invasion. It was five minutes later that I started to hear the scratchings on the door. The person whoever it was is showing me that they had a knife while I’m unarmed. As I have never bothered to change the doorknob, the door could easily give away to brute force and it did ten minutes later. It wasn’t until the knife slit my throat that I realised why it was such a silent and quiet night. Nobody expected the newly elected mayor to be a psychopath.

The Apology : Regret


Everyone has their own regrets, I included and as I said before, writing this is a form of me explaining my regrets in life. When I was younger, back when I was still innocent, I would always regret it when I hurt someone’s feelings both intentionally and unintentionally. However, there’s something that I don’t usually do, which is to apologise to them. It’s not because I’m too arrogant to acknowledge my mistake, but it’s because I’m someone who doesn’t believe in apologising for my mistakes. I have always believed that when you apologise and the person accepted your apology, you are forgiven and that’s the problem. I don’t want to be forgiven.

It’s actually a question that I ask myself all the time: ‘Who deserves to be forgiven?’. Surely, if I’m one day convicted of my murders, the society couldn’t possibly forgive me for all of my “unspeakable acts”. After all, it’s not one or two people that I murdered, it’s more than fifty, across different places in the country. If I’m diagnosed with mental illness, surely I automatically am “forgiven” because I didn’t have control over my own body when I was carrying all those despicable actions. Isn’t that hypocrisy? I’m still a murderer, am I? While the victims’ family and friends might not forgive me, I will still be happy because at least they know I’m taking responsibility for my actions which means that I regret killing their loved ones.

I never believed in death penalty simply because if I’m a judge I couldn’t bear the thought of sentencing someone innocent to death just because of a few “errors”. At least, if they were sent to prison, they might still be alive by the time they got out, but that still makes me guilty. I am someone who believes in redemption which is another reason why I don’t support the death penalty.

People always have regret, even if it’s little and sometimes, like me, they want to redeem themselves. Being dead would prevent them from doing unless there’s an afterlife where they would have a chance to somehow do good things. Actually, I don’t even believe there should be prisons because I always believe in rehabilitation which would help people become better “people” and do good for the society to redeem themselves of their mistakes.

“Nothing good can ever come from a murderer,” someone told me once and I completely disagree. Just a few months ago, just as I was stalking someone who has been annoying me for days, I found a lost and scared puppy who was in hunger. “Ignore it,” the voices in my head told me but of course I didn’t ignore it because how could I? It’s not the puppy’s fault that it’s abandoned, just like it’s not my fault if I murdered the person who I was stalking.

Seeing how sad and pitiful it looked, I went to the nearest store and bought some dog food. I poured it on the ground and it immediately jumped up and started eating. It followed me around and since I actually hate dogs, I picked it up and dropped it at an animal shelter. The people there thank me, even wanted to take a picture of me and hung it at a wall labelled ‘heroes’ but I rejected it, simply because I always like to remain hidden in my own small world.

As I was walking back to where I was from, I saw police cars everywhere. Someone just committed suicide from jumping off the building and it was the person that I stalked for days. From that day onwards, there was this big feeling of regret that was growing inside of me. If only I have stayed there, I might have stopped her from killing herself. If only I have known, I would have killed her instead because at least, it would stop people from saying mean things to her, such as saying how she killed herself because she’s not religious enough or because she didn’t believe in the word of God. Sometimes, I’m shocked to hear those words coming out of people’s mouth especially when we live in such a modern era.

That was why, a few weeks later, when I sensed that someone was about to kill himself, I stopped him by killing him first. “Thank you,” I heard him say to me as I laid him down on the floor carefully before running off into the darkness. I was sure that he regarded me as a hero who ended his sufferings and that made me feel good about myself. Sure, I killed someone but at least from now on, people would only talk nice things about him such as how good or kind he was to other people. That, however, didn’t remove the feeling of guilt and regret that I have, deep in the pit of my stomach. Therefore, I find something to blame it on and who else could I blame but the dog.

I walked angrily towards the animal shelter and retrieved the dog, saying that I wanted to adopt it after “feeling guilty of leaving it alone”. The next day, the dog belonged to me and I vowed that I would make sure that it is destined to a long and miserable life. I was about to break one of its legs when I stopped myself because I couldn’t look at it in its eyes. Usually, when I end someone’s life I make sure that they see that I’m their murderer but this time, I couldn’t do it. I dropped to the floor, crying for the first time since a long time and took the dog back to the shelter. I was near a train track when I heard a small kid running towards me, shouting, “My dog! My dog!”. Since there was nobody else there, I thought that the girl was lost or something and so I waited for her.

She ran towards me and I pushed her hard onto the train tracks and I could still hear her screaming in fear as an incoming train came closer. I hid in the woods with the dog of course as I watched her getting crushed to death. I made sure that the dog saw it too. It was trying to flee from me but of course, I didn’t let it. For the rest of its life, it would curse its own existence since it killed its owner.

Before that, I didn’t think that animals would feel regret too but after that incident, I found out that everything, animal included have their own regret. I kept the dog with me until the day I sold it to someone else. I didn’t torture it, of course, because it will suffer enough for the rest of its miserable life. It will regret being the cause of someone else’s death and me, I will always regret not killing it.

I could never forgive myself for that and the dog could never forgive itself for what it did too. Together, we will live with our regrets for the rest of our lives.

(To be continued)


The Apology : Sadness


To be honest, I don’t really know where or when it all again. I used to be a happy-go-lucky person once, I really was but one day, I woke up and the smile is gone from my face. I remember that day well. I didn’t have the strength and courage to even get out of my bed, let alone going to school. I remember looking in the mirror, looking pale and lifeless. “Do I have to go through this crap again?” I asked myself as I got ready for school in the dead hours of the morning.

“What’s wrong with you today?” someone asked me but I didn’t reply as I sat quietly in class, wishing that the day would be over soon so that I could get home and resume my sleep in order for me to be in the world of wonders, where I can do as I wish without people telling me that it’s wrong even though it’s none of their goddam business. Sure, most people will only start dreaming as soon as they close their eyes but the same couldn’t be said for me. You see, whenever I go to sleep I always experience lucid dreaming which means I’m aware that I’m asleep and I have the capability to manipulate it.

There are times where I would just let it be even when it’s a horrible nightmare. If there’s something that I like in life, it would be suspense. Suspense gives me a sense of satisfaction whenever things start to unfold especially when I guessed the plot right. “It’s your dream, of course, you guessed the plot right,” you might say but that simply isn’t true. Sure, it’s my dream and sure I’m aware that I’m dreaming but if I didn’t start to interfere with it, it would go on as if nothing happened.

That day, the school felt longer than usual as I waited desperately for the day to be over and after it did end, I quickly finish my homework while waiting for my parents to come and pick me up. As soon as I got home, I took a shower and went to bed. People think that I’m just moody so they left me alone. The next day, I woke up feeling a whole lot better but my energy was quickly reduced to nothingness by afternoon and by the time I reached home, I lied flat on my bed, not moving a single muscle until it was time for dinner.

Nobody asked how I was and I never bothered to tell them because why should I when they don’t even care enough to ask me about my day. From that day onwards, I had what I call severe mood swings where I would be happy for a second and completely miserable the next. Of course, I soon understood that it has got to do the whole process of growing up but after it lasted for a few years, I discovered that maybe I doomed to eternal sadness. Despite feeling down most of the time, the thought of committing suicide only occurred to me eight years later when I was around 17 years old.

Maybe it was because back then, I was a very religious person, the type of person who always has God in their mind 24/7, and prays to God every day. Then, it hit me one day, God is cruel. I pray every day and still got nothing. “You should be grateful to be alive, to enjoy the wonders of the world,” someone told me once and I wanted to reply with, “I didn’t choose to be created, why should I be grateful when my life is just full of misery and constant failures?” but I stayed quiet and from that day, I distanced myself from this deity that I once admired and pray to. I must say, people, call atheists immoral human beings who only want to destroy religion but I saw them as someone tolerant and accepting. People tell me that religion is very tolerant but ironically, I became a much tolerant person the day I distanced myself from God.

The first time I actually attempted to take my own life was when nobody was home and there happen to me sharp knives lying around the kitchen. I took it and went to my room with no intention to kill myself at first but as I stared at it, I see it as a solution to my problems. For the first time in my life, I got a sign from God and it came through the knife that I was holding. “If you slit your wrist, that will kill you and you will be in your happy place forever,” something in my head told me. The thing will always be with me for the rest of my life.

I lied on my bed, speculating whether or not I should just end my life. “You will go to hell if you do that,” someone told me when I was younger. “Well,” I said to myself that day. “Even if I go to hell, what’s the difference? I’m just a human being who didn’t choose to be created, who never did anything evil, not even once and I still suffer. What difference does it make even if I go to hell?” I asked myself and I would have done it if it wasn’t for the cat meowing at my front door.

“We will arrive in another three hours,” I read the text message that my parents sent me and opened the front door of my house and let the cat in. “You know,” the voice in my head said. “It’s not fair that the cat is happy and excited to be alive while you are miserable,” it said. That day, I didn’t kill myself, not because I was scared but because of the cat. I picked up the cat, gave it a kiss and stabbed it with the knife that I was holding. I was sure that the cat couldn’t process what just happen but it didn’t matter. I snapped its neck and it died instantly.

“I’m sorry,” I said as I buried somewhere deep in the nearby woods. “Life is just unfair. One minute you are happy and the next you’re dead. The fault is yours for being so happy,” I said to the buried cat as I walked away. That day, I understood why some people love to kill. It gives them the satisfaction, the happiness that they waited for a very long time.

(To be continued)