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 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.

A Little Rant


Hello, humans. I wanted to write something else today but I’m just tired from I don’t know what. Maybe it’s because I started my “vegetarian diet” which mean I didn’t have meat for a day today for the first time in years. Plus, my partly disappointing exam results might contribute to my tiredness too but since I passed every exam for the first time since I entered University (I was expelled before if you didn’t already know), I’m a little proud of myself.

Actually, I didn’t plan to write a blog post at all until I saw something that annoyed me beyond my normal “level of annoyance” and I think I need to say something even though I think I’m not allowed to. Just as I was about to sleep, I saw a news article about an artist who was sentenced to a month in prison and ordered to pay a hefty amount of fine for “insulting” someone of a high level. Let’s just get to the point, it’s completely ridiculous, stupid and idiotic.

Just because you are the prime minister, the president, the king, the queen or whatever, it doesn’t mean that you should be immune to “criticism”. I mean, why bother telling everyone, promoting everywhere that you believe “progressivism” and promoting “moderation” when you can’t even take a single tiny bit of criticism. Being a representative, a Prime Minister or a President doesn’t mean that you’re special. It just means that people believe and trust you to do your work properly.

They believe in you to make their life better, not to make it worse and then blame it on something else. If you think someone wrongly accused you of something, it’s your responsibility to tell them that they’re wrong. There’s also this nonsense about “there’s a better way to voice out your opinion” or “you should have done it the right way”. Well then, let me ask you this, if writing or drawing to expression disapproval is not the right way to voice out opinions, then what is? Crying? Setting ourselves on fire?

Perhaps you prefer people writing you formal letters which I doubt you even read and if you happen to be a representatives who reads letters or emails from your constituents, then I apologise. Lastly, I just want to say, if you can’t accept criticism or a little bit of harmless “insult” then maybe you should just resign and don’t bother to run for any office ever again.

Every where you go, whatever you do, there will always be someone who criticise or insults you. So what? If you are a great leader, you shouldn’t be bothered about people criticising you. Just because you have the power, it doesn’t make you superior to everyone else in your country. Remember, if it wasn’t for the people, you wouldn’t be in charge. In fact, you would be powerless and probably unemployed.


The Path : Flash Fiction


Everyone wanted to know where the path leads to but nobody was brave enough to find out. Legend says that once, a young man and woman took on a journey to find out the truth but they never did return. When people first told me about the path, I wasn’t at all interested to investigate, let alone walking along it by myself, especially when it seemingly leads to nowhere. However, after a few months, I decided that a visit could do me no harm.

“Are you sure you want to go down the path?” my best friend who followed me asked. “Yes,” I replied bravely. “Fine,” he said. “But I’m following you,” he said and so I agreed. Although I was reluctant to bring anyone else with me, I know that preventing them was useless, simply because I couldn’t care less with what people want to do with their own life and their own body. Besides, it’s always good to have someone around just in case I’m injured or killed, not that there’s anyone special in my life who needs to know that I’m dead.

“You have life insurance right?” my best friend asked me suddenly. Thinking that it was a joke, seeing that we have been walking non stop for the past hour, I laughed while saying, “Yeah and you will get all the money since I don’t have any other living family members or friends,” I replied. “Good,” he said. “Why did you asked,” I questioned him but I never did received an answer because the next thing I knew, he shot me in the head and pushed my dead body down the cliff. It turns out that there was nothing special about the path. The whole legend and stories were created by him as a plot to lure me towards my dead. It turns out that my life insurance was really useless after all.

My best friend may get away will all my insurance money but I remained at the woods, waiting for someone to come. From that day onwards, the path really became haunted, not by some random ghosts but by me. Some may disagree with me killing all the hikers that pass-by but surely even a lonely ghost like me deserve to have some friends.

The Apology : Birthday


Most people that I know would say that one of the happiest day of their life is their birthday but as I said before, it’s not for me. I hate birthdays, let alone celebrating them. I guess even if I hate it, it doesn’t mean that I don’t have to walk about it at all. Birthdays are important whether you like it or not. Most people, they regard birthdays as milestones and a calculation of how far they’ve gone in life. For me, I see my birthdays as a nuisance and a curse. Every time I became a year older, I would wish that it would be the last year that I’m alive but as each year pass, I became more and more disappointed.

As if it’s not enough that none of my wishes for the year came true, it’s more devastating when I start to realise that maybe even death doesn’t want me. People would tell me, “Be grateful that you’re alive and that you have enough money to survive. Some people in the world don’t even have enough money to eat and some died when they are just babies,”. While I am grateful that I have enough money to get by, sometimes I wonder, is it really a blessing to be alive? What is there in life if all you get is misery, working day and night just to get some money so that you can live for another day, just to repeat everything the next day?

All these talks about life reminded me of the time that I ruined a birthday celebration. It was a fine day, even for me when somehow I found myself in the middle of a birthday party. The circumstances were always the same. There was someone who annoyed me and immediately, the voices in my head to me to kill him and so I did. Except for this time, I did it as fast and as painless as possible. “He’s annoying but not that annoying,” the voices said. “Maybe you can spare him the misery of living and end his life in the least painful away as possible,” they ordered me and so I followed the orders.

Of course, finding a way to kill someone without really hurting them is hard until I found an axe that was lying around for no reason. I found out later on that the axe was intended to be used later on for the one who is being celebrated to chop open pieces of wood that would somehow reveal her presents. Of course, it never happened because it took people less than five minutes to notice the father of the birthday boy missing and another five minutes for them to find his head. If I was being honest, I would say that it was the easiest yet the most enjoyable task that I was ever given by the voices in my head.

The old man didn’t suspect a thing when I ‘accidentally’ pushed him to the ground but when he saw me holding the axe, he wanted to scream but couldn’t because I was faster. That would help to explain the shocked and confused expression on his face. Of course, I hated the party and didn’t want it to be dragged on any longer. I bought the head with me to the back of the stage, where nobody could see me. Just as the organiser whisked out the birthday cake, and the wife searching frantically for her husband, thinking that he was probably cheating on her, I throw the head and it landed on the cake.

Some people laughed, thinking it was a joke but when the laughter turns into screamings, I must confess that I was beyond happy. The birthday was ruined and one thing for sure is that the boy would never look forward towards his birthday ever again. Sure, I killed someone but it turns out that the person I killed had women tied up in his basement and he abuses his older children. So, tell me, did I do something wrong? It wasn’t two years later that I found out the boy would never have another birthday party. Not because he’s traumatised but it’s because he killed himself. Instead of feeling guilty, I felt happy because I killed a psychopath and prevented someone from suffering his whole life. Surely, I deserve a medal for that.

From that day onwards, I did celebrate a birthday. It isn’t mine but the boy’s. That day, I found out that for the first time in my life, I did something good, something useful for the society and I hope that some day, they would do the same for me.

(To be continued)