Making It Official

Subconsciously, I scream.

People stare. Fuckers. I hate them all. Fleshy sacks of blood and guts and sewage.

I take no pleasure in killing them. I don’t even consider it killing.

How can you kill something which is not alive?

The green grass that bakes in the summer sun is alive. The dogs that yip and bark with chase rabbits are alive. But people? They’re not alive.

They’re frumpy, ugly messes. They wander aimlessly, performing meaningless tasks and making the world ugly. They’re corpses already. I just make it official.