Status: Frozen.
Crying Skies, Lonely Nights
Chapter 6- Sinners, not winners
One. One capital sin, repeatedly committed by two men. Just the simple base to a series of sins, committed by reasons I still eagerly await to discover some day. We’re no winners; nor the ones who survived nor the cadavers; we are humble sinners with little to no courage to do what we did in normal situations. Our anger was our justification, a justification as temporary as snow in a hot, summer day.
Which is why I would wager we are all faded to burn eternally in Hell’s flames. Don’t take me as religious or anything, however. I believe on what I do for egotistical reasons. Some firmly believe in life after death, some don’t. I, for one, stand in the imaginary abyss between both, for very peculiar reasons. There are those, who, desperately seeking for a meaning for their lives turn their backs to religion, and, in their sad state can find no proof that pile of events is actually true. They then realize that there is no God, no life after death, no rewards and no punishments after death, solemnly waiting for you; there is only nothingness. My beliefs are dogmas. True and unquestionable. That is the way of life I have conveniently established for myself, so I don’t go suicide or something. And apparently, I failed, because I plan on pulling the trigger as soon as I finish writing this somehow ironic view of the facts. You might say I am not a believer and that I am using religion as a tool for my own satisfaction. And that is the purest truth; I am an egotistical fool, clinging to my dogmas for my own needs. I’ll be sure to take this sin to Hell as well.
*
And so, there stood the sinners, each on separate rooms, with the smell of blood, and the intricate tension that united them as common elements at that moment.
They were both climbing their way onto victory above each other, with the pretext of saving the lives of those two known patients that had just arrived.
One was with each other’s victim. They had no courage to make it any different. They had no courage to “rescue” their victim and fake an accident. They could not risk a single hair of theirs for their goals; it all had to be majestically executed, and, if possible, by hands that not theirs. And that leads me to wonder how did I murder six people in my short fourteen years of existence. This fact for me is more than enough to prove that the courage to murder definitely does not come with age. I was a 14 year old murderer. I had denigrated my existence by taking away five lives. Five is the number of fingers in my hand; the hand which caused all of these deaths. I of course, had killed myself with that. I was not human; at least not on the philosophical sense. That however is only a fool’s statement.
It has been five years, I mean, four, since I first committed murder. Who did I murder? A child. A child about my age. A prisoner in a reformatory. That was where I went. A reformatory.
Which is why I would wager we are all faded to burn eternally in Hell’s flames. Don’t take me as religious or anything, however. I believe on what I do for egotistical reasons. Some firmly believe in life after death, some don’t. I, for one, stand in the imaginary abyss between both, for very peculiar reasons. There are those, who, desperately seeking for a meaning for their lives turn their backs to religion, and, in their sad state can find no proof that pile of events is actually true. They then realize that there is no God, no life after death, no rewards and no punishments after death, solemnly waiting for you; there is only nothingness. My beliefs are dogmas. True and unquestionable. That is the way of life I have conveniently established for myself, so I don’t go suicide or something. And apparently, I failed, because I plan on pulling the trigger as soon as I finish writing this somehow ironic view of the facts. You might say I am not a believer and that I am using religion as a tool for my own satisfaction. And that is the purest truth; I am an egotistical fool, clinging to my dogmas for my own needs. I’ll be sure to take this sin to Hell as well.
*
And so, there stood the sinners, each on separate rooms, with the smell of blood, and the intricate tension that united them as common elements at that moment.
They were both climbing their way onto victory above each other, with the pretext of saving the lives of those two known patients that had just arrived.
One was with each other’s victim. They had no courage to make it any different. They had no courage to “rescue” their victim and fake an accident. They could not risk a single hair of theirs for their goals; it all had to be majestically executed, and, if possible, by hands that not theirs. And that leads me to wonder how did I murder six people in my short fourteen years of existence. This fact for me is more than enough to prove that the courage to murder definitely does not come with age. I was a 14 year old murderer. I had denigrated my existence by taking away five lives. Five is the number of fingers in my hand; the hand which caused all of these deaths. I of course, had killed myself with that. I was not human; at least not on the philosophical sense. That however is only a fool’s statement.
It has been five years, I mean, four, since I first committed murder. Who did I murder? A child. A child about my age. A prisoner in a reformatory. That was where I went. A reformatory.