The nameless man (working title)Mature

Man see's himself as a savior who 'liberates' people from the pains of life by killing them. Man has no name and is written from the killer's perspective. If you are going to add, try not to name the man and keep that happily insane characteristic I tried to give him.

They didn't understand. No one but he did. But he would help them. He would show them the way; the true path. None of this Jesus-Buddha bullshit. The only serenity one could find in life was beyond the threshold of life. In the oblivion only death could provide, because life was nothing but pain. So logically death can only be bliss. 

He breathed deep. He breathed in the sweet smell of the spirit leaving the body, the only certainty that life has ever shown anyone. As he leaned over the girl's body, Elaine by name, he breathed deep again. This time he'd choked her and then slit her throat. Last time he killed, no liberated someone he snapped the man's neck. The satisfying POP had sent a shudder through his body. Sometimes he even forgot why he killed. Sometimes he did it just to feel that shudder. That feeling you get when you take another's life. That rush of power and adrenaline you can only get by helping someone cross to the other side. Oh sure, most of them begged. They'd cry and grovel for him to show some compassion. But that's exactly what I've been doing. Taking them over to the other side. Showing how compassionate I really am. Stopping their suffering.

Ironically he didn't dress like a savior among sinners. He didn't wear white robes of purity. I should though. That way everyone would know I'm here to help. He didn't look like your average run of the mill serial killer either. He showered everyday and shaved, and wore glasses. In fact, he thought he looked quite distinguished. He was a normal guy outwardly. He wore blue jeans, black Nike's and various polo shirts. He liked green the best. He had at least four green polo's at home that he tried to frequently wear. 

He took the knife he'd used to help the girl and licked the blade. You're welcome. He thought to himself as he looked at the prone creature lying on the pavement of his basement floor. I could be a god. I AM a god. I am the god of death and happiness. And these people don't even know. But I must really find a new place to perform my ceremonies. The basement and the woods seem too...primitive. 

But look at the girl. She was at peace now. He smiled. She could be happy. She could be with the people in the places that she loved. He smiled wider ad touched her face. He moved his face down to the incision on her neck. Dipping his fingers in her opened throat, he tilted his head back and felt the warmth. It was nice to be warm. He was always so cold, all the time. The man scratched his cheek and ran his hand through his hair to help it settle correctly. A habit he'd had for many years. 

The only problem about performing his duty was that it left him drained. Both physically and emotionally. She'd put up a fight. Only because she didn't understand. She understands now though. And the immense joy he'd felt at helping another find their peace washed through him like sunlight filtering through a light cotton curtain. He used to cry at such a momentous occasion. Not anymore. He was much too composed for that now. Much too refined. Gods have to be perfect don't they? He thought as he lay down on the cold stone floor to sleep. Cold. So cold. 

He gathered Elaine up in his arms as he cradled he head as one might do for a distraught loved one, kissed her head, and let the blood flow onto his arms. Finding some measure of warmth, he finally closed his eyes and let much deserved sleep swallow him. 

The End

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