[Confessions of a Mass Murderer, 818 words, Genre: Mind Fudge]
* Image courtesy of Dirk de Bruyn
The guilt was killing him. He didn’t know what to do with it. All the death, all the devastation that he had caused. It was all too much for him. And now the guilt was collapsing in on his mind. He had to go down the police station and confess to all the murders he had committed.
And so he found himself at the police station. Waiting to confess to his sins. The lady behind the counter asked him, “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” he was extremely nervous, “I would like to confess to a murder. Or rather several murders.”
“Really?” She raised an eyebrow as he stood there. He did not look like the type to cause to harm to anybody or anything.
“Yes. Before you stands the most notorious murderer you have ever seen. I have killed many people, so many people I have lost count.”
The desk jockey went and got the detective sergeant who was busy with a phone call out the back. She attempted to get his attention. She was on the edge of panic herself. Especially when the detective sergeant ignored her. “Detective, detective, detective!” She called. And still he ignored her. She went up to the phone and ended the call. Then pointed to the desk where the most notorious murderer there was, was waiting behind the desk. “There’s a man out there that says he wants to confess to a multitude of murders. He says he’s killed so many people that he’s lost count.”
“Jesus farkin’ Christ! Really?”
“Go and find out for yourself… I’m staying right here, as far away from that psychopath as possible.”
So the detective sergeant went out to meet the man. Gun at hand just in case anything bad happened. He pointed the gun at the mass murderer, “You, she said you were here to confess to a murder?”
“Well, it wasn’t just one murder. There’s been a lot of them.”
“How many?” He had the gun pointed to shoot at his head at any time.
“I don’t know…”
“I said how many!?” The detective was agitated.
“I really couldn’t tell you.”
“Okay. Are you armed?”
“Not with a gun or anything of that nature.”
“Okay. Make your way to the interview room and we’ll talk about it.” The detective came up behind the mass murderer and placed a set of handcuffs on him.
When they were both seated and the mass murderer had his hands cuffed and seated. The detective asked him, “Okay, tell me about it. But before we begin, let me let you know that we’re recording this conversation and anything that you say may be used against you in a court of law.” The detective looked at him, “Do you have a problem with that?”
The detective pushed the record button. “Okay, so tell me, how many people have you killed?”
“Okay, and how have you done this?”
“Well, it starts with a conversation. I start talking to them about different things. Sometimes I talk to them about how I’ve killed all these people.”
“Jesus Christ…” The detective mumbled while he felt for his gun, just reassuring himself that he maintained the power in this situation.
“Then what happens?”
“Well, a lot of things. They do a lot of things. They try and deny what’s about to happen to them. They struggle against it. But eventually they all die.”
“I see. And what weapon do you use to achieve this?”
“I already told you.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Okay, okay. Tell me again.”
“Well, I talk to them. And then one day they die.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have a conversation with them and then they are set in their path. Sometimes it’s years, in some cases, it’s just a couple of months, but eventually they all die.”
The detective looked at him confused. “You can’t kill someone just by talking to them.”
“Yes, you can. I have. Damn it! I just killed you too.”
“Well, one day you will die. And me, by having this conversation with you now. As we speak. I have set you on a path of events that would have been else-wise different if I had not talked to you. You see, by having this conversation now. It has initiated a sequence of events in your life that cannot be stopped. You will struggle against it for some time. Maybe you’ll go on holiday. Maybe you’ll have kids and raise them until they have kids of their own. But then, one day, you will die. And I did that, me? I mean, how could I?”
The detective walked out of the interview room to get himself a cup of coffee. The desk jockey came up and asked him, “What’s he like?”
The detective shook his head in confusion, “I really don’t know what to make of this guy.”