In The Dark Light.

Chapter One: Page 2

There's definetly some parts of my profession that make me question how the world does things. Most of the time its something stupid but I've recently noticed something rather interesting about people, specifically people right before their brains are laying before me in a quiet shroud on the ground. For almost all of our lives our mothers, fathers, grandparents and many more adults tell us not to talk to strangers, which is funny because that's all I fucking hear anymore. The same adults who tell their children not to talk or even look at strangers seem to love to talk to me right before I snip away at the tethered line that is their soul. People tell me about their jobs, their children, their love life, and so much more useless information. If you ask me, I hate it when they do that. But them? Oh, God. Do they love it. I cannot really fathom why they do it or what's running through their minds all I know is by the end of our 'conversation' the only thing running through your mind will be the scaulding bullet from my gun. I'm not quite sure exactly why they do it, but I do have a few possible theories. People love to empathise, me though? I hate it. People tell me things about their "lives" hoping, praying, it will change my mind. They think theyre giving me something to empathise with. They think I see them as prey, feeble little mice that are at the hand of the big, scary cat. To be played with and discarded as I please. Which of course, isn't completely wrong. They think I don't see them as human so they hope to make me see them as a living, breathing creature. And I do. I see them as what they are. Animals. I know I'm killing a person, I'm not stupid. Do THEY think I'm stupid?? If anything, telling me about your family makes me want to kill you sooner, slower, and messier as you continue. Only stupid people do this.