1201

Day 298078

The correct term for victim is patient. As I relieve them of living. But I know that is not true in their eyes. Nor in mine. I torture their ruined lives until I force them into hell. It is not something I am proud of. But I must admit it. Talking (even to yourself) is perhaps the best remedy, I have found. And so I force myself to call them my victims. For that is the truth of the matter. And I will accept nothing but the truth. I am what most others fear; a contortion of a tortured and suffering soul, a reflection of rage and darkness, an epidemic of cursed life, a brutal act of injustice, a public display of raw hatred. I am nothing. Or perhaps I am something, but I will not acknowledge that fact. My immense pain has made me unpredictable, at least from a lifeform's view. But I am merely doing my duty, and you cannot be angry at that. For despite protest, every person I have taken has given in to me, and it is simply the living who challenge me and their loved ones in a state of grief. And grief lasts a long time. It takes a lot of time to get over someone, and a lot more time to admit it. And therefore the living fear me, since I take their loved ones without a word and leave them to their suffering. They don't stop to think about me, but are instead consumed with grief. It's just the way it works. I used to be human, and I wish upon my very life that I am still myself in the very depths of my heart. Underneath my cold façade, and glaring eyes, and merciless hands, I pray that I am still my innocent self. It is the only thing that keeps a fraction of humanity clinging to my cold and tested heart. I am weary, and my bones creak, but my heart still hammers inside my chest when I first see my victim. And, every day, I pray that this could be feeling. This could be emotion. This could even be - shall I dare say it? – compassion. Yes, I felt compassion and sympathy for my victims. It was a tiny sliver of hope that I still had a speck of humanity on my bent and broken frame. Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever been able to say that if I continued with my merciless work. And never, ever, if I had not met someone. Someone who changed my perception of reality. Someone who changed my life forever.

But that is a long story. And stories are not something I am willing to tell. I know too many stories, some of which are exceptionally sad. They will break your heart in two if you knew of them. I have gotten used to it. When I first acquired this job, I thought my heart would physically shatter with the strain. But it was not to be. My heart gradually hardened to form a thick muscle that would beat. And beat. And beat. It almost drove me to the edge of my sanity. But the blood that filled my veins was not mine. And my heart beats not for me. My life is not my own. I only lived for those I take with me. My heart is hardened like a seasoned assassin trained to kill. But I have been training and killing for too long now. Far too long. And so my heart lies panicking in my chest. It reminds me of those slow-motion documentaries when an injured buffalo is being struck by cheetahs ready for the kill. Every person I take with me, and another cheetah strikes. My heart is so bruised and battered I seem to be immune to pain.
But the answer is, unfortunately, no. I am not immune to pain, as much as I would wish to be. My pain is agony, and my agony is prolonged suffering. I have endured my new life, just as much as I accepted it. I gave up a long time ago. Because it seems that one person can only take so much. And when their limit is breached, it seems they give up. I know that some people will fight with all their might until finally they give up. Others will just drop everything and run. Whilst others simply surrender and raise a white flag. But there are some people, who never, ever give up. They have no limit. And they struggle while I take them away with me, away from their family and friends. Away from their life. It is those kinds of people who truly kill me. The blows to my heart after I've dealt with them are like watching my loved ones die in front of my very eyes. Again.

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