Death's Awaiting

You never know how easy it really is to murder a person, a human being. To see them fall to their knees before their body collapses to the ground. Watching their little frail heart struggle as it tires to pump more blood through the veins. Watching as the life slowly drained from their eyes until they became dull and dark. Hearing them take their last dying breath, hearing them say their last dying words. "Why?" They usually breathe out. Their confused little minds, trying their hardest to put the puzzle pieces together. As if there was even a reason on why, in particular , they we're chosen to be killed. "I don't know." I would always respond, even though most of them never got to hear me even finish my sentence. My voice would always have the same coldness and harshness that could freeze water at an instant. What I told them was true. It's not like I specifically picked them, they just...happened to be there. Nothing special, no grudges against them. They all just happen to die at my hands. It's not like I had a choice. To murder them or not. It was never a choice. And it's not like I searched for them. They came to me.