Understanding the Murderer
by Fly Girl
I remember seeing an Irish play where the daughter kills her mother when
she finds out that the mother hid a letter that denied the woman her
only chance at love. She didn't go to the pub that night after being
begged to by her lover because the mother hid his letter. "No one would be
there to get my tea," she said, such was her justification for imprisoning
her daughter in a life of isolated despair. When the daughter found out, she took a fire iron and split the mother's
head open. What makes people kill? Stifled creativity. Maybe that is why post office
workers kill after 30 years. How can you kill imagination in yourself for
that long and not hate the world. Thought torturing thought, action repressing another's actions, year after
year. Then comes the trigger, a bang of a teacup, a nasty comment in a post
online, and it blows. You kill. You kill that torturous, hateful,
vindictive, hideous beast because if you don't she will kill you. If you
don't kill her your stomach will turn to acid and you'll never dream again. This is the insanity of the murderer. "I had to let my children die in that
fire," I read in the paper one afternoon, "If they were dead, my ex-wife
wouldn't call me anymore." This is not the answer to life's problems. I recently killed someone online
with a flame. I can only thank God she was 3000 miles away, and I didn't
have access to a gun. I understand the murderer now. I will never be the same again, and I am not
sure where to go next.
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