In the stillness of the room and the darkness of the night I know
something in me has changed and I quite like it. The world looks
different today .It would seem that people are in danger of taking over
themselves and do not seem to realise. When it did finally happen it was
as though the world had come crashing into my life. I was enlightened
and I wasn't to blame. I didn't feel happy though, as they say ignorance
is bliss.

I turn on the television and my own face greets me on the screen. It is my
face and it isn't. A clever identikit put together by forensics with
eyewitness help. I find this amusing, I know they won't catch me.
Now it seems as though circumstances have always been this way, I can't
remember a time before......but at least I know where it started. A
famous psychologist is giving a profile of me to the reporter on the t.v.
How shocked he will be when he learns the truth. His incompetence
angers me. I know his name, where he lives , even what school his
children go to . Of course one can't really blame them for their interest
after all I am a rather interesting specimen but it is them and their likes
who have turned me into the monstrosity they believe me to be. I don't
believe myself to be a monstrosity, I feel almost godlike, angelic even
,but with better ideas! That might sound incredibly pompous but if I
were given the chance to explain I'm sure everyone would understand, I
just wouldn't be given the chance though. There are those who are privy
to the same secrets as me and maybe one day we shall meet, one day my
soul will be complete.

It had been my own shouting that had awoken me in the early hours of
this morning, the sound of my voice was both scary and exciting, like a
bell sounding in my mind. I was immediately aware of what I had to do
as though I suddenly had a purpose in life. I wished that Shirley, my
partner who died last year, could be around to share in my triumph.
I had gotten out of bed and went with grim determination to the study
where the display cabinet had been. I had lifted the gun down almost
with elation. Shirley had objected to guns being in the house but
shooting had been a hobby of mine since childhood, a hobby I hadn't
indulged in for a long time, and by God I would indulge now. The idea
had just come to me, I didn't know how I would do it just that I would. I
had gone out to the shed and taken out ammunition and then I had gone
to say good-bye to my children.

Firstly I had gone to see Katie, my eldest child. When I entered her room
the thing that stood out most was her vast collection of toys
overwhelming what was a reasonably sized room. There was something
obscene about it that I couldn't quite put my finger on. She had been
sleeping soundly and in text-book fashion the remnants of the moonlight
had been spilling through the window highlighting her cherubic features.
I wanted to remember her exactly as she was at that moment, her beauty
frozen in my mind. Feelings of deep love and protectiveness that I didn't
know could exist coursed through my veins as memories of her life
passed before me, the day she was born, the day she had started school. I
had whispered my love and left, no sign of disturbance. Even the bullet
wound in her forehead could take nothing away from her perfectness.

Dean, my two year old son had been disturbed by the sound of the
gunshot even though I had used a silencer. He was sitting up in bed, sleepy
and bleary eyed and I had gone over and
held him for what felt like eternity and for him perhaps it was. I had
imagined what he would've been like as a fully grown man, would he
have been any different to Joe Average Arsehole, could I have taught
him any better ? I didn't think so, life had a nasty habit of just taking
over and for him it wasn't good enough, this was the only way. I didn't
feel guilt or remorse as he fell immediately into the perfect sleep, only
relief that he had been freed. I laid him back down in his bed and kissed
him farewell.

Sarah, my five year old, had slept through the noise, it was
a running joke in our family that she could sleep through a brass band
playing its way through the house and tonight it would a blessing for
both of us. I could love those children no more than I do, and I consider
my actions this morning to be the ultimate demonstration of a selfless,
perfectly unadulterated love. When I got to Sarah's room the sky was
becoming lighter and I knew that day was coming, she was sleeping
soundly. I had stroked her face, smelled her hair and then taken my gun
and placed it to her temple, like Katie she never awoke to the
disturbance, her life , all their lives had ended peacefully. I was happy
in that knowledge and left the house feeling calm and ready for anything.

The sun was in its awakening, golden against a pale, cloudless sky. The
sound of the car starting was a sensory assault in the early morning
silence, foreboding, prophetic almost. In the chaos of my mind I saw the
answer. I would drive into the sun. Perfect bliss and a fitting end I
thought. I did try but I couldn't even keep up with it in its race across the
sky. Nature in all its glory, it is so powerful, so omnipotent. I took an A
road instead, it was the next best thing. The plan was emblazoned in my
mind but I didn't know where to start.
" Ask and thou shalt be answered" said the carrier bag in the passenger
seat. Was that a quote from the Bible ? I didn't think so and gave the
subject no more thought.

I'd been driving for several hours when I saw the hitchhiker, a young
girl perhaps eighteen or nineteen years old. I immediately felt sorry for
her and drove the car to a stop just in front of her. She threw open the
door and jumped in. That had been her mistake. Totally thoughtless, so
inconsiderate. She represented why I shot my kids, a failing society that
didn't really give a shit. I didn't feel angry or even disappointed, it was
what I'd come to expect. I had noticed her blood on the window as I
heaved her body back out of my car, it repulsed me and I quickly wiped
it away. I could have had anything in that carrier bag. I found that my
kids' ears were still nestled safely in there and I was reassured.

It was mid afternoon by then and I was feeling sort of hungry, in fact I
was absolutely ravenous. I hadn't the faintest idea where I was or where
I could eat. Right on cue a sign for a cafe had loomed in the horizon, its
neon glow unnecessary in the daylight. I felt as though someone were
looking out for me. I drove into the car park and parked beside a truck
with a bashed in bumper. I had fleetingly wondered how it had happened
and its irrelevance in the scheme of things had struck me as sad but I
didn't really care anyway. What a wasted thought. It had occurred to me
that the cafe was pretty shitty but I hadn't minded in the slightest. Three
faces had looked at me from three corners of the room, one from behind
the counter. Not one made a sound. I had the feeling that they knew, that
they were waiting for me , waiting for their fate.
" Don't worry " I hear myself announce " everything will be fine. "
The man in the corner almost stood up but the bullet in his throat foiled
an attempt that was feeble at best. A female voice had begun screaming
in the background but I was entranced, hypnotised almost, by the quality
of the colour of his blood as it gushed through fingers incapable of
stemming the flow. It was almost comical, the senseless bubbling sound
coming from deep within his throat only added to the surreal effect. The
girl behind the counter stood paralysed, an easy target. The bullet
entered her brain through the side of her head and escaped through the
back to lodge itself in the door frame. The other girl had started running
for the door, my aim was off and I shot her in the shoulder, she had
looked at me surprised. This simply would not do. A bullet in the back of
her head laid waste to any escape attempt. I hadn't wanted to hurt
anyone, just to put them out of their misery, just to send them to sleep.

You would be forgiven for thinking that perhaps I come from some kind
of depraved family background but it isn't true. My mother had been a
school mistress and my father a policeman of all things. My childhood
had been perfectly normal and it annoys me now to hear the twats on
television trying to imagine the sordid details of my growing up, details
that just don't exist. They describe me as a psychotic, for want of a better word
probably, and all this without even talking to me !Then again maybe I'm
so fucking far gone even I can't recognise it, now that would be funny.
It struck me then that I should get out of that cafe, really I should but my
attention was taken with the kettle, which amongst all the carnage looked
so forlorn. I felt sorry for it and along with a few sandwiches wrapped in
clingfilm I had taken it with me. By that point I was totally starved. I
took a bunch of keys from the woman behind the counter and also took
"Blood Man's " keys to his truck. When I had turned the cafe sign to
"closed" and locked up I had felt very pleased with myself. It seemed
things were running smoothly and then the kettle reminded me about the
neon sign by the road side, it would be better if it were switched off. I
went back to the cafe, pissed off with myself for wasting time. I had
unlocked the door and the bimbo I had shot in the back of the head was
making for the 'phone, I couldn't believe it ! You fucker ! Then I was
angry. She saw me and I fell in love with her panic stricken eyes. She'd
started pleading and crying and I had just wondered why she wasn't
dead, I didn't hear her words as they poured forth. I strode past her into
the kitchen, I had left my gun in the truck. I'd looked around and saw a
meat cleaver, I didn't expect it to be pleasant but when I started
something I damn well finished it." Pauly always goes the whole hog "
my mother used to say, and I always did. I'd walked back through and
when she saw the cleaver her screams had become unmerciful, they had
seemed to reverberate through the tunnels of my mind, it was almost
painful. I'd taken a moment to consider that this was probably the
biggest event that had ever occurred in this girls life, knowing her time
had come, what must she have been thinking? Was she sorry or bitter
did she think " What if.. " ? Did everyone think the same when they
died? One day I'll know. I appreciated this and loved her all the more
for it. The blade sliced easily through the top of her skull deep into the
soft, yielding matter below. I had never seen anyone's brain before and
this was beautiful. I'd lifted her face by the chin and saw that she didn't
know what to think, she was confused, as if in two minds quite literally!
I'd kissed her bloodless lips and left. Again I forgot to switch that
friggin' sign off but by that time I cared even less.

Sometimes I get morbid, I've killed several people and don't feel any
better for it. I could live to be a thousand years old and still not dispatch
enough people to really make any difference, the bastards breed like
rabbits. When I was younger I believed I could change the world. I
looked at mans' inhumanity with sadness but I believed, I believed that I
could do something. Every day the media spew more atrocities into our
lives and every day we become less pure , more reticent and more
apathetic. World politics baffle me. Thousands are starving, dying and
being killed. Our planet, this wonderful, plentiful paradise is being
polluted, not only by chemicals but by mans' hatred, jealousy, greed and
craving for power. Children kill each other, themselves, their parents
and animals. Governments allow trees, our very life source, to be felled
just to make money. People starve to death in some countries while
others are sat on great big food mountains. Fathers rape their daughters,
their sons, their mothers . What the fuck is going on ? I soon learned that
nobody really cares even for their own. They don't give a shit. So
wrapped up in their own insignificant problems, safely cocooned in
splendid isolation then genuinely don't care.

The dull realisation had dawned on me slowly after the children were
born, gradually crept up on me over the years and then I knew. Man has
no place in this world or anywhere for that matter. I've spent years
imagining what kind of chemical fuck up had created us. Perhaps we're
alien life forms banished from another universe or something. One thing
I am sure of is that we certainly weren't planned according to Nature's
Great Plan. This realisation greatly saddened me, I saw life truly for
what it is and I don't like it very much. I saw traces of man in my
children, only slight because they were so young but I knew what they
would grow up to be. I felt helpless, doomed. I couldn't stop it, or could
I? Then, as you already know, the answers came to me. If not for Nature,
the real Nature, then for me, at least I would feel I had done something,
made some kind of point.

This morning when I had woken up shouting I had been dreaming of my
son raping his sisters, my daughters being
ripped apart, limb by limb, by a gigantic monster with " Life in
General" tattooed on its bulbous forehead.
When I'd left that cafe in a dead man's truck, with my children's ears in
a carrier bag and a talking fucking kettle, the futility of my sanity and
every else's' insanity struck me like a blow. I knew I could not single-
handedly wipe out mankind but I didn't know what else to do but try.

The road had gotten busier, that is, two trucks had passed me in the last
hour and signposts for a place with a funny name kept appearing, and
then I saw it, a little town carved out of the hillside. I'd stopped the truck
to get out and survey the view which was stupendous. At the bottom of
the long road, down a steep hill I just made out a small post office which
appeared to be the centre of activity. It seemed as though everyone in the
village was there, and then the idea had come and I was in action. The
truck with its seats on fire and a lit match in the tank became an instant
travelling inferno and hurtled towards the post office with alarming
speed. Then everything happened in slow motion. There had been
screams and an explosion that hurt my head. The air filled with smoke
and hysteria and I noted that the death toll had reached double figures.

Now I sit in a crappy B&B watching the news and people discussing with
mixed delight and disgust my activities of today, I know how interesting I
am to them. Twenty years of working with serial killers, psychopaths
and child murderers has served me well. I can imagine the headlines in
tomorrow's papers;

" World renowned psychologist murders her children then goes on
killing spree. "

Perhaps tomorrow they'll catch me and perhaps they won't. In the
meantime you must excuse me as I have many plans to make.
Good-bye.

Alustriel Zita 1998

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