Sickness fanfic - Prologue
Murder, one of the most heinous crimes a person can commit. The act of taking another human being's life; the act of robbing a person of their already limited time on this planet. It is a fear inducing crime which anyone can commit. Every housewife, every student, every police officer is a potential killer. It's a crime that doesn't discriminate by blood or circumstance. It's a crime which can be committed by and make victims of just about anyone. Everybody remains both a potential killer and victim, blissfully ignorant of the fact that they could be next, assuring themselves that it could never happen to them. And so, as a result of that naiveté, those very people never see it coming.
Though the scene before me may be horrific, in this case, as with so many others, there was no great story behind it. There was no build up, no resentment between the victim and myself, no mutual hatred that gave us reason to fight. We didn't spend years at each other's throats, we had never fought before, and neither one of us saw this coming. In reality, this is the result of a simple, common scenario, one we've all heard of before: a penny-pinching employer, a bankrupt employee, and a denied paycheck. Truly, there was nothing special about this encounter. My boss didn't taunt me or attempt to exacerbate the situation. He didn't fire me, insult me, or do anything to tempt fate. If anything, I'm the one who made things worse. Rather than try to reason with him, I lashed out, beating the pompous man in front of me to a bloody pulp. I knew it wouldn't accomplish anything. I knew attacking him wouldn't get me the money I needed. And yet I…
Needed to punish him?
…That's right. As self-righteous as it sounds, I couldn't let him get away with what he did. That money the greedy bastard owed me, a pittance to him, was everything to me. It would have fed my brother and I, secured our lease for another month, perhaps even granted us a brief respite from the hell we're currently living. It was a shining beacon in our otherwise miserable lives; a way to ensure our survival during such a trying, stressful time. But because of that narcissist's whim, all hope I had of repairing my broken life vanished. He would deny me shelter, food, comfort…and for what? New seats for his car? A fancy watch? A new TV? And so, staring this injustice in the face, hearing first-hand how little my life meant to him…I snapped.
Of course, as fitting as it may seem to reciprocate his indifference to my life by taking his, doing so was never my intention. True, I wanted to kill him. I wanted to make him suffer for belittling my life, for denying me even a moment of peace. But I realized then, as I can clearly see now, that lashing out wouldn't solve anything. So why did I do it? Why would I resort to this? Why would I deliberately choose this no-win situation? If I were to commit a criminal act, why resort to violence rather than theft? If this were truly about my wages, why seek revenge rather than alternative means of compensation? Unfortunately, there's only one answer I can give in which I am confident.
You're losing your mind.
…It isn't the first explanation that came to mind, but it does make sense. A few hours ago I would have laughed at the cliché of a criminal blaming the voices in their head. Even more-so at the notion that a person would act on the silent words of an unseen entity. However, as evidenced by the corpse at my feet, those words aren't so easy to ignore. As I attempted to survive in this two-class society, willfully believing that I was somehow immune to the corruption and classism plaguing this town, there was always a voice whispering to me, telling me not to believe the good fortune around me. A voice filled with skepticism and doubt, pre-empting the inevitable, telling me to take action before it was too late.
But you didn't listen.
…That was my first mistake. I ignored the benevolent advice offered to me, the predictions now shown to be accurate, the good faith I received from someone asking for nothing in return. When it told me to stay in school and live with a guardian, when it told me to seek work elsewhere, when it told me to look for a new home somewhere safer, I didn't listen. Every step of the way I fought against the sound, logical advice it offered. If anything, I made a point of doing the opposite of what the voice told me to do. Or at least…
Until you heard what you wanted to hear.
…And that was my second mistake. It wasn't that I refused to head the voice's advice. I simply wasn't interested in taking the safe, responsible route. So by the time that violence had become the advised course of action…My path had already been determined.
Next: Part 1- A New Life