Genocide
What measures a man's worth? Who can count the scales? How strong can a man be and become? Is his mind the limit? Is the wheelchair his master? How far can his hands turn? Is his aim good? Can he even read a short story? Is his life full of legends? Or a coward's tail? At the end of the road, we all end up the same: dead. Each turnpike, stop sign, intersection, and detour determines a man's value. But then again… he could just get in a car wreck and call all mankind to genocide.
A person's soul is molded in the beginning, like a potter at the most important part of his turning. Without the base, nothing else succeeds. Life can be pictured as a clear cut roadway or hell's highway. Depending on the start, determines the picture. And every muffler let's out some exhaust. It can be replaced, but every one of them links up to something worse. An entire engine is hard and expensive to replace. Depending on one's job it may cost a lifetime. If the car is out of this world, then a devil downtown is the only solution.
Drugs, beer, cards, they're all the same, they equate to one's desire, and splurging in them is easy for a weak soul. If that soul is your father; hopefully he will die soon. A detour from a sick childhood can take a long, long time. Breaking straight through the sign can lead to death, but it is a hell of a lot quicker.
A little depression is worse than full schizophrenia, for the medical help isn't free nor is it taken seriously. And job after job is lost, if one has a dream that requires school, then a drop of depression can contribute to more debt than a gambler. So our idiot has done. Tossing and wading in the mindless sea of life; wondering where his next brick wall lies.
He came home from college to the same house he was conceived in. He opened the car door, slowly his window started to go down, he pressed the horrible button that has worse engineering than a toddler, and of course, the window didn't go back up; it was going to rain eventually, so either he had to fix it or tape it, and tape it he did.
Once inside the house, the smell of hell rushed towards him: tobacco. "I need to move out," he thought. How the hell is he supposed to do that? He only makes eight dollars an hour, and rent for the cheapest place near to his school is one-thousand a month. He brushed the stupid idea aside, and went to go take a piss.
He looked at the toilet, couldn't tell if his dad even tried to aim, or wipe his ass with the seat. Toilets have to deal with a lot of shit. His innards gurgled; he fell to his knees and grasped the toilet to puke. Heave after heave, only God alone could see. He heaved the remaining attempt; because death is so sweet. He made sure to wash his hands after, at least that was the idea, grasping the handle had funk all over it anyway. Out of the bathroom he felt more dirty.
In his bedroom he changed; had to put on some decent work clothes. The door barged open, a slim finger pointed at him "was school good today Mark?" His father just in boxers "it was okay, same as usual." "Well, usual isn't enough, I want it to be extraordinary," Mark nodded, "one day it will but I still have to take the stupid general education requirement classes regardless of whether or not I go towards a degree." His dad leaned on the door "yeah, go to high-school then go to paid high-school, what a joke"... "Hey Mark, get me something to eat." Mark was putting on his belt, "I have work in thirty-minutes." His dad slammed the door.
It has been a long time since his dad had worked. "Paid leave" so they say, it will help you between finding and getting a job. Rather than going to the root cause of an issue, welfare covers all the muck that has boiled up. It isn't illegal to drink, nor is it illegal to sit on a couch nor is it illegal to be homeless. It is illegal to beat your son, but where will the son go when the father is in jail? To another man possibly. What about a son that is of age? Well, that's in God's hands, and it requires a tremendous willpower to overcome. If a person overcomes an abusive childhood and comes out with a clear conscious; then this person can overcome anything. As for the rest that fail, the ones that shoot themselves or stretch out their hand towards a bottle or find Satan's medicine: these souls have no cure.
Humans suck at just about everything. Especially at getting out of horrible starting lives. As for me, I have looked down the barrel and the end is a glorious site. No more pain, no more tiredness, no more anger. But then, there is a small fire that burns within, and my fire has ignited. I want to use my weakness and my evil for good. As for this young man in this story, he will be given the opportunity to do anything, and no punishment will be given. All his hatred will be manifested.
If you had a list of all the people you hated, and a random man approached your doorstep and said, "I will take away the life of all the people you have hated, and in the future whoever hates you or raises their hand against you, I will destroy them: at no cost and no consequence." How much would you be willing to pay this evil genie? Will you give him your left kidney? Or one of your feet? An instant death to all the raging drivers that have cut me off is a simple fantasy. But what if it could be done? Would you do it? And with no consequence or thought of an afterlife: what evil can a man possibly achieve?
That husband of yours, the one that strikes you, how far would you be willing to drive to find a person that would eliminate him, and have no consequence or redemption on part of him. Think of the husband as being vanished. Does this type of murder even exist? To kings and queens it does, but to us, the filth of the earth, it is a godsend. Most gifts are given, but another amazing gift is when something is taken away.
And when a person is surrounded by evil will not his thoughts produce evil? A human can break the brick walls, yet God only knows the ratio. And I would love to ask him one day. "How many kids grew up with parents beating them made it out alive and well off?" How many depressed individuals ended up accomplishing their dreams. Tell me Lord, how many careers started from a garage and how many have failed. Can the Lord tell us the ratio between the poor and the criminal? Between houses full of strife and crime? Why would someone work for minimum wage when they could make a grand over the weakened by selling the most demanded item in America? When consciousness and morality are removed, the actions of us humans are up in the air; we can do anything if we set our mind to it. Walking two thousand miles is a lot easier than going to sleep every night while hearing two lovers hump each other above. A person cannot live outside his home at eighteen. He needs "help" to just have at least a roof: add school, add health, add car, add stress, add money, add everything. The creation of a monster is easy: add more stress. Then when the pistons break: people will die. It just so happens that a gun is the easiest and most lazy way to release anger. What if there was a deity that allowed you to release all your anger? It is a dream only written in books. It is not real, this is not life, in life we have to sleep, we have to work, we have to eat, and these things are just to stay alive. Almost our entire life is spent on simply just surviving. And surviving gets harder when you age.
When the barrel is within reach and The Final Thought has approached you: life is never the same. Defaulting on a loan is harder than defaulting on the breadth of life. It is easier to die than to live. There is a knife in every home. There is a street near every house. There is a seventh-floor building in every city, there is a train track in every country, there is a gun in every cop's hostler, there is a hardware store in every town. Life could be ended right now. I have a knife in front of me. I could stop writing and end it all right now. And who would care? Anybody outside this house might care, but outside my bloodline: no one. Seven billion people do not care about you. You are nothing, but a pathetic human being, raised from muck, and thrown into a planet with the possibility of succeeding. Good luck with that, poker has better odds than making over a hundred thousand a year.
A person can do anything if they set their mind to it. Great saying, but it is a bunch of bullshit. In America, yeah sure, you can try but the odds of failing are large; I hope you enjoy all that weight on your shoulders. What about if you don't live in America? What odds do the people with no ventilators have? Can they do anything if they set their mind to it? Sayings are good selling points. But fate or God's Will has no bounds. A person cannot decide where they want to be born, and who spits them out of the vagina. May the Lord have mercy on you, if you have a horrible start. It can get better, it can also get worse, or it can stay the same. Who knows, I'm not God, but I do know this, ending a life is so much easier than starting one.
Is the drunk alive? Is the drug addict alive? Are the depressed of the living? Who is truly living? Who is living the life? Even the rich look at the cold barrel and pull the trigger. Death is a glorious thing. It is also where all things end. It is the final question. There is no going back. No changing minds. Is this appealing? Or is it scary? Do you want to see God? Do you want to go into the abyss? Is there any way to get rid of suffering? The only way to get rid of suffering is to not even be able to breathe. If there is good then there has to be evil. If there was no evil then there would be no good. In order for a person to be helped, they have to suffer from something. But if there was nothing, then there would be nothing, no evil nor no good. Nothing can be seen in a black circle. And this is why black is so enticing, because it blocks all the other colors. It is the king of colors. A black shirt doesn't have to be washed. If everything was painted black then there would be no issue with choosing colors. If all humans died, then there would be no more suffering, for everything is gone. And it just so happens that another deity thought of this grand idea: Knull.