BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading TheMapThinker.com
Killing bugs becomes boring. At first it was exciting. At first it was a challenge. Overcoming fear. Then the night mares. The nightmares.
Dreams that bugs flushed down drains during the day would come swarming up out of them at night, looking for the person who tried to drown them. Looking for revenge. Dreams that spiders squished between the holes in fly swatters reassembled themselves, slowly, carefully, and came looking, looking for ME!
Dreams that thousands of bugs would congeal together in a huge mass, sometimes human form, sometimes the form of some grizzly monster that could never exist, huge hulking masses of insects, with one purpose in mind – To destroy me.
Those nights that I dreamed they covered me and devoured me; those were the nights I woke up screaming.
Each day I had to overcome my fear anew. Each day I had to force myself to kill and kill again. Until I slew armies of insects. Nations of insects.
Every night they got their revenge on me.
Every day I got my revenge on them.
Until one night.
I dreamed they covered the house and came pouring through every orifice they could find. The tiniest cracks that could exist. They flooded like a massive flood of brown bodies.
But instead of waking up screaming I reached under the covers and from nowhere I produced a flame thrower. And it was already on and afire with death and destruction for all things with six or more legs. I burned down the room, the house, and every bug, insect, spider, and creepy crawly within a block.
That night I woke up laughing.
From then on I killed bugs all day and I killed bugs all night. Until I became bored with killing bugs.
Now what? Something with more meat. An animal. A dog or a cat. How do you kill a dog or a cat? Do you poison it? Strangle it? Shoot it. Drown it?
Stupid problems. You would think someone plotting murder would be more forceful, would be more straight forward and daring. More in control. What was the term? A cold blooded killer. Someone who planned to kill someone without passion, the same way they would plan to go on a vacation. As adverse to a hot blooded killer who killed during the heat of passion. Where did I fit in there? The kid who is afraid to stick its hand in the cookie jar?
I don’t want to start shooting things yet. But I need a gun. Sooner or later I will need to shoot something. Someone. Yes. I need a gun. A gun that is not registered to me. A gun that cannot be traced to me.
How do I do that?
Can’t buy it from anyone. If you buy a gun, it doesn’t matter who you buy it from, then someone somewhere knows you have that gun. Nope. Can’t buy one.
If you steal a gun it would almost have to be from someone you knew. You would have to know them at least well enough to know they owned a gun. Then there would be a connection between you and the gun.
There can be no connection.
In the mean time I guess I will go kill a cat.
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