M'ass Destruction

I'll set in motion the machinations of mass destruction. Carnage thrills me not with the body count, but with the abruptness for which it changes lives. Lives cut short leave blank pages in the incomplete stories of the victims' lives.

How might those blank pages read? Might they be written in fancy font? Calligraphy? Will there be footnotes to what might have been?

The most interesting library is one with mostly empty books. Page by page, the possibilities will be the ghosts of those who fall at my hands.

Think of the glory! Think of the pathos! The loves that retire at the top of their game! Which is the only way to go out.

The most exciting part is that I strategize for the future. They won't know what will hit them. Or when. They have no clue, which in death is apropos, for they are certainly clueless while alive. And doing the things they do.

Nefarious things. Insidious things.

I'll show them all. I can be nefarious, too. I can be insidious. It's what happens when an animal is wounded like I've been. By them. The beautiful people. The jocks. The populati. Why doesn't anyone else see what I have to offer.

It's because they look right past me.

Fools! Buffoons! The lot of them. Well, I am the one who will show them the way. After all, isn't life just a rite of passage? To the next one? That's what those holier-than-thou say before they point me out as different. As oriented...another way. Before they point out the sin I commit just by being myself. They say God doesn't make mistakes, but then the point out me as His biggest.

Yes, I'll be doing all the faithful a favor.

It'll be a shortcut for them, so why should they even complain? I'll be a hero. The one who got it all-done for them. Easy. And certainly no trouble for me. It's my handshake with them into the mortality we're all here for. And it's me who offers my hand first. My left hand.

I plant the devices just so.

They'll function in their quotidian duties until I say when their next obligation begins. It will be glorious. I will be glorious. My name will be on the lips of all those who can still speak. But pay no attention to the lies. Instead, pay attention to the man behind the curtain.

For that man is me.

And I come for you. Nefariously. Insidiously. Fulfillingly. And just the fact that I also get to settle a score is the bonus. True, the playing field may be level, but they are the ambitious who tilt it their way. And a wasted opportunity is wasted ambition.

To squander ambition is the real sin. I can make up for my difference by engaging my righteous rage into the opportunity. And the field will once again level. But this time, for real. For me.

Time is so weird, isn't it? They're here with me now. Belittling me. Shaming me. Chastising and vilifying me. Now. But they won't be there later. So, were they ever here? I mean, as far as time is concerned.

What a tragedy for things to become as if they've never been. Such is the invitation of common, unspectacular lives led who have the gall to label my own as remarkable only in its shortcomings.

So I will make them famous. When the time comes--when I so decree as the orchestra leader for the dirge to come--they will be remembered. It will never become a time as if they had never been.

You're welcome.

There are only two letters polluting the famous as infamy. Such a linguistic irony is not lost on me. And their lives suffer the only one letter's difference between insane and inane.

Now all is set. The blueprint for mass destruction is etched in stone, on a timer, the fuse lit. I just need to sit back and enjoy the foolishness of missing or added letters typed on their keyboards that ran out of ink.

The lives, the limbs, the shattered families. Because of me. And off they'll go. Their rite of passage successfully navigated by their captain.

That's funny. Their captain.

Because how does the saying go? The captain is the last to go down with the ship, right? That's me. Only moments after the crowd disperses--so rudely--so explosively--I'll follow them after, as the maritime saying goes. They went before me, by my schedule; then I'll go after them, again by my schedule.

And I will "live" through my own rite of passage, for my death will recursively celebrate the aphorism, retrograde, that, "They did not die in vain." And they will all be waiting for me.

I just cannot wait until I feel their gratitude for what I did for them!