Content Warning: Extreme violence not suitable for minors.
A flag’s been planted on a mountain of corpses with every member of the human species haphazardly stacked on top of each other, but who planted it? In white, the black standard declares, “No Lives Matter.” From the way many of them lay there with their mouths open, you’d think the pile was screaming. I’ll do anything to make the stack higher.
It’s a vision that appears to me when I dream and when I close my eyes, ever since I joined the Telegram. LiveLeak desensitized me to violence but they sent me a Kill Guide that taught me how to wield it. But I haven’t yet.
For a month I thought about who should be my first victim. One of the 764 fucks told me it should be a girl. S1N told me it should be mundane scum, like a homeless person or a druggie. They’re easy to find here. I’m on my way to meet one.
The cold air flows out like fumes from my medical mask as I walk towards an old bridge towards the outskirts of town. All of my body hair’s been shaved off along with my eyebrows, I rubbed them over with Vaseline before I left. Everything’s been carefully sanitized, including the camera.
What I spent the most time considering was the weapon. My first choice was a hammer but I thought that it’d get too messy since I’d want to bash the fucker’s skull until their brains spilled out like scrambled eggs. Eventually I went with a full tang knife that I drenched with an antiseptic.
All I have on me is the knife, the camera, some bags, and some duct tape with a soft red ball. None of it was expensive. It only took a couple of my Little Caesars paychecks to turn me into a man with a plan. A horrible plan.
I’ve already spent a month checking the bridge on random days to see if it’s a regular place to catch him sleeping, as well as to make sure that he’s alone and doesn’t share his spot with anyone else. If I’m lucky he’ll already be drunk. Lately I’ve been doing more cardio because I already planned out where I’m going to run to.
There’s an abandoned house not far from the bridge that no one squats. I’ll change into clothes I’ve already stashed there and then walk somewhere further out to hide the weapon and burn the dirty clothes before walking back home.
He’s there. At the usual time.
It’s dark and I can feel my heart rate start to spike as I get closer to where he’s sleeping. I’m close enough to see his cardboard bed and the filthy blanket and his bald spot and his fucked up beard and that fucking smell. I put the camera on the floor and started to creep up on him as slowly as I could manage.
“Hey, what the hell are you-,” he wasn’t able to finish his sentence before I gave him a kick in the stomach and shoved the red ball in his mouth.
“Shut the fuck up,” I shot out, as I started to duct tape around the entire length of his head over the gag.
I turned him onto his back and started to duct tape his hands behind them as well as taping his ankles before I was able to walk back to the video camera to start recording. On my hands and knees I put my masked face right up to the camera and waved at it with my knife.
“This is Grime, pure fucking people hater, watch what I do to this homeless fuck. No Lives Matter.” With that short declaration, I put my hood up and rose to my feet, ready to work.
I gave him a couple quick, hard kicks just to make sure he stayed immobile. With each kick a scream tried to escape his mouth, but it sounded like a muffled moan after the dull thuds of my feet. I wanted to have a bit of fun with him and not get things over with too quickly so I got onto his back and started punching at both of his kidneys. Harder and faster as tears started to well up in his eyes.
With every punch, my mind started to flash with every insult I’ve ever endured. Every dumb fucking argument I’ve ever had to put up with from some stupid shit. Worthless little fucking morons. Can he feel me starting to get exhausted as I take his god damn organs out? Where’s my knife again?
Feeling how tired I really am, I rolled him over so that he faced me, and I grabbed my knife again. I could see the mounting shock in his eyes as he watched me hold up the knife. In my mind, I’m doing him a favor. It’s either this or he ends up a fentanyl laced corpse somewhere else.
No one showed me how to hate. I had to teach myself. We are the children of fire, molded to bring ourselves and others to the cleansing flame, as natural and inevitable as sparks finding fuel. Until there’s nothing left to burn but the endless pile of our bodies, in a universe too dark for it to be seen anymore.
Everything’s getting faster now. I could hear him sobbing into the gag and all of the breaths entering and escaping his nose. Before I could even process my reaction, I started to stab. I only noticed I was doing it when I realized how much harder it is to take the knife out than it is to push it in. If he was making any noise, at this point I was tuning it out. There was only me, the act, and a body to be acted upon.
At this point, I was stabbing frantically, with no concern over whether he could feel it anymore or not. I grabbed a handful of his lice infested hair and held his head back so I could give one good stab right to his trachea. Air attempted to travel in and out of it but the breaths were getting slower and the opening was caked with blood. Imagine the sound of running out of soda with your straw.
As I heard him take his last breaths, I let him slip away, along with all of his dreams, his nightmares, his unfulfilled ambitions, dying memories and living memories both, equally purified in the puddle of his own sweat, blood and piss.
The last thing I could think to do before leaving was something purely for the camera. I took the knife to his face and held his head, trying to keep my own clammy hands still in their gloves, and I started to slice off his nose.
I took his nose with me, walked back to the camera and showed it off in front of the lens before throwing it back onto his body. Too risky to keep. I took my gloves off and put on another pair that I had in my pocket before turning off the camera. The last thing I did before starting to leave was put the knife in a plastic bag so I can dispose of it later.
The only other thing I needed was one last look at his body, this time from a distance, so I can get an impression of what it’ll be like when he’s discovered there by someone else. He looked well worked. It isn’t worth thinking about too much, now. He’s gone. And still, I have other bodies to punish.