This is. . .some extreme extreme of what I feel some days. . .usually when I'm having a chemical crisis in my brain. loopy I know that the summary says the exact same thing. . .but. . .erm. . .Please read and review!

Have you ever noticed how addictive breath mints can be?

No, I didn't think so.

It's one of those things. You know the type of things I'm talking about; the ones that everyone knows about, and no one can explain. Like irony, or caffeine addiction. Or breath mint addiction.

It's not like I'm obsessed with having clean-smelling breath. Nah, those things leave a nasty enough aftertaste that I'm pretty sure my breath stinks after I eat one, contrary to what they claim on the packaging. The aftertaste sort of sits on the back of my tongue, heavy and yucky. Like after eating chocolate, or drinking coffee.

Cats are really neat creatures, don't you think? So graceful and agile, beautiful, really. I have a cat in another room. She's about five years old now, a tortoise shell shorthair. You know what tortoise shell is when it's in reference to a cat, don't you? It's like calico, but there's one extra color. So instead of black and white and brown, you might have black, white, brown and tan. Mine is actually grey, white, tan and cream, but you can't get caught up on technicalities like that, can you? She's got really pretty eyes, amber in the middle and moving up to green, and then blue.

I used to have a friend with eyes like that. He was short, and had long, dark hair, and those beautiful eyes. They're nice on a cat, but on a person, that combination of colors is stunning, especially with hair like that. He had really pretty hair. It was dark brown, almost black, sort of like yours, but probably seven or eight inches longer. At least, that was when I was a sophomore in high school. I'm sure he's cut it by now; I haven't seen him in years.

I haven't seen any of my old friends in years, actually. Not since our graduation. Sort of makes me think, sometimes, that they either don't like me anymore or they just forgot about me. Neither is a very appealing situation. I guess it's just one of those things.

See? There's another one; one of those things. They're all over the place if you look for them. If you ask a teenager why all her drawings are of men or boys rather than girls or both, you'll get a shrug. She doesn't know. If you ask a writer why he writes, he'll look at you strangely until he's either unnerved by your stare, can find an answer, or walks away. He doesn't know, either. It's the same with almost anything you can think of. No one knows why, and no one wants to know why. They'd rather run off and do things in blissful ignorance than know the truth.

Hey, that reminds me of a song that I used to listen to all the time. When I was in high school, my favorite band was one called Linkin Park. Ever heard of them? No? That's too bad. You must have been one of the preps. The jocks, you know; those social castes that schools, high school in particular, push people into. You had to be absolutely sure of and clear on which class you belonged to: the fashion queens, the football players, the outsiders, the nerds, the loners - which one are you? You have to make sure that everyone knows so that you won't accidentally be recruited into another one, you know? I hated junior high more than high school, though. Junior high sent me to hell in a hand basket, where I stayed for two years straight. I went to a private school then. Everybody was rich except for me, and everyone's mom stayed home while their dads went to work. That kind of community, you know? And for someone struggling financially, it's not a place you want to be, one in which you're judged by what you wear and what you look like, and what you like to do. I guess it's another one of those -

That's exactly what I was going to say. How did you know? Maybe you're not as dumb as I thought you would be.

Oh, no, that's not meant to be an insult. It's just that I've found the human race, in general, moronic. People are idiots, in general, and they're the ones that have eleven children, passing on the bad genes while the smart ones have less and less kids, isolating their wonderful intellect to a family or two. It sort of sucks when you look at it, you know? One of those things.

When I really think about it, how the world is pretty much made up of those things that no one can explain, nor cares to, it sort of seems like nothing should be 'one of those things.' It seems like, since 'those things' are just automatically accepted into the numbed minds of our peers, that they shouldn't be special. They shouldn't even have their own quotation marks, which makes me wonder why I'm doing this thing with my hands every time I say 'those things.'

Ah, see, there I did it again. I guess it's another -

Would you stop finishing my sentences? You're not here to finish my sentences.

No, I'm not always this predictable. I just feel like being predictable today. Do you have a problem with that?

I didn't think so.

Oh, yes, that's a picture of my kitty. Isn't she pretty? I love her to death. She's mounted on my wall. Could you tell from the picture? She's just the sweetest thing in the world, really. When she purrs - well, when she purred, when she was alive - she'd just get going and never stop, louder and louder until she sounded like a motorboat and followed my hand wherever it went. That's how I killed her, actually. She followed me right into the kitchen, and I slit her throat over the sink, really fast so that she wouldn't struggle, and so that I wouldn't get any on my mother's new tile. Of course, there was blood on the counter, but it's easier to clean blood off a counter than a floor. I told Momma that my kitty ran away, but she found out the truth. And then she kicked me out.

I don't really know why. Maybe it's just one of -

Stop finishing my sentences! You're not here to finish my sentences!

You know, that's one thing that really got on my nerves in high school. The friend I told you about liked to play amateur psychologist. He liked to tell me how I was feeling and what I was thinking like he was me. He wasn't, but he didn't listen to that. I told him over and over, 'You can't tell me what I'm thinking!' He didn't listen to me, not even when I shot him. I didn't kill him immediately; you see, I'm a sadist. I enjoy watching people squirm and squeal. It gives me this feeling of satisfaction that nothing else can give me. I guess it's -

Where are you going? No! Yes, you have to stay. No, you can't leave.

What are you doing with that?

Haha, you idiot, it's empty. There are no bullets in that gun. Now, put it down.

That knife is as dull as the gun is empty.

There are no electrical sockets in this room to plug that drill into.

Ooh, now you're getting desperate. I love it when they get desperate. Please, continue your frantic search of this room and the useless arsenal I put in here to bring this very reaction. There are no windows, and the door is locked.

You want to know where the key is, huh? You demand to have the key? Haha! That's funny. Have you considered stand-up?

Go ahead and yell at me.

Oh, so you're one of those people, are you? You were one of the ones who always laughed at me when I walked by, weren't you? Weren't you?! I bet you remember that one time I brought that gun to school, huh? Remember when I shot them all up? They weren't laughing then, were they?! Were you?! I know you were! Don't lie!

Where are you going? You can't escape from me; I told you, the door is locked! Haha, go ahead and cower under the table. Nothing can save you now that I know the truth, the truth about you and your role in my life.

Oh, fine, go ahead and ask your stupid question.

My other friends hate me, remember? Oh, wait, no they don't.

Or, they don't anymore. I made sure they don't hate me anymore. They don't have brains to hate me with anymore. Hee, their brains are splattered all over various walls and sidewalks all over the country. See, I don't like it when people don't like me. Can you tell? I hunted each and every one of them down, just so I could see that look of recognition and terror in their eyes. And you can bet that empty gun you're holding that my amateur shrink friend was the first to go. Ah, he was so beautiful, even in death. He's the only one whose head I didn't explode. I couldn't bear to lose that precious face, or those eyes. Ah, I remember now. I did kill them all, didn't I?

Haha, it's great fun! You should try it some time. The thrill of taking another human life, and the amazement that I haven't been caught yet, and about a million other things besides. I especially enjoy the torture I put them through before they die. I love seeing their will to live come out in the form of obscenities and tears. I love watching that will die, the light slowly fade from their eyes until they become the eyes of the dead. It really is fun. I can't explain it. It's just one of those things.

Hey, wow, you didn't finish my sentence for me that time. That's amazing. Thank you for being so considerate.

No, I will not let you go.

In fact, I think I'll kill you slowly.

Would you like a breath mint? They really are addictive. It's one of those things.

Go ahead. Take one. They don't bite.

Seriously.

There you go, see? That didn't hurt a bit. Do you want another one? Oh, why not? They're so good, so addictive. Like caffeine.

Which reminds me, I need to make some coffee. Would you like some coffee?

No?

Are you sure?

Positive?

Haha. Only fools are positive.

You know, groveling won't work. You know I'm sadistic like that. You know I like it when people beg for their lives, and I'm still going to kill you. And if you don't want a cup of coffee, it'll commence. . .hmm. . .now.

No, you didn't want any coffee. But would you like one last breath mint? They're addictive, after all. You might want the taste of them on your tongue when you reach whatever afterlife you believe in.

Me? Personally, I don't believe there's an afterlife. I don't believe in a lot.

Well, I don't know why those breath mints are so addictive. I guess it's just one of those things.

Shall we begin?