And I remember seeing her face as she died and, as much as this scares me, I never felt any remorse. I never felt any pain at my own mothers’ death. What is wrong with me? What kind of beast am I? Yet here I am, ten years later and I still feel nothing. I feel noting for her or anyone else and it scares me. More than any one could possibly know. But some how I am numb to everything. All emotion escapes me but anger and fear and hate. And I realize now that I am nothing but a weapon; a device of war. And it terrifies me. Because, I can kill without a second thought; without blinking an eye lid. On the battlefield, in the street, at home, it doesn’t matter. But I am so scared because I know that, no matter how much I fight it and no matter how much I deny it, that I love the thrill of the kill. I love the power and the feeling of control in my uncontrollable life and existence. And I adore the feeling of life running over my hands and the light draining from their eyes and the hopelessness in their faces. And I adore every time I can feel their heart beat slowing and dying and that I can control it and destroy it. And I live in this world with all this pain and destruction and I love it.

I love it.