Engine

They say that when you commit your third murder, they don't look for a motive anymore. They don't need one, because when you are a serial killer it is more than likely that you are mentally incompetent. It's funny… when the police say you are a serial killer the first thing the look is for a trauma, maybe to justify the crimes or because they simply need a reason to judge. However, I do have a motive and if you were in my position probably you would understand my need. As you read this, you will find that my motive is not only perfectly reasonable, but also very logical and then, all those restless nights you spent thinking how to catch me then probably you will think to follow me, because after you finish reading this, you will soon realize that you and I have more things in common than you think and that the one making wrong decisions and judging people is you.

It all began a cold, winter night many years ago. It always starts in the night, because is the best time to do anything. There is so much about the dark that makes it so especial. In the dark, you get to think about many things and also you get to do stuff that in broad daylight you would never be capable of. Oh! it is, without a doubt my favorite time.

When I was a kid I used to see the stars every night...the thought of something shining miles away felt good. But that night so many years ago was different from the other nights, it was the night I had run away from my house. It wasn't because I was abused or because my family was dysfunctional, in fact my family was a fairly good one. They all treated each other with respect and everyone cared about each other deeply.

I grew up in a household that somehow made me happy. But then I started noticing some changes and at first it was undetectable. I started noticing this changes because the relation between my two brothers became too respectful and at the same time it became shallower every day that passed. After a while it wasn't just my brothers who were over polite, my uncle and my aunt started talking less and instead they just did what their high education told them. My house eventually became very quiet and boring to say the least. As days went by I realized that they were unhappy. I didn't really know why, but what I did know, was that I couldn't take this "respect" any longer. I tried to tell myself that is was just a passing thing so I kept going with my shallow, happy life.

I soon realized that I had to make a change and what a better time to think than the dark, peaceful night. I wanted to be happy and have pleasure in my life so, after looking at the stars for a while I went back to my room, packed and left. You may think my decision was rushed, but that's how they should be, because it means you dare to do things even if they could go terribly wrong.

I took a bus the night I ran away. I didn't actually know my destination and the fact is I really didn't care. Looking but not really seeing I kept thinking in ways I could make my life more interesting but I couldn't think of something thrilling enough. The hours passed until the bus stopped. I was in a big city, a beautiful city. I've always loved big cities, there's something enchanting and scary about them that makes them so appealing to me.

I soon realized I needed money, because in this world is the only thing that matters and the truth is that I'm no exception. I could have gotten a job, but that's the pattern I was trying to get away from. See, the real problem with my family was that they forgot how to live. They just existed. It's not that they didn't have a purpose in life…it was just the wrong purpose. They became nothing but a piece of a huge engine and that was just boring in every possible angle. I'm not saying that you shouldn't be part of the huge engine, but you should at least take some part that is going to give you pleasure.

Since I didn't really want to get a job, but I still wanted and needed money I found myself planning a thrilling way to get it. I planned a robbery, a very simple one. Go into a bank and get money. You may think that these days there's nothing simple in stealing a bank, but it's easier than what the engine makes us believe. I got myself enough to live for a while, so for a few months I dedicated myself to just enjoy my existence, if I needed more money I'd simply go to any bank and get money, in the end that's what banks are for.

Eventually I became aware of certain problems the engine had. However, before you think of me as someone who cares about justice and how unfair this world is to some people, you have to know that I don't give a shit about justice, in fact I think that what keeps the engine from being damaged is how unequal it is. The problem was that people are shallow, hollow inside, corpses barely breathing and that is more dangerous than any criminal in the world.

The problem with the engine was the course it was taking. I knew I couldn't do anything to keep the engine from it's fatal but sure destiny. Not that I cared, but I thought it would give my life a purpose to try and correct the course of the engine. It had to be radical and wrong, especially wrong. When the pieces of the engine find something very wrong and not moral they pay attention and they try to correct it. They find a person to judge because it makes them feel better and then they try to avoid that same behavior to fool themselves in believing that they are doing a better job at existing. The funny thing is that eventually that "good" behavior sticks in the engine, becoming a pattern, until someone goes and changes it again.

Wrong. Amoral. Heinous. Radical. What is the one thing, the one sole, twisted action that contains these words? Murder. I knew that the way I was going to kill was critical in changing the course of the engine. I had to build my own MO. So, I considered several options as to how to kill my future victims. I considered terrible things, even for me so I will not mention them just for courtesy and because I don't have the patience to describe every thought that came to me when outlining my crimes. I finally decided to makes them as quick as possible, my victims should be as different as I could find them and since I was in a big city, full of people from different countries is wasn't going to be a difficult task. They had to be young, because apparently the people get more scared when a guy to too young to die, and the most important part…the killing had to be simple, but the crime scene had to be very shocking enough so that it would actually stay in the people's minds. The day came when I was going to kill my first victim. I actually felt like I was about to do something very wrong and in many ways irreversible, but I've made my decision and it was time to act.

The first victim was Latin. I waited until it was dark to approach to his so called home. I took the gun out but didn't aim at the guy right away. I was about to take a life and that was certainly thrilling, but that's not the whole thing…the planning, the longing, the waiting, and then the calm before the storm…I felt this awesome joy, so I aim at the Hispanic and pulled the trigger. As much disgust you may feel right now it was a perfect headshot. It was bloody but in the end that was the point. I had just enough time to stage the crime scene. I placed the arrow on his chest, with his own blood I painted a smile on the wall and finally I placed in his hand 7 dollars. I went back to my place ten minutes later and took a moment to realize what I had done.

All of a sudden I felt nauseous. All the joy I felt at the crime scene was gone and replaced by disgust. I threw up a lot that night, but I knew I had to keep going. So the next night I found an Asian and did the exact same thing. The next night it was an European, the next an African, the next Russian, and the final blow...an Arab. Then I stopped. I waited to be caught.

What the hell took you so long? I don't care, but I really was starting to think that I had to kill all over again, not that it mattered because either way I'm going to hell. The weeks before I got caught I kept going to banks and get money, but now the difference was that there was a massive international dispute over my crimes. When I you finally caught me I didn't feel relief, actually I didn't feel anything other than the satisfaction of fitting perfectly in the engine and having pleasure at the same time. See, the money is one of the things that keep the engine moving, so I made it a little more interesting to get it. Even though murder is wrong in the engine, the fact that my victims were so different from one another made perfect sense to fit in the engine. The fact that you'll get to judge me to feel better and that I get the death penalty fits perfectly in the paradigms of the engine, so in the end you learned something today. You learned that killing is wrong, that money shouldn't be the new way of living for the people and that you shouldn't just exist, otherwise you'll become another boring piece of corpse barely breathing.