“why must you kill me?” she wailed.

"i tried to reach out to you. i did. i did it in the only way i knew how. and it wasn't because of my parents, they didn't do anything to me. i'm not murdering you because my mom beat me when i was six, she never laid a finger on me.

i always wanted to watch cartoons while we'd enjoy each other's company around the tv. but it was the news. every night watching monotone machines recite words from a different machine being typed by a completely different person with a machine mentality. i used to feel pain when i'd hear of people dying. the emotionless human-news-machines i watched every night have shown me that i can be complacent to death. death is not a big deal. death is all of us more so than living is; it is our only one true fate.

but, you see, i'm still afraid of it. not really though. i only pretend to be so i can maintain some semblance of realism amongst the others, the ones whose eyes still well up every time something loses it's ability to inhale more oxygen.

it's so confusing, trying to figure this all out. and i'm not crazy, i'm just thinking about things that you aren't. but maybe that is crazy, because i have never seen a definitive guide to identifying a quantity of craziness, so i cannot say for sure whether or not it's crazy.

but i know i'm confused and terrified, but not of death. of the darkness that death brings.

so that's why i need to murder you; maybe you can get me some answers," he replied, then shot her between the eyes.