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Nothing at all


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I’ve always wondered what goes through the mind of a killer while he’s doing what he does best. Are there conjealed thoughts of pain and anxiety, nerves, and obsecurities. Or, is there nothing at all.
Is there feelings of an incurable urge to keep on going, or something miniscule saying to stop, stop. Or is there nothing at all?
Is it like the piercing stare of a young child, trapped in the confines of their little safe haven. Not looking at you, but looking through you, to something better? Or something worse? Or it may be to nothing at all.
And is that how a killer works? What exactly are they killing for? For something better..something worse…or are they killing for the sake of seeing something that’s worse than their own lives, their own suffering.
At times, it seems like a relentless task, writing down all the possible interchanges between the killer and himself, but it also seems like a useless one. We will never know what exactly these people feel..or don’t feel..or might feel…or can’t feel whatsoever.
When these people sleep at night, are the ghosts of their “accomplishments” dancing around in their minds, is their blood embedded in the cuffs of their shirts, is there any remorse at all?
But that is why I think there is so much killing in this wide world, because for some people, there is, nothing at all…….



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