It was a bleak day. Almost like the world didn't know that people were inhabitanting it. O, who am I kidding, every day felt like that to me. And why the h--- would the world know people were on it? It has no brain, it is not conscious.

But I digress.

I continued my walk down Highway 2 just past Spokane, Washington. I've been traveling for some time now. Started from Perry, Florida, and slowly and painfully, made my way to where I walk now.

The feeling of the loose gravel under my worn down shoes made me feel so lively, so invigorating. Of course, killing people was a better feeling.

It was a pretty simple process, actually. I'd hitch a ride (usually a male, middle age), ride along just long enough for them to feel comfortable, and then I would shoot them. The blood and brain matter would spray all over the window. It would slowly drip down like dew. After I shot them I would grab the steering wheel, drift the car off to the side of the road, and begin the process of cleaning the car.

God this part sucked...

Have you ever cleaned up brain matter? Well, however gross you THINK it is, multiply that times 20 and it's somewhere around there probably. I've never had any problem with killing people during the process. But after, when I see that hole in there head, I think. All of the activity, the process of the brain moving at unparalleled speeds. The emotions, the memories, all of it just, gone. Did it stay in the brain? Was it stored up in some part where it could maybe be retrieved one day with the proper technology? Or, at the moment of death, did they just all go away? Never to be seen, or thought of again?

Yet again, I digress.

After cleaning out the car and the very complicated process of pushing their dead corpse, then driving off. The sound of that body hitting the group almost made me vomit every time. Just that nasty thud. O, you think I’m careless for just pushing a dead body out of my car? You think I gave a s*** if I get caught?

After taking off I would usually sell the car in the next town, usually anywhere from a $4,000-$11,000 profit (Rich people don’t pick up strangers). And then simply after I would continue on my trek.

Wow…I went on a rant just then…lets go back to Highway 2.

I had come this far and was this close to getting to my final destination. I figured I would probably get one or two more people before getting there. As I walked with a nice steady pace down the side of the road. Cars had been passing, my arm was getting tired. You would think after traveling thousands of miles with my left arm up that I would get used to it. That it would maybe strengthen with time. Nope, still hurts like a b**** all the time.

The night sky came up in a creep. I felt the temperature starting to drop. My face was cold. The weight of every step became more and more heavy with each step. Why the h--- has no one offered me a ride yet?

About another hour had passed when a car speed up in front of me and stopped. It was a grey Nissan Altima, probably around a 2006. There was a small old man driving it. He had a wide grin across is face as he said,

“Where ya headed my friend?”

“Seattle,” I tired not to appear too excited. “Could you bring me close to there?”

“O well I don’t see why not!” he said, very genuinely. “I’ll bring you to Wenatchee, sound good?”

Perfect, I thought. I only need the old b------ to drive 30 miles anyways. I hopped in, and he took of.

I hated b------ conversations. To me, it seemed pointless to talk to someone I was going to kill in 20 minutes. Hearing their voice, their face, their stoires, always made it harder for me to do it. So for the most part, I just tired to shut up and keep a smile on my face.

“So what brings you all the way out here friend?”

“I’ve been backpacking around for the past few months,” I said in a dull tone. “I’m starting a new life is Seattle.”

“O, well, good for you! It takes a lot of courage to leave your home and start a completely new life.”

“I guess,” I said as if I was forced to. I had never really had a home in Florida. I left the house at 16, didn’t finish high school, never had a job. I was a classic case of a criminal who didn’t care what happened to them the next day. All I wanted to do was kill for money for as long as I could.

The rest of the trip was silent. I didn’t look at him once again. The old man had on an old 60’s rock radio station. It was getting close to midnight. It’s time to get this s*** over with.

I was preparing to get my gun out of the holster on the right side of my body. I reached over with my left hand and BANG.

Wait…what…

My whole head was spinning, I couldn’t see straight. There was something pressing onto my chest…what the h--- is going on?

My mind somewhat comes back to me as I try to look over at the old man. His head was bashed into the steering wheel, but he still had that smile on his face.

He f***ing ran into a car right as I was shooting him…he knew I was going to do it.

That b------.

I finally realized that the dashboard was what was suffocating my chest. Blood rushed out of my left side, and I was loosing my sense of being.

So this is how it all ends, I thought to myself. Funny, I though I was going to be in prison, or maybe, that everything would have just worked out. That I could have gone to Seattle and had that new life. But with $65,000 in cash and only approximately 200 miles, I guess I just came up short.