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The Mass Murderer's Manifesto

By

Dante L. Cocina

### Text Copyright © 2010 Dante L. Cocina, All Rights Reserved

### Copyrighted with the United States Copyright Office

### Library of Congress Catalog

### SMASHWORDS ADDITION, FEBRUARY 2014

### Author's Note

### This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

### This novel was not written to trivialize mass murder but to help us better understand it. It is my belief that if we as a society take the time to understand and empathize with those unfortunate people who think that hurting themselves or others is the only way to express their anger and frustration, we will prevent such horrific acts in the future.

### This novel contains adult themes and content. It is meant for mature readers only and is not suitable for anyone under the age of eighteen.

THE MASS MURDERER'S MANIFESTO
PART ONE: NATHANIEL SHEA'S TALE

  1. Black Friday

### I never liked Black Friday. The mindless, lemming like rush to department stores that officially starts the holiday season embodies American consumerism at its worse. A nation hoodwinked into the notion that standing on a long line before the sun rises is a much better idea than sleeping in on the day after a Thanksgiving.

### In a few hours department stores and malls nationwide will be filled with shoppers pining to take advantage of the doorbuster deals that Black Friday is famous for.

### What has become of America? During the Great Depression the millions stood on bread lines in hope of supplying their family with a decent meal. Today millions shoppers, some old, some young, some sitting, some standing, most of them bundled up from head to toe, are camped out on lines in front department stores nationwide in hope of supplying their family with big screen televisions and video game systems.

### When I think about all those demented shoppers suffering through several hours of a cold winter's night just to make sure they get first dibs on sale items, I thank God that's not the case with Ethan's Entertainment Center; the store where I am the weekend and holiday store manager. We open in three hours and there are no consumers in site but that won't last for long. It's a little after three and within another hour or so people are sure to be here.

### I'm in the store preparing for the onslaught of holiday shoppers who have been salivating over our blockbuster deals since they were first advertised in newspapers weeks ago. Normally I would be completely annoyed by the fact that I was up before the break if dawn and about to be inundated by a mob of people, but I'm in good spirits because today I plan to give our shoppers – no pun intended – more than they bargained for.

### I extend my arm to push open the glass door to exit the store. The gasoline residue on my hands leaves licorice colored handprints on the glass. I must have entered in and out of the building over a hundred times in the last two hours. I walk to the burgundy colored minivan that I rented for today's special Black Friday event to grab the last two gas canisters. What seemed like an insurmountable task a few hours ago is near completion.

### With each hand I grip a canister and rush back into the store in attempt to escape the cold. I feel my back spasm. Three trips lugging heavy equipment to and from my apartment to the department store in the cold has taken its toll on my body. But like a soldier or a star athlete on the brink of victory, I block the pain out of my mind and focus on the prize.

### I slowly pour gasoline out of one of the gas canisters onto the carpet as I walk down an aisle. With every step that I take I hear the squish of my feet settling into the drenched carpet. Every inch of the carpet and every flammable item in the store is layered with a thick coat of black gold.

### I make sure to pay special attention to the supply room which is not only filled with hundreds of cardboard boxes but is close to the only emergency exit in the building. An exit that I have sealed shut and placed a wall of gasoline soaked boxes in front of.

### I also give close attention to the front entrance of the store. About five feet into the store are security scanners. I wrap each scanner in paper and pour about two gallons highly flammable lighter fluid on them. The type that my Uncle Tony often used to ignite the coals in his old red and black rust covered grill. He loved watching the flames quickly rise into the air after squirting lighter fluid from the squeeze bottle directly unto the hot coals. He would drive my aunt Norma nuts when he did that.

### It's about 4:30 in the morning when the last of fifty gas canisters is completely empty. The entire store is saturated. I hear the squish, squish, squish under my feet when I walk toward the front entrance and out to the van again. I check the box that I have placed on the passenger side seat containing several Molotov Cocktails that I prepared earlier. My semiautomatic rifle balances on the hump on the floor of the van right between the passenger and driver seat. Everything is in perfect order.

### I slam the door and feel my back spasm again. I suffer through the pain as make my way back into the store. I check the time again. Its 4:35. I turn to look down the street and see bodies start to emerge from the subway station exit a couple of blocks away. I group of about twenty people speed walk through the brisk air armed with their thick coats, gloves and skully hats. All eyes fixed on their target. Small clouds of warm air escape their mouths with each breath they take.

### I walk through the store aisles and start to turn on all of the display televisions. It takes me about fifteen minutes to turn all of them on. With every minute that passes it seems like the crowd waiting outside of the store doubles. I find it amusing how the customers waiting outside form an orderly line without the pleading of our security guards; all of whom I instructed not to come to work until 9 am.

### By 4:55 AM there is a huge crowd gathered at the entrance. I see a few people at the front of the line scanning the store over, probably attempting to plan their rush toward the item that they came to buy. I turn my back to them, take my cell phone out of my pocket and dial 911. The emergency operator picks up and says, "This is the 911 emergency hotline, what's your emergency?

"I think my next door neighbor shot his wife. They were arguing and then I heard gun shots. Now I hear their children crying."

"Did you see this happen sir?"

"No , I heard it. I heard three clear gun shots. I'm scared to leave my apartment."

"Where are you sir?"

"I'm at 555 57th street, apartment 27G, please come quick!" I hang up and chuckle to myself, "That should keep the police away from here for a while."

### Opening time has arrived and a large crowd of about one hundred people, some of whom are glaring at me, have gathered in front of the store. I walk to the front entrance with a cheesy grin on my face. I unlock and open the doors and all of the shoppers enter and hurriedly walk toward whatever item it is that they came to purchase. A couple of shoppers point their noses up and say, "Do you smell gas?" but quickly ignore the distinct smell of gasoline permeating the air and race toward the 50% off signs that are posted above the television sets in the right corner of the store.

### During my preparation for this grand event I often asked myself questions like - What does burning flesh smell like? What it would feel like to have your sweat evaporate from your pores before it even forms? Or what is it like to smell your own hair burning?

### I rush through the aisles, to the supply room in the back of the store. Before exiting the back door I light a large rolled up chuck of newspaper on fire and throw it toward the boxes that are dripping wet with gasoline. I'm amazed at how quickly the room is consumed with fire. Within seconds the room is engulfed in a blazing inferno. I knew I didn't have much time so I dart toward the back door. I make haste to slam the back door shut and run around the block to the front entrance.

### When I get to the front of the store I lock all of the glass doors at the entrance with padlocks and chains except one. I set fire to another ball of newspaper and toss it at the security scanners that I covered with paper and drenched with lighter fluid. A wall of fire almost instantly emerges.

### I hear someone shout "Holy Shit!" from inside the store. The wall of fire at the entrance climbs to the ceiling. I run to the van, grab the box of Molotov Cocktails and place it on the floor near the store entrance and begin to ignite them. I hold my lighter the gasoline soaked rag tucked into opening of each Molotov Cocktail and one by one toss them as far into the store as I can. I am shocked at how fast the fire spreads as I try to lock the last glass door.

### One alert shopper notices what is about to happen and burst through the last open door before I attempt to padlock it. I try to move the U shaped metal shackle into position to close the lock but it won't shift. The combination of working with a rusty old lock, my freezing cold shaking hands and the distraction caused by colossal man running at me in a bull-like charge, all create a situation that was not conducive to quickly chaining and padlocking a door to trap hundreds of people in a blazing hellhole. With a yell generated by a pure will to survive, the hefty man rams his body into the door and I take flight. I float through the air for what seems like five seconds before landing on my back with my rifle still strapped over my shoulder. I look up into the winter night sky. My view of cumulus clouds and slowly descending white snow flurries is quickly blocked by a stampede of boots, sneakers and swinging arms as a crowd screams past me. My attempts at rising from the ground are thwarted by an onslaught of strikes from thick soled winter boots and a few boney knees on several areas of my body, including my head as people run frantically by me.

### By the time I am on my feet it appears that all of the shoppers have safety made it out of the store. Still in a daze, I lift my hand to touch a throbbing pain that is developing on my forehead. I lower my hand to eye level to see it covered in blood. I hear someone shout, "Run, he has a gun." The screams that had dissipated for a few seconds start again. I rotate in a three sixty to see people running in every direction as far away from me as possible.

### At this point the entire store is in flames and all I can see is fire and smoke. I admire the bonfire I created as I hear the sirens of police cars approaching. I hear an officer yell, "Put your gun down or we will be forced to shoot. I stand there with my rifle in hand and analyze the flames in front of me.

### Guns fire and bullets pierce through my body but I feel nothing. I look down at my chest and I could see that bullets have entered into it but I assume the adrenaline running through my body is preventing me from feeling any pain.

### My life doesn't flash before my eyes. When your life is filled with regret the last seconds of it are only filled with thoughts of what could have been. I turn around to face the flashing red lights coming from the police cars as shots continue to penetrate my body. One finally hits my head but I continue to stand there as the police officers fire away. How can a bullet pass through my skull and somehow I'm still standing and thinking? This must be a dream.

### It's at that moment that I realize that none of this real. I was never a manager at a department store, I have no idea of how to make a Molotov Cocktail and I'm not impervious to bullets. I force myself to open my eyes and I'm awake.

### Whenever I force myself to wake from a nightmare it takes a little longer than usual for my eyes to focus. I blindly stretch my arm toward the nightstand where I keep the marble notebook that I write in whenever I am inspired to add another piece to my book. The experts say that it's best to write as soon as you wake up; especially after waking up from a dream.

With pen and book in hand I start to write the next entry to my book, my manifesto. My manifesto is compilation of my thoughts, experiences and most importantly my motives behind my plan that is set to unfold in less than a month. My manifesto is written so that I, not the media who will certainly try to cast me off as a lunatic, can tell my story. With that in mind I begin my next entry, Mass Murderer's Log Number 21 . . .

2. This is the Real World

Mass Murderer's Log Number 21 - I have contemplated committing suicide many times. At times the thought of terminating my life seems like a perfectly logical alternative to continuing to live in despair. I could imagine that there are many people out there who genuinely love life so much that it is almost impossible to understand why anyone would want to commit suicide. It is also impossible for those same people to imagine that there are people who cannot find satisfaction in any of the activities or pursuits that make them and overwhelming majority of people they know, happy. Neither is it possible for those people to truly understand how those things that make them happy can make another person feel completely miserable.

The more time passes, the more purposeless my life seems to be. Maybe there is no meaning to my existence, I think to myself as I stare at the cracks in my white plaster ceiling. The morning sunlight creates a shadowy outline of the iron security gates built into the pane of my bedroom windows on the wall adjacent to them. The windows' beige venetian blinds do a better job of illuminating the sunlight than they do to block it. I have been meaning to buy blackout curtains since the day I moved into this crummy apartment but I never seem to find the time.

### I lay in bed under two warm comforters, anticipating the sound of the alarm that signals the start of yet another work week. I imagine that most working, middle-class Americans hate weekday mornings but sometimes I wonder how many of them hate them as much as I do. While there is a lot to hate about the entire workday, it is the morning I hate the most. It is the part of the day where we creatures of habit are at our most habitual. And nothing irritates me more than mindless repetition.

### My work life is like Chinese water torture. The ceaseless flow of paperwork that crosses my desk is like the steady flow of water dripping on the head of a tortured prisoner. The constant dripping, like the pile of paperwork on my desk, is designed to drive you insane more than it is designed to actually kill you. The mind-numbing forms, quotas and deadlines that slowly erode years of my life away are similar to the small drops of water that erode away the skin on a prisoner's forehead and eventually hit his skull. It's not the pain but the thought of slowly dying that makes both Chinese water torture and my job effective forms of persecution.

### Still lying in bed, I contemplate whether I will benefit more from getting up before the alarm clock sounds to avoid hearing that dreadful buzzing sound or from another five minutes under my warm comforters.

"God I hate that sound!"

### I hate the idea of hearing the same alarm each morning so much that I actually bought five alarm clocks. Each clock with its own distinctive sound and each programmed to go off on its own designated day of the week. Yes, I have five alarm clocks but sadly, it doesn't make much of a difference.

### The alarm goes off and I creep out from underneath my covers to enter chilliness of my apartment. I pass through the living room on the way to the bathroom and click on the television so I can hear the local news and weather report while I wash my face.

### I looking at myself in the mirror, I notice the dark bags under my eyes. They remind me of soggy used tea bags that were left in a coffee mug overnight. Someone who looks this bad should have something to show for it.

### I'm on autopilot as I progress through my morning routine. I push open the sliding door of my closet. The color spectrum of the clothes in my closet includes black, grey, beige and various shades of blue. Needless to say, it's not difficult to find a sweater and matching khakis. I place a grey V-neck sweater and black khakis on my couch and make my way to shower.

### I bring thermal underwear into the bathroom with me. There is nothing worse than having to walk around a cold apartment naked after enjoying a hot shower.

### It's a shame that a pleasure like taking a warm shower must take place before entering a workday full of drudgery. Even if I am running late to work, the warm embrace from the water exiting a showerhead unto my skin is too addictive not to enjoy at least 20 minutes of it.

### The plaster walls in my bathroom are blanched almond color. The tiles are checkered black and white. I have a solid black shower curtain with a clear lining that was bought at the dollar store. The accumulation of mildew in between the tiles on my shower wall is usually a good indication of how long it has been since I have gotten laid. I only bother to clean my bathroom if I anticipate having company. The black slime between the tiles is so thick I could probably scrape it off the wall, bottle it up and pass it off as eyeliner. And probably have enough of it to make a decent profit.

### As much as I want to stay in the shower all morning, it is not worth the agony that will be caused by hearing my supervisor complain about me being late. I step out of the shower and I'm consumed by the dense steam created by the hot water. It does a great job of keeping an otherwise cold bathroom warm. It stays warm long enough to keep the bathroom at a comfortable climate while I shave, brush my teeth and get dressed.

### When fully dressed and shaved I take one last look in the mirror and nearly have a glass half full moment. Hmmm, despite the bags under my eyes, I don't look so bad for a man who eats Chinese takeout with a side of beer seven days a week. I should feel better about myself but, I don't.

### I open the door of my apartment almost simultaneously with my neighbor in the apartment directly above me. He calls out my name as if he was greeting me as I walked into a crowded pub during happy hour. "Naaaate, wassup dude!"

### I hear his keys jingle while he locks the multiple locks on his door. I have seen only high school custodians with more keys on their keychain. Chester guards his possessions like the Louvre does the Mona Lisa or an original Picasso. Like many overworked New Yorkers, he needs to compensate for the emotional detachment from his labor by filling his overpriced Brooklyn apartment with expensive and trendy amenities. Those who choose this existence are often inclined to guard their possessions like buried treasure.

### Chester seems to almost bounce as he slowly clumps down the stairs. Though I am annoyed at the prospect of having another meaningless conversation with Chester, I welcome the first human contact I will have since I left work Friday evening.

### Chester is a high school teacher who moved into the walk up apartment building that I live in around the same time that I did. Like me he is single, living alone and underpaid, considering how much education he has.

### For a while Chester and I were partners in crime. Together we took part in nights full of excessive drinking, hooking up with women and then trying to recover from our hangovers the next morning. Overtime I cut back on our activities, but Chester's insatiable appetite for booze, women and the city nightlife compelled him to carry on without me.

"What's going on man? How was your weekend? Did anything?" He asked.

"Nah, I keep it low key. Just cleaned my apartment and watched some football."

"I hear you man, I need to clean myself. I had this chick over Friday night and the whole time that I was banging her all I could think about was, 'fuck, this place is a mess.' I'm sure you can relate."

### No matter what the topic of conversation, Chester is always able to sneak in some information about his sexual exploits into the conversation. I figure it's because I am probably the only person he can talk candidly about his sex life with. I'm sure most people would cast him off as a pervert or man who never matured past his freshman year at college.

"So who was your victim this time?"

"Oh man, I was with Claudia all weekend. You know it's not my style to spend the whole weekend with a chick but she is so wild in the sack that I don't mind."

"So you were shacked up with her all weekend?"

"Nah, we had dinner and drinks Friday night, bunch Saturday morning and Sunday morning. But the rest of the time, we were going at it. I tell you, the smartest thing I ever did was to start dating older, divorced chicks. They don't care about all that bullshit like settling down and having kids. It's just all about having fun. My type of woman!"

### I looked at Chester quizzically as we walked to the train together. I was once as enthusiastic as he is about hooking up with women for no strings sexual encounters but overtime even that became mundane. Chester has been on the prowl since I met him about two years ago and is still going strong. And that's just counting the two years that I have known him.

### There has been no evolution in Chester's personality or appearance since I met him. Though, I do notice some of the effects that years of drinking Long Island Iced Teas, tequila shots and beer have had on him. His perpetually dry skin at times seems to add about 10 years to his appearance.

### Old looking skin aside, he keeps himself in decent shape by working out several times a week and dressing much better than the average school teacher. Occasionally, you will catch him leaving to work in the morning without fixing his hair or shaving but for the most part he is usually pretty well put together. I wonder where he gets the motivation to keep this up.

"So what else have you been up to? Did you really clean all weekend?"

"Yeah, I haven't been in the mood to do much else. It's so freaken cold."

"Oh come on dude, we should hang out. It's been a while."

"Yeah, I know. It's just that after I get home from work I'm bushed. I have almost a two hour commute. And lately I have had to bring work home. It's just been busy."

"You can't do that to yourself Nate. You need to live your fucking life man. When I first started teaching I would spend all night coming up with these crazy creative lessons just so those little brats could ruin it with their fucked up behavior. I was killing myself for nothing. I was wasting my nights and weekends just to get the same results that those lazy ass teachers who just come in and wing it do."

"So what do you do now, wing it?"

"Nah, no way, that would be just wrong. I paid like one hundred dollars to join this teacher's website. It has like a thousand lesson plans and worksheets for every grade level and subject. They do the work for you. Lesson plans for a whole year, in perfect order too. I just go on the website each morning while I drink my coffee, pick the next lesson in the sequence of whatever I happen to be teaching that week and boom! - I'm ready to teach those fuckers. I teach it verbatim, just as it's written on the site. Then hand out a few worksheets for the kids work on while I catch up on the scores from last night's games."

"Really? That's it? That's what you have been doing all this time?"

"Yeah dude, fuck that shit. I don't believe in all that bullshit about teachers making a difference. Can you honestly name one teacher you had as a kid that you give a shit about now? I'm just trying to make a living and party man. You only live once."

"I guess I see your point."

"I look at this way; I'm living the new American dream."

"And what is that?"

"Work a job that doesn't stress you out, pays your bills and gives you enough extra cash to enjoy your free time. Fuck, what am I going to do? Stress myself out on saving money to get married, buy a house, raise kids and all that bullshit like our parents did. Fuck that. I don't need little fuckers running around my house begging me to buy shit they don't need while slave forty plus hours a week. For what? So my wife can get bored of my hardworking ass, divorce me and take my house and kids. Then I will be in the same situation I'm in right now. I'll be single, living in a one bedroom apartment, watching sports and trying to get laid. The only difference is I would be paying child support instead of having all my money to myself. Fuck that!"

"Okay man, I get it, no need for the speech. Well, I'm glad at least one of us is satisfied and has found purpose."

### He laughs, "Purpose? I stopped searching for purpose after I graduated from high school and realized that I wasn't going to play for Yankees. You need to lighten up Nate. You seemed much happier when you were hanging with me, hitting the bars, hooking up with cougars."

"It gets boring after a while."

"Nonsense! Trust me, hang out with me this weekend. You will feel better. I haven't seen you laugh in months."

Thank God we take different trains to work, I think to myself when we get to the station. We swipe our cards and start to walk to our respective train platforms at opposite ends of the station.

"Okay, okay, let's see how I feel by this weekend, but no clubs." I concede.

"I'm not into clubs anymore anyway. Why dance all night when you could just sit at a bar and get the same results."

"Okay, we will see."

"We will see? Don't bail on me man. Just come out. Okay?"

"Okay"

"Well, have fun at work dude."

"Fun? I wish."

"Lighten up dude, it's not that serious. Life is too short to be so gloomy all the time." He says with a chuckle and steps on his train.

### My train ride to work is a long two hour commute through Brooklyn, Manhattan and into Queens. I used to try to make the most of my long trip by reading a book or catching up on some sleep but anyone who rides the New York City subway system can tell you that doing either one during rush hour is nearly impossible. It's difficult to do anything other than wrestle for space and hope that a seat near you opens up. And once you get a seat you are forced to acknowledge that they were not made for comfort while you nap. But as uncomfortable as my commute is, it is paradise compared to what I will have to deal with when I get to work.

  3. Just another Day at the Office

Mass Murderer's Log Number 22 - Many people hate their job but they continue to push themselves and find a way to cope with it because they are working for a reason. Somehow their job provides a means to an end; an end that in one way or another produces happiness or a sense of satisfaction. Maybe the income from their job provides comfort and security for their family. Maybe their job provides them status, a sense of accomplishment or the material wealth they desire. Whatever reason they have for continuing to work at a job they despise, there is a purpose for their suffering. I on the other hand have no purpose. I work and toil for what seems like countless hours just to maintain my existence and pay my bills. I work for the sake of working. It is like prison death sentence for a person like me who feels so disconnected from society that I am not able conjure up any pleasure from what it has to offer. Since I can't find anything worth working for and I don't receive any satisfaction from work in and of itself, I am a slave. A slave who works to benefit the system but gets nothing from the system in return.

### I once read in a magazine that when some people are bored they tend to overeat and drink too much caffeine. Which is probably why I religiously pick up a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich, Danish pastry and 16 once energy drink at bodega near my job before entering the workplace each morning.

### With my brown paper bag containing my breakfast in hand I walk toward the large brown building where I work. The building was originally a warehouse for an appliance company. When it went out of business it stored wood and glass products waiting to be shipped to home improvement department stores throughout the northeast. Now it's an office building that houses several social service agencies even though it still looks like a warehouse that stores wood and glass products.

### I am a Quality Management Specialist (QM Specialist for short) for one of the largest social service agencies in the city. To put it simply, I read paperwork all day to try to catch mistakes made by entry level social service workers before a city and state auditor reviews our files. Needless to say, if an auditor catches a mistake our agency could lose lots of money and the QM Specialist in charge of reviewing the file, their job.

### No, when I was growing up I didn't dream of becoming a Quality Management Specialists. Nor did I think while I was up late at night, downing coffee while I typed term papers that would find a job where I spent forty hours a week reading charts.

### I get to room that holds my cubical and I see my co-worker Jorge sitting at his desk typing away on his keyboard. He looks particularly ticked off and has headphones is his ears indicating that he doesn't want to be bothered. This is totally fine with me.

### I log into my computer and open my email to find that on Friday evening, after I left work, over twenty reports were emailed to me. The workload for QM specialists typically increases near the end of the month because that's when most reports are due. Nearly all the reports submitted to me for review are due in the next three days. This means I must review and return them back to their author in no more than two days. What a way to start the work week.

### There is no sense in complaining, I just need to accept my fate like a good soldier. I click open the first report that was emailed to me and start working. I take a bite out of my bacon, egg and cheese sandwich and a gulp from my energy drink. Before I could feel that familiar tingle of my carbonated drink hit my throat I hear Jorge speak, "Hey Nate, how are you?" I keep my eyes fixed on the monitor as I reply, "I'm okay, how are you?"

"I'm not sure how to answer that."

"Really? What's going on?" I say reluctantly.

"Can you believe that my daughter told me that she hates me?"

"That sucks man. Why would she say that?"

"Who the hell knows? Maybe she blames the divorce on me or maybe her mother badmouths me all the time. It doesn't matter why she feels the way she feels, what matters is that there is nothing I can do about it. She lives with my ex-wife; it's not like I can just go there and talk to her. I only see her on the weekends."

"So she was with you this weekend?"

"No, my ex and her girlfriend got tickets to some play that opened this weekend, so she stayed with her mom. I called her last night to see how things went and she goes off on how selfish I am and don't care about her or anyone else."

"Are you serious? That sounds like something she probably heard her mom say. But she is almost a teenager right? I you can't take the things she says too seriously. Teens say stuff like that all the time."

"I don't know. Ever since my ex asked me for money to buy my daughter some new cell phone she has been acting this way. She wanted to camp out in front of a fucking store on a school night. Can you believe that? Just so she could buy that new stupid phone. You know, that everyone is talking about. I thought it was ridiculous so I said no. I told her I'll just go online and order it and when it comes, it comes. Plus, I hate giving my ex money to buy shit like that. I rather buy it myself. Is that so bad Nate?"

"Nah, it's not. You're trying to teach her patience. You shouldn't give a preteen such an expensive phone anyway. It will probably be broken in a month." I say as a glance at the outdated cell phone on his desk.

"So instead of abiding by my wishes, my ex-wife's girlfriend decides to go ahead and buy it for her."

"That's not good."

"No it's not but she does underhanded shit like that all the time and I end up being the bad guy. My wife decides to leave me for a woman she met on-line, the same woman she had an affair with behind my back and somehow I still end up being the bad guy! I was a pretty good husband man, maybe too good. Maybe I should have been some douche bag cheater. Then at least I would be getting shitted on for a reason. Whatever happened to fucking karma?"

"Listen, you are her father and you seem like a good guy. She will see that in the end. She is just pissed off right now. She will get over it the next time you do something nice for her."

"You are probably right Nate but right now it makes me feel like sucker. After ten years of marriage she leaves me out of nowhere. Not because I cheated, was verbally abusive or some type of jerk. But because she just didn't feel alive anymore. She said that she felt like something was missing. Basically, she was telling me, 'you are boring.' How fucking selfish is that? And still somehow my daughter thinks I'm the selfish one. "

"I hear you man. You can't win these days. Either they leave you because you're a jerk or you try to be a good guy and they leave you because you're boring."

"You are lucky you are single with no kids Nate. It's a blessing, trust me!"

"I can't believe you just said that Jorge. It's children that are the blessing." The bane of my existence, Ms. Ramos says as she walks into the room. "How was your weekend gentlemen?"

"Not bad." I say with my eyes still fixed on my monitor.

"How was your weekend?" Jorge says politely.

"It was just wonderful Jorge. My husband surprised us and took us skiing. The kids had a blast snowboarding and playing in the snow. The food there was amazing and you should have seen the hotel suite. It was so cozy. There was a fireplace and a Jacuzzi. We just had a fantastic time."

### There she goes again. Ms. Ramos never passes up a chance to tell anyone willing to listen about her blissful life with her wealthy husband and kids. I guess some people are better at living this life than others.

### Once she bragged about how well her and her husband's pizzeria in their suburban neighborhood was doing. How it made over $300,000 in profit in its first year. At that point I think we all wondered why she even chooses to continue to work here at all. Maybe she just gets a kick out of the power trip she gets bossing us around.

"I'm glad to hear it." Jorge says as with a manufactured grin.

"Thanks Jorge." Ms. Ramos paused for a few moments before speaking again. I could almost feel her piercing at the back of my head. She was probably disgusted by the fact that I was not looking up at her as she spoke to us. Ms. Ramos and I appear to have different views on the importance of observing workplace etiquette first thing on a Monday morning. "Nate, can I see you in my office for a second?" she says.

"Sure." I said. I felt like I was being summoned to the principal's office, which is probably exactly how Ms. Ramos wanted me to feel. I entered her office, plotted myself on a chair near her desk and gave her a blank stare.

"Nate, I noticed that you had some reports that were sent to you last week that you still haven't completed your review on. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything is fine. I was just feeling a little under the weather last week. It slowed me down."

"Oh, I see. So why didn't you call out sick?"

"I didn't feel sick enough I guess."

"Oh I see." She said again and paused as she looked at me. "Well, now you have a lot of work to do in a short period of time. How do you plan to finish all of it?"

"I will just have to work late I guess. It will get done."

"Well, I'm just concerned because this really isn't like you to fall behind like this."

"I know, don't worry I will get it done."

"I don't want this to effect you evaluation and your merit pay. You know it's that time of year right?"

### Merit pay; the couple of thousand dollars they throw at you at the end of the year for meeting your quota for completed quality assurance reviews. It's truly a joke to think that someone would work there tail off for an extra two thousand dollars at the end of the year. But some people do it. That extra money could be used to buy a new television or maybe pay for a fight to a Caribbean island. All temporary pleasures to help distract you from the fact that your life is wasting away as you sit in a basement office for eight hours at a time correcting reports written by recent college graduates with little command of the English language.

### I didn't give a shit about merit pay or my evaluation but of course I couldn't tell Ms. Ramos that. "I don't want it to effect my evaluation neither." I say. "I will just need to buckle down and work. It will get done. I won't let you down."

"Great, that's what I want to hear." She said as she gave her typical fake grin and looked at me with a hint of confusion on her face. "You know Nate, I often wonder why someone with your credentials has worked for over two years at a job he is overqualified for. Sometimes I think you are bored and need more of a challenge."

### I stared at Ms. Ramos' face for a few seconds. I wondered if her question came from concerned, confusion or pure disgust. This person who worked and continues to work so hard to obtain status and privilege must be dumfounded by me.

"I have been thinking about it. I guess I'm just trying to figure out what direction I want to go in."

"You should start thinking about it. Great opportunities are passing you by. You are a smart and good looking man. Take advantage of it. Attack life by the horns!" She said.

"Thanks, I will." I said as I smiled, got up and walked out of her office. I didn't look back at her but I assumed that my lack of passion left her disappointed.

### Jorge seemed to have gotten himself back together by the time my conversation with Ms. Ramos was over. His meltdown was short lived and now he had his usual focus back. I knew that Jorge recently went through a divorce but up until today he spoke of it like it was the best thing that ever happened to him. He frequently talked about all of the things that he is able to do now that he isn't married.

### For a while it seemed like he was a man reborn. He lost ten to fifteen pounds, was going out with a different woman every weekend and took trips with some of his also recently divorced friends to Las Vegas and Mexico. But for about two months now there has been no talk of wild weekends or trips. He even seems to be gaining some of the weight back. I wonder if all of the adventures he had following his breakup were a subconscious attempt to prove that he wasn't boring.

### I should have talked to Jorge but I had my own life to worry about. Ms. Ramos was right about one thing, I am meant to be so much more than a Quality Management Specialist. Soon I will show the world that but for now I need to finish my paperwork.

  3. Personal Day

Mass Murderer's Log Number 25 - The cyclical and repetitive nature of human behavior is maddening. It is beyond my understanding why so many people look forward to replicating their own behaviors, those done by their family members, friends, co-workers or those of society at large. It appears to be second nature for human beings to settle into a daily, weekly, monthly or even yearly pattern of behavior. In many cases people even become depressed or anxious when something knocks them off their routine, even it is just for a minute.

### The alarm sounds. I feel my damp, cold undershirt pressing against my skin. I hit the snooze button but any hope of catching fifteen more minutes of sleep is ruined by the necessity to change my sweat drenched underwear.

### This is the usual cap to one of my sleepless nights. They typically start with me lying in bed, struggling to fall asleep for hours. When I finally pass out its usually just two to three hours before my alarm is set to go off. If getting only three hours of sleep is not bad enough, more often than not I wake up in a pool of sweat.

### Being concerned about my bouts with excessive nocturnal perspiration, I went to my doctor to get a full physical exam. I was afraid that I had some medical condition that caused me to sweat like I overdid it on an elliptical machine while I slept. He told me that I was perfectly healthy and that my problem with sweating was probably a symptom of anxiety. So he referred me to a therapist.

### After several weeks of therapy, my psychotherapist concluded that I was in deed anxious. He told me that I had an unconscious fear of growing old alone. Then he told me that my insurance will only cover two more sessions and that I needed to pay out of pocket if I wanted to continue after my coverage ran out.

### Still lying in bed I stare at the beige venetian blinds on my window, dreading the inevitable rise of the sun. Who thought it was a good idea to build in bedroom windows that directly faced the east? I really need those blackout curtains.

### The bright red digits on my alarm clock radio read 5:44. I take a grip of the power cord to the alarm clock radio and rip it out of the socket. I don't want to hear that damn alarm go off again and I'm already awake. I might as well get out of bed.

### There is no need to describe my morning routine again. No matter how hard I try to produce variety in my work day, each day ends up looking just like the last. I get up, iron my clothes, take a shower, shave, brush my teeth, put on my monkey suit, quickly check the weather, head out the door and make my way to the corner bodega.

### After picking up a ham, egg and cheese sandwich and an energy drink, I make my way to the subway. I take the same train to work every morning. I have tried to take different routes to work to break the monotony but all that accomplished was adding time and frustration to an already aggravating trip. But as monotonous as my commute usually is, today feels different for some reason.

### I swipe my fare-card and walk down the stairs to the platform. An intense feeling sadness comes over me. When I reach the platform my train is there but I don't enter it. I watch everyone else board the train while I take a seat on the bench to finish my breakfast. Inside the train there is an attractive woman wearing a black pea coat peering at me through the window. I see her often in the morning but never had the balls to speak even one word her. She has a disconcerted look on her face that indicates that she is wondering why I didn't enter the train like I usually do.

### More times than not, I see the same people waiting for the train each morning. Even if I am lucky enough to see a different group of people on a particular morning, the behavior of people traveling to work by subway is pretty universal, so it makes no difference.

### Most of the people that join me on the journey to work are dressed in blue or grey business suits or some other similarly colored work attire. Nine out of ten of them seem upset about having to go to work. They sit in their passenger seats with tired and grumpy looks on their faces. They go through their morning ritual of drinking coffee and munching on a bagel or muffin as the train speeds through the subway.

### There is one woman that I see quite often on my trip to work. She happens to enter and exit the subway at the same stops that I do. Sometimes I wonder if she even notices how she precedes through the same sequence of behaviors every morning.

### She is always enters the subway station equipped with a cup of coffee in one hand and a buttered roll in the other. She ritualistically walks to the front of the subway platform to get on the first car of the train. Once on the train arrives and opens its doors, she races for her favorite seat in the middle of the train car. God forbid if someone else grabs the seat before her. That would leave her with a pout for the first ten minutes of the trip.

### Once seated, she starts to eat her breakfast. The tiny bites that she takes from her buttered roll are quickly followed by short sips of her coffee. She always manages to finish her breakfast by the time the train enters Manhattan. When she is done eating she opens her newspaper to find and read the daily horoscope followed by the television listings. Why someone like her would even bother to read the television listings? I imagine that a person like her watches the same television shows week in and week out. She must have memorized the weekly listing by now.

### While I have only taken the time to observe this one woman in particular, I am sure that most of the people that travel to work on the subway are just like her. They repeat the same pattern over and over again and probably never question why the hell they are doing it. I am sure that many of them even like and find comfort in their repetition. They might even become upset if someone or something broke their pattern.

### There was one point in my life that I assumed that everyone felt the way that I did. I assumed that everyone was troubled by the hamster in a wheel existence that many of us are subjected to. I spent hours in thought wondering, why the hell do we give into to this madness? Why don't we all just rise up against our bosses, our landlords, our utility companies and all of the other modern day slave masters? Why don't well all refuse to go to work and stop paying our bills?

### There was a point when I was at the peak of my frustration that I wanted to slap the corn muffins, caffeine infused drinks and electric devises out of everyone's hands and shout at the top of my lungs, "PUT DOWN YOUR LIQUID CRACK AND RISE UP! IT'S TIME TO REBELL!!!"

### But overtime I began to realize that I was an odd ball in the minority of one. I was the one who was viewed as irrational and possibly insane. People loved to complain about their lives but in reality, few people actually hated it.

### The longer I sat on the subway station bench, the more I felt glued to it. It was almost as if my mind and body were saying to me, "We had enough punishment, you're not going to work today."

### I sat there and watched as each train was filled in ten minute intervals with a crowd of people on their way to work or school. I sat there until the morning rush was over. I must have watched at least twenty trains fill to capacity and exit the station.

### It is around eleven in the morning when I finally rise off the bench and enter a train. Unlike the morning and evening rush, the train car is about three quarters empty. It seems like people with no particular place to go occupy the subway system mid afternoon. Whether they are taking a personal day, are unemployed, cutting school or on their way to some odd job, it is easy to tell that they either have no interest in participating in the "real world" - even if it is just for a day.

### Crude conversations, an apparent lack of interest in dressing professionally and a laid back attitude that most career oriented people would interpret as laziness permeates the train. I would imagine that Mrs. Ramos would be repulsed by some of the individuals that are on the train with me this afternoon. She would probably assume that they were all uncivilized and lazy individuals with no interest in improving their lives.

### It is people like Mrs. Ramos that enrage me the most. I don't mind that she is proud of the fact that she is a rags to riches, or should I say a rags to upper middle-class story. Or that she believes that anyone who is willing to work as hard as she does can be a great success too. It's that she judges people who can't or just don't care to aspire to be just like her.

### Mrs. Ramos never considers that maybe the values that she and her stick-in-the-mud husband subscribe to are not absolute. They are the type of people who get hit by a midlife crisis the hardest. They work to the bone to keep up with the Jones and don't stop and take to time to question, "Why the fuck are we doing this anyway?" until they are in their late fifties. God, I hate Mrs. Ramos and everyone like her.

### It puzzles me that there are so many people like Mrs. Ramos who actually enjoy living in a manner that drives me to want to step in front of a train on an express track while it travels at full speed.

### I remember overhearing Mrs. Ramos and talking to Mr. Brown, our former Director at his retirement party a couple of weeks ago. He expressed that he was upset because he felt that he was being forced to retire. And even though he was 63 and retiring with a full pension, he still wanted to work and was bitter about being encouraged to move on. Mrs. Ramos seemed as genuine as I have ever seen her when she told him, "Mr. Brown, I would feel the same way."

### How can I relate to someone who dreads the idea of retiring when I dread the idea of going into work every morning? Hell, I wish I could retire and I'm in my early 30s.

### But it doesn't make much sense to complain at this point because soon I will never have to deal with Mrs. Ramos or anyone like her again. So for now I will put my feet up on the seat in front of me and enjoy this train ride with my fellow misfits.

  3. Blame Mother

Mass Murderer's Log Number 33 – Religion is not for everyone. The average devout religious man or woman would not agree with this statement but I believe it to be true. The same religion that can bring peace to one's life can also bring guilt, anger and turmoil to another. I am one individual who did not go well with religion. My experiences with religion have led to develop intense feelings of resentment and anger toward the religion, its leaders, its members and the society that embraces it.

### Maybe it is my own fault for taking the sermons I heard in church too seriously. Maybe it is the fault of the preacher who prophesized to my mother that it was God's destiny for me to become a preacher. Or maybe it is my mother's fault for believing that this preacher's prophecy was true and convinced me that it was true as well. Whose ever fault it may be; I spent my years as a teen and as a young adult devoting my life to following a religion out of fear and guilt.

### I rode the D train through Brooklyn, into Manhattan and then finally into the Bronx. Whenever I am in the Bronx I can't help but to think about my childhood and my mother. It has been almost six months since the last time paid her a visit. My visits to my mother are few and far between because while I do love her, her religiosity makes being in her presence unbearable at times.

### For most of her life my mother was a devoted Born Again Christian. It's hard for me to recall even one day in the last twenty years that my mother didn't start and end her day in prayer and reading her Bible.

### For years my mother's daily routine went as follows; praying for a half hour in the morning, eating breakfast, getting prepared for work, reading the Bible on the bus ride to work, working, eating lunch, working some more, clocking out, reading the Bible on her way home from work, eating dinner, reading her Bible and praying again and capping her night off by watching the local news before going to bed. This pattern is only interrupted by the church services she attends several times a week at Parktown Revival Church.

### Rumor has it that at one point my mother lived a full life. While her faith always took top priority, she found plenty of time to pursue the other activates she enjoyed.

### Every other weekend she would take me and my two brothers to a ranch in Westchester, New York to go horseback riding. In the summer we practically went to the beach three times a week with my mother's friends and their kids. She also had numerous friends that she would invite over to enjoy hours of conversation with over coffee and pastry.

### But as my brothers and I reached young adulthood, things began to change. My mother noticed that my two younger brothers took little interest in serving the Lord. In fact, they were opposed to it. Unlike myself, my brothers as they got older began to voice their discontent with how religion was imposed on them throughout their childhood and began to refuse to attend church services with her. For a mother who dedicated so much time and effort trying to ensure that her children would grow up to men of God, this was torture.

### I remember my mother reading biblical stories to us as soon as we were able to understand them. She took us to church Friday night and brought us in Sunday school classes every Sunday afternoon. During the summer we spent at least three weeks of our summer vacation in what was called Vacation Bible School, where played games and learned about the bible. By the time I was about twelve years old I knew more about the Bible than most preachers.

### Since it was my mother's primary purpose to raise children who followed Jesus Christ; she is mortified by the fact that two of her children were not practicing Christians. She spent days and nights wondering where she went wrong. Instead of questioning her faith she blamed herself. As a result she decided to strengthen her devotion in hope that God would reward her loyalty to Him by doing something to save her sons from eternal damnation.

### Unlike my brothers, I never had the courage to tell my mother that I no longer followed Christianity and had not attended a church service in years. Even though I felt that religion had robbed me of a normal childhood, I knew that telling my mother that would completely destroy her already crushed spirit.

### I get off the D train at the Bedford Park Boulevard stop in the Bronx and start walking toward my mother's apartment. My walk through the neighborhood in which I grew up conjures up bittersweet memories. Even though I was raised in a strict home I yearn for the days of my youth, partly because I would have never imagined that my adulthood would be such hell. My life of restriction as a youth is actually the last time I felt free.

I arrive at my mother's apartment building. Someone is exiting the front entrance and holds the door open for me so I'm able to enter the building without ringing her buzzer. I walk up to the third floor and to the door of my mother's apartment. I can hear the gospel music that she is playing from outside her door. I stand there for a moment and question whether I should ring her bell or if I should walk out of the building. But then I think to myself, this may be the last opportunity I have to speak to my mother.

### I ring the bell and a couple of seconds later she opens the door with a look of desolation on her face. There have been very few times in the past five years that I have seen my mother laugh or even smile.

"My goodness Nate, it's been so long since I have seen you, come in." I walk through the door and make my way to the living room. I make myself comfortable on the sofa and she sits across from me in her favorite old worn chair that she has for as long as I can remember.

### Beside the sofa is a wood coffee table with a glass center. In the middle of it is a shut off notice from the electric company with a $557.67 bill on it. Next to that is tithes and offerings envelope from Parktown Church that looks like it has a couple of hundred dollars in it. I try not to let my financially poor mother's irrational spending habits bother me anymore.

"I took the day off and I decided to come out to see you, it's been so long mom."

"It has been a long time, you should visit you mother more often Nate. Do you want something to drink? There is orange juice in the fridge."

"Nah, I'm fine." I said as I took off my jacket. "How are you doing?"

"Not too good." She said as she grimaced and shook her head. I almost didn't want to ask but I did. "What's wrong?"

### "I just got off the phone with your brother. I don't know what is wrong with him. I don't know why he is marrying that woman. She is not even saved. She is going to take him away from the Lord even more. Please pray for your brother."

### The Church that my mother attends teaches their members that a believer should never marry a nonbeliever. If this happens the nonbeliever will eventually lead the believer to stray from God. Even though my brother is not a practicing Christian anymore, my mother still believes that he will one day return to following Christ. She doesn't want anything to get in the way of that, especially a woman living in sin.

### "I'll pray for him mom. You know that all you can do is pray for him, you can't control what he does. Just pray for him and let it go."

"I try to do that but you know how much I worry about my children. I don't want any of you to go to hell."

"I know mom, I know."

### I started to realize that visiting my mother was possibly a mistake. Usually it takes about fifteen to twenty minutes before the focus of our conversation is exclusively about her concern for my backslidden brothers. Not even a minute has gone by and the conversation has already gone in that direction. And it will only get worse. I already feel a pressing desire to leave as soon as possible.

"And your other brother is completely lost. He came here and begged me for money to buy a weekly train pass so he could get to work. He told me that he found a new job. So I gave him some money and I haven't heard from him since. I just know he is out there using drugs and drinking. It makes me sad that my children are going astray."

### My youngest brother Elias is the poster boy for children who grow up in a household with two dysfunctional parents. He is what happens when a religious fanatic and an alcoholic decide to have children together.

### Elias is almost thirty and has never held a job for more than three months. What makes his story even sadder is that he is brilliant. He has an IQ of 120 and managed to score over 1300 on his SAT even though he dropped out of high school in the 11th grade. No one in our family can quite understand why someone so smart finds it so difficult to stick with a job or complete one semester in college. Everyone assumes that he is always bored and unchallenged since he is so smart.

"What type of job did he say he got?" I replied.

"Well, he is still employed by the trucking company. I thought he messed that up when he just stopped showing up to work for no good reason. But he says they are still willing to let him work. Maybe that was a lie. I can't believe he messed that up too. He was making so much money and he just stopped going. He said that he hated it and that he never wanted to do physical work. But what does he want to do? He got into a good college and he messed that up too. One day he just decides not to go to class anymore. I don't understand him. What does he want to do with his life?"

"Mom, he is just trying to figure out what makes him happy. He will figure it out, just give him time."

"That's what happens when you don't have God in your heart. You start looking for other things to make you happy. Material things can make you happy for little while but then the feeling fades. That's because only God can bring us fulfillment."

"Yes you are right mom, we need to pray for him." I said to appease her in hope that she will change the subject. Thankfully she did.

"I heard that the pastor of your church wrote a new book, did you read it?" Of course I had no idea of what of what she talking about. I tell my mother that I attend a church in Brooklyn, but I never actually attended.

"Yeah, I heard that too but I didn't get a chance to take a look at it."

"I was hoping that you could get me a copy. I heard that he talks about how God will judge America for not remaining faithful to Him and allowing gay marriage to be legalized."

"Well, I will see if I can get one."

"Please do, I heard it's a good book. I'm going to make some coffee, do you want some?"

"Sure, I guess."

### As she walked into the kitchen I tried to think of an excuse that would allow me to leave without getting her too upset. I figured the 'I just received a voice message from my supervisor and I have to go trick' would do fine. I took my cell phone out of my pocket and pretend to listen to my voicemail messages.

"Ooooh man!" I said with a disappointed tone.

"What, what happened?" My mother said from the kitchen.

"My stupid supervisor wants me to go to the office before she leaves. I forgot that I had to give her a file that I left at home. I have to go mom."

"Oh, that's horrible. You can't tell her that you can't make it? Tell her that you will give it to her tomorrow."

"I wish mom, but if I don't go I will never hear the end of it. I have to go."

"Nate, you were just here for a few minutes and now you are leaving? It's been months since I last saw you."

"I know mom but I really have to go. I shouldn't have even taken off today but I was tired. I knew I had stuff to do."

"Oh, okay, I guess if you must. It was nice seeing you again, it makes me happy to know that I at least have one son serving the Lord."

### "I know, bye mom. Don't worry, I will pray for my brothers."

"Okay, bye now." I said as I kissed her on the cheek and made my way out the door.

### I left my mother's apartment feeling more downcast than I did in earlier this morning. Being reminded that my mother is emotionally crippled with guilt and remorse caused by the belief that two of her children may burn for eternity in hell infuriated me. I am sure that most church pastors just overlook believers like my mother. They don't even take one second to consider the impact their sermons have on my isolated and depressed mother.

### My brother Thomas would make most mothers proud. He has a degree in Information Technology, works for a major University and is about to marry a professor. But to my mother believes worldly accomplishments are irrelevant. All that matters to her is that her children are following God and ultimately, that they make it into heaven.

### Undoubtedly, my youngest brother Elias, who spent the most time alone with my mother after me and Thomas left for college, probably went insane with my mother's continuous preaching and quoting of bible scriptures. The more I thought about it, the more disgusted I felt about everything; my mother's constant state of depression, my brother's drug use and my wasted and empty life. I can't help to feel hopeless. I can't help but to feel like I want to die.

### Does a person have to be depressed to consider suicide? The decision to commit suicide is typically viewed as irrational and impulsive but right now it seems like a logical decision. I have come to a point in my life where I realize that this world has little or nothing to offer me. I tried over and over again to find a single thing that made me happy. A single activity that made waking up every morning worthwhile, but I have found nothing.

### Anxious thoughts beget anxious thoughts. Linger in depression and it compounds. My mother's debt, my brother Elias yearning for his next fix, my mind numbing job, my never ending cycle of bills, my enormous student loans, my sleepless nights. I don't see that proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.

"God I want this to end!" I yell out loud. I can't take this anymore, I find absolutely no satisfaction. Nothing I try seems make life more bearable. Nothing! Changing jobs, changing careers, changing medications, changing hobbies, changing girlfriends, changing lifestyles; Nothing! No change can negate the fact this life and the options set before me make me miserable. Maybe I can finally build up the courage to make this day my last. Maybe I will finally have the nerve to go through with my plan.

### Until then I am left with the situation of working for nothing. I labor but don't enjoy the fruits of that labor. I work only for the sake of working. Who can enjoy such an existence? I definitely don't and I have decided that dying makes more sense than living. Suicide is no longer a cry for help, the result of a chemical imbalance or an inability to see the light at the end of the tunnel; it is a practical discussion! The same way a free spirited youth who feels out of place in a small town inundated with backward thinking decides she needs to move a more liberal and progressive minded city; I feel out of place in this life and I want to make my way out of it.

### There is one problem though. If I just kill myself who will care? Who will remember me? Sure, a few longtime friends and family members will be upset by my passing, but overtime they will get over my death and move on with their lives. Eventually, for the sake of their own mental health, they won't remember me at all. I will just be one of many souls who has lived and died on this planet. There will be no difference between my life and the life of the gazillions upon gazillions of people who have come and gone.

### I have decided that I want to end my life and like most people I desire to leave something behind. I want there to be some record of my existence. I want history to know that Nathaniel Shea once walked this earth. I need to do something that leave a permanent stain on the carpet of life and make a lasting impression.

### So, I wrote a short book, or what some might call a manifesto, describing my plight. I describe how this unending cycle of human behaviors and activities that go unquestioned and accepted as "the way it life is" is the source of my agony. In my book I explain to those that are peachy happy with this existence, that the things that give average person joy, comfort and purpose can actually be the source of another's misery. I explain why I had to commit what many will consider a revolting act.

### My plan while not original will be effective and the residue of my act will last longer than if I simply killed myself and left a book behind. Tonight will fill a large bag with about a hundred copies of my manifesto. I will also mail copies to family, co-workers and several newspapers.

### Tomorrow morning I will walk into the first car of the D train in the same manner I do every workday morning. But unlike my typical commute I will carry a large bag loaded with over a hundred copies of my manifesto, a light machine gun, a semiautomatic pistol and ammunition.

### Once inside I will walk from car to car passing out copies of my manifesto until I reach the last car of the train. After I have reached the last car, I will wait patiently until the train reaches the middle of Manhattan Bridge between Brooklyn and Manhattan. At that point I will pull the train's emergency cord, stopping and trapping the train in no man's land, a considerable distance from any form of police help, especially during rush hour. It is at that point that I will go from car to car once again, but this time gunning down each and every worker bee, one by one.

### One might think, how unoriginal, another psycho committing a mass murder, but that will exactly be the point! Another psycho committing a mass murder -just like the student who went on a shooting spree in his school, just like the crazy man who mailed package bombs to unsuspecting receivers, just like mailman who kills his boss and co-workers, just like man who flew a plane into a building. I will join the growing list of psychos who supposedly just don't like to see other people happy and can't see the beauty of life like everyone else. I will be explained away as just another mistake of nature, a defective human, someone with a mental illness who stopped taking their medication.

### No matter how people decide to think of me, the point is that they will think of me! And eventually my unoriginal attempt to get the world to pay attention to me will become unoriginal enough for people to realize that one doesn't have to be a psycho commit such an act. That someone does not have to be clinically insane to detest and be terrorized by the way life that most people come to know and love. They will learn to accept that people like me are an inevitable variation or anomaly that they must accept and learn to live with.

  6. Working the Night Shift

Mass Murderer's Log Number 41 - So many are quick to defend capitalism and competition because they believe it is the American way. From an early age we are taught and conditioned to want to be more successful than our neighbors. We learn that it is important to get better grades, to run faster, to be stronger, to be more productive, to be more attractive, to be better dressed, to get a better job, to buy a bigger house, to have a more attractive spouse and to raise more successful children than our peers. The goal is to have more and to outdo everyone in your path. As in any competition there are winners and losers. There are those who finish in first place and everyone else. We know this is the nature of competition and we accept it. We accept that the price of having such a system is that the losers in the system will have much less than the winners. In some cases the losers will not even have what most would consider the basic necessities. To all those that unapologetically defend this unforgiving and cut-throat system of competition I implore you, if you truly believe in this system, do not be half-hearted about it. Defenders and lovers of capitalism should in no way be offended or shocked when someone decides to take the competition to the next level and make it a matter of life and death.

It is a few minutes after nine PM when I enter the subway system once again to make my way to my office building. While some of my co-workers work evenings, the building is usually empty by 9:00 P.M. which will makes it a perfect time to make copies of my book, The Mass Murderer's Manifesto. Since I am often the last person to leave work I was given a key to the building.

### When I exit the train station near my job I am taken aback by how quiet the area is at night. It's a stark contrast to what it is like during the daytime. This is probably the first time I arrived at my job and didn't feel overwhelmed by noise and overcrowding. It makes me wonder if I would hate my job as much if I worked at night.

### There have been a few times that I have worked at night. I have always felt more comfortable and more productive at my job when no one else is around. Sometimes I wish it was possible to change my hours so that I can always work alone but that is not realistic.

### I walk into the grocery store right outside of the train station near my job that I stop at religiously every morning. I grab an energy drink and throw a dollar on the store counter. The man behind the counter who I see nearly every day but have never spoke to nods at me and I leave the store.

### Sometimes I can't stand the fact that I'm addicted to my generation's legal drug of choice. I started drinking energy drinks when I was in graduate school. I wanted to figure out a way to stay awake while I drove home after working at an internship and attending classes from 9:00 in the morning to sometimes 9:00 at night.

### To my surprise the energy drinks were more effective than I expected. They gave me such a rush and I was alert for hours. When I discovered how effective they were at keeping me attentive while I drove home at night, decided to start drinking them while studied for tests and they worked wonders. I was sharper than ever and I was able to pull off all-nighters with ease.

### Overtime I started consuming an energy drink whenever I was about to embark on any task that required sustained attention. I started drinking them to before class, before work, before I wrote a paper and even before playing cards or videos games. I loved the rush that they gave me but I didn't anticipate the crash that I experienced 3 to 4 hours after drinking them. I felt like shit and I had little choice but to drink another one and then another one four hours after that just to avoid how crappy I would feel when the caffeine rush was over. Eventually I got to the point that I couldn't make it through a day without having three or four of them. I was completely hooked.

### I wonder what they had in mind when they created energy drinks. Did they intend on creating addicts? They must have. Why the hell else would they pack three times the amount of caffeine found in a cup of coffee into a tiny little can that cost two dollars. Two dollars may not seem like a lot of money to drop at first but once you're hooked and buying three to four cans a day, it can get costly.

### Initially there were only a couple a of energy drinks on the market and they all charged two dollars or more for an eight ounce can. But fortunately for me, overtime more companies started to make the drinks and sell them at cheaper prices. So instead of having to buy an eight ounce can of the popular name brand energy drink for two dollars, I can buy a sixteen once can of a lesser known brand at the same price. That's twice the size of a regular sized can for the same price. So instead of spending eight dollars a day I'm just spending four. It seemed like a good idea at first but twice the size means twice the caffeine. Now I'm drinking about six times that amount of caffeine found in a cup of coffee faster than I would ever drink a cup of coffee. Unlike hot coffee, energy drinks don't burn your lips if you drink them too fast. They go down nice and smooth and the carbonated bubbles tingle your throat a little.

### Now I'm hooked to energy drinks and I hate it. Not only do they give me horrible mood swings but I know that they will eventually kill me. Yes, it will kill me! Sometimes I can feel my heart beat faster than it ever has. The pounding of my heart and the edginess I feel doesn't seem natural but I still drink on because I can't stop.

### The same way a person hooked on nicotine craves a cigarette; I crave my energy drink in the morning, at lunch time and around six in the evening. But unlike cigarettes anyone can buy energy drinks and become addicted.

### Sometimes on my way to work in the morning I see middle and high school students drinking energy drinks on their way school. This perplexes me because what the fuck do teenagers need more energy for? All they are doing is creating an addiction they will never be able to overcome when they get older. Where are the fucking parents? What kind of parent would let their kid drink energy drinks? What parent would let their kid drink three to four cups of coffee before starting a school day? That's what they are doing by drinking one small can of carbonated juice packed with caffeine and guarana. What do they need more energy for? They are kids. They will be worse off than me, addicted to energy, addicted to liquid crack.

### When I got to my office building I was surprised to find that the door was unlocked which either meant that someone was in the building working or the custodian forgot to lock the door.

### Mrs. Ramos' office door was ajar and I could see a dim light on in the back of the office. I heard someone rustling in her office which upset me because the last person I wanted to see was Mrs. Ramos. I didn't want her or anyone else to interrupt my plan. I walk briskly past her office as quietly as I can and make my way to my office. If it is Mrs. Ramos I assume that even she wouldn't work all night. I will just wait in my office until she leaves so that I could make my copies in peace.

### As I walked past her office I hear a moan. I sounded like it came from a male and that it was undoubtedly a moan of pleasure. My curiosity is peaked as I stand by the door and hear consistent moaning and a voice say, "Oh God, I love the way you suck it."

### Hearing that I can't help but to take a peek to see what is going on in the room. I slowly push the office door open to get a better view and I can't believe what I see.

### There stands a young, thin and muscular man completely naked with the exception of his bright white tube socks. Even though his eyes are closed and his head tilted back, I recognize him right away. It is Donald, the mailroom messenger. He would often transport interoffice mail from the various offices that we had throughout Brooklyn and Queens.

### Kneeling in front of Donald is Mrs. Ramos. She is topless, wearing a gray skirt with long black stockings. Her hands are grasping Donald's ass and her lips are wrapped around his erect penis. Her eyes are closed and her black hair with hints of grey is disheveled from Donald running his hands through it as she pleasures him. A humming noise came from Mrs. Ramos' throat as she enthusiastically bobbed on Donald's erection. The pervert in me wants to continue to watch but I came here to accomplish a goal so I make my way to the copy room.

### I prepare my book for the copying machine and think about Mrs. Ramos. For a moment, for the first time since I started working with her, I had a little respect for her. Here she is, a woman who tries so hard to keep up this pristine imagine, is in her office after hours giving a young man a blow job. She is just as frail and given to her impulses as I am but does everything in her power to prove otherwise.

### Knowing Mrs. Ramos' little secret empowers me as I get to work in the copy room. Suddenly I didn't care if she caught me making copies at my work after hours. Even though my fear of being caught has dissipated, I still didn't want Ms. Ramos to see because she has an annoying tendency to question and nag me. I can imagine that her nagging could debilitate almost any human being and force them into allowing her to get her way. I remember hearing someone once say that nagging done properly is a more effective way to get a person to do what you want than holding a gun to their head. If that's the case then I could imagine that the risk of hearing Ms. Ramos nag is the equivalent of a nuclear threat.

### I shut the iron door of the copy room in hope that doing so would prevent the sound created by the running of the copying machine from escaping the room.

### My manifesto was purposely short, about twenty pages, so making a few hundred double sided, collated and stapled copies will not take too long. I run my book through the machine and start making the copies. Within a couple of minutes I hear a knock on the door and Mrs. Ramos' voice, "Who is in there?"

"It's just me, Nathaniel."

### She opens that door and whispers in an angry tone, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I would ask you the same question but I already know what you are doing here. It seems like you and Donald have become good friends. It's good to see that you are warming up to the clerical shaft - I mean staff." I said with a brazen smile.

"Very funny Nate, what are you making copies of at this time?" She said as she tried to grab a handful of my copies but I quickly position myself between her and the papers exiting the machine. She responds with a look of displeasure.

"How about we both pretend that we never saw each other here tonight? I'll just finish making my copies and you'll finish up whatever you were doing with Donald. Then we will all just go home and never speak a word to anyone about what happened here tonight."

### She realizes that I have her pinned in a corner and replies, "How can I trust that you will never say anything about this to anyone in the office?"

"Let's just say you owe me one okay? In all honesty Mrs. Ramos, I think everyone would like you more if they knew you liked giving young men blow jobs in the office late at night. I think they would be able to relate to more because the overachieving, holier than thou attitude doesn't seem to be working with anyone - except Donald I guess."

"Fuck you Nate. I can't believe this is happening, you shouldn't even be here. Fine! Don't tell this to anyone and I will make it up to you somehow. We'll talk more about this tomorrow."

"Sure."

Typical, I think to myself as I go about the business of making my copies. She is caught with her pants down and somehow it's my fault for being here when I'm not supposed to. Those in power never want to take ownership for their sins and the impact they have on others. Instead they go on sinning and make others who commit the same sins feel like shit. Or is it that she thinks that some sins are worse than others? It must be more acceptable to suck the mailroom clerk's cock while your husband and kids think you're working than it is to show up to work twenty minutes late. Or call in sick two Mondays in a row.

### The funny thing is that if Mrs. Ramos would have walked in the copy room and apologized for all the times she treated me like less of a human for not having the drive that she has because obviously she has faults too; maybe I would have reconsidered my plan to commit mass murder. But she didn't do that because she, like many other people in power, does not want to give up her edge.

### As I make my copies I find it interesting that I don't feel tired at all. Usually around this time I am home from work, exhausted and dreading the idea of going back to work the next day. Tonight I am full of energy and anticipation because I know tomorrow will be a day that many will not soon forgotten.

  6. The Morning Commute

Mass Murderer's Log Number 29 - While there are emotions involved in my desire to terminate my miserable existence, my decision to die is not the result of irrational thinking caused by an emotional disturbance. I am not suffering from any clinical or medical condition. There is no extraordinary circumstance that I am facing that I haven't faced before. I have simply spent a long time evaluating the advantages and disadvantages of both continuing to live and suicide. I eventually reached the conclusion that suicide is the most logical and rational choice.

### While suicide seems like a logical alternative to living, I have decided that simply ending my life was not the best option for me. In the same way that I came to the logical conclusion that suicide was a viable option; I also came to the conclusion that homicide on a grand scale is an even better one.

### I usually I cherish a good night's sleep but being overwhelmed with anticipation is not conducive to sleeping. I was able to do nothing more than stare at my alarm clock and watch the time slowly move throughout the night.

### The red digits on the clock read 3:00 and I realize that any attempt to get sleep at this point is fruitless. I am too eager to fulfill what now seems like my destiny. Rather than lie in bed, I think it's time to get up and take myself and my large duffle bag filled with copies of my manifesto to Coney Island Beach.

### I have spent many nights at the beach after a hard day at work, listening to the sounds of the ocean and watching waves crash against the shore. My trips to the beach were a way of providing myself with a cheap form of relaxation therapy but my attempts at stress relief were rarely successful. Most of the time, I would sit on the beach alone and wonder if I will ever feel at peace again. Sometimes it seemed like I was doomed to live a life of restlessness, but today I feel more at peace than I ever had. And it is that sense of peace that makes me realize that I am about to do the right thing.

### I sit in the sand with my bag beside me and watch the sun rise. The morning sunlight seems to function as an alarm clock for the seagulls that begin to gather on the beach. I watch them search for and fight each other for scraps food left on the beach and in garbage cans. I watch the flying scavengers do this until about seven-thirty in the morning. It is around that time that I start to make my way to the subway station.

### I walk to the station from the beach and I can't help but to notice how internally occupied all the other people walking to the station, on their way to work appear to be. So lost in their thoughts they don't even glance at me as I walk toward the station with my unusually large bag. So entranced in their morning routine that they are not going to know what hit them.

### The obliviousness of the early morning commuters make me think about how many times I practically sleepwalked to work in a zombie like trance and couldn't even remember how I got there.

### But today I'm not on autopilot - I'm hyper vigilant and thank God I am! If I wasn't so aware of my surroundings I would have never noticed the three police officers setting up security check table at the train station. There would be nothing worse than being arrested and doing jail time. The contents of my bag are worth at least three to six years in prison. With the huge bag I am carrying, I'm almost begging the officers to select me for a bag check.

### Under normal circumstances there was no way that I was going to get pass a bag checkpoint with a bag as huge as the one I am carrying. Luckily the three officers were so focused on setting up their table and talking about last night's game, they are not paying attention to any of the people entering the station.

### I quickened the pace of my walk hoping to get through the turnstile while the cops were still distracted. My heart races as I pass them and they didn't even look up as I walk by. I swipe my fare-card and push myself and my bag through the turnstile. My neck and back tighten and a chill runs down my spine as I feel a tug on my bag. I'm caught is the first thing that pops into my head. I turn around to see that the strap of my bag is caught on one of the turnstile bars. The tension begins to ooze out of my body until the woman waiting to go through the turnstile behind me says, "Hurry up, you're going to make me miss the train!"

"I'm sorry, I don't want you to be late to work." I say with calm voice and smile.

"Asshole!" She shouts even louder.

### I laugh to myself and wonder how much she is going to worry about being late for work in about thirty minutes. In fact, I wonder how meaningless everyone's concerns this morning will be once I put my plan into action.

### Even though it is only the first stop, the D train is already full with passengers. There are very few seats still available in the first car. I stand in the back of the train and scan over the commuters as I wait for the conductor to begin our trip.

### Right now my body was absent of anxiety, unlike the way I usually feel while I ride the train to work. In my stress free state I am able to notice things I never noticed before. In the past I wasn't able to see anything outside the business suits and miserable faces that filled the train. Today I see so much more.

### There was I young woman dressed in gothic style clothing with blue streaks dyed into her hair. She is sitting at a window seat staring out toward the beach. Her jacket is black with bold red and blue trimmings. In the mist of grey, blue and beige suits she catches my eye the same way a blotch of red paint splattered on a white wall would. Her lips leave hints of purple lipstick on the straw that is dangling from the bottle of grape juice in her hand.

"This is the Manhattan bound D train, the next stop is Bay Street, stand clear of the closing doors" says automated voice through the public address speakers of the train. That was my signal to begin. I partially unzipped my bag and start handing out copies of my manifesto. Most people have no interest in what I am handing out. A couple of people grab a copy and began to skim through the table of contents.

### I feel my body shacking from my legs to the back of my neck. I clinch my jaw tight to prevent my teeth from chattering. I would imagine how I feel is similar to the feeling athlete gets before a big game, an actor before a Broadway performance or young boy who is about to lose his virginity. I finish handing out the copies in the first car and I wait for the train to stop at the next stop so I can move to the next car.

### The automated voice fills the train again, "This is Bay 50th Street. This is the Manhattan bound D train, the next stop is 25th Avenue, stand clear of the closing doors."

### I slowly walk through the train and offer each passenger a copy of the manifesto. There is a couple wearing casual clothing sharing a donut and cuddling together. Like the woman with the blue streaks in her hair from the previous car, they don't seem to quite fit in with the rest of the work bound commuters. Their eyes widened when they read the title of the book I am handing out and start to read over the material in it. I ignore their presence and focused on the blue and gray suits that pack the train. I won't want a little anomaly to quell my desire to go through with my plan. The train doors open at the next stop.

"This is 25th Avenue. This is the Manhattan bound D train, the next stop is Bay Parkway, stand clear of the closing doors."

### I move on to the next car and a woman with baby carriage rushed into the train after me and accidentally hits a man in a business suit on his leg with the carriage wheel. "Oh jeez, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it" she says. The man rolls his eyes and mumbles something incoherent.

I continue to pass out my manifesto until I reach the end of the car. From the opposite end of the train car I look back at the mother and her child. Maybe I'm making a bad decision, I think to myself. I look over toward the man who was accidentally hit with the stroller and I realize that men like him will make that mother and her child's life worthless anyway. He will trick then into believing that their life is second rate just because they are not like him. He will fool them into striving tirelessly to be like him and will cause them to join his anguish. It is my destiny to save them from such a purposeless life unnecessarily filled with struggle.

"This is Bay Parkway. This is the Manhattan bound D train, the next stop is 20th Avenue, stand clear of the closing doors."

### The next car was filled with what I am used to seeing every morning. Grimacing faces ingesting coffee with their eyes are fixed on their electronic devises while they travel to work. Even if I close my eyes I can still sense the frustration, anger, resentment and depression that exude from the passengers. It helps me to regain my focus as I pass out my manifesto to whoever was willing to take it.

### The atmosphere of despair that exists that train car carries over to all of the following cars that I enter at each new stop, giving me greater justification for what I'm about to do.

### I reach the 8th and final car and I hand out the last of the copies of my manifesto. The train is still two stops away from the last stop in Brooklyn, Atlantic Avenue, which is where the next phase of my plan will begin.

### I close my eyes to meditate. If there is a higher power and he or she has an alternative to what I am about to do, I hope that it is shown to me quickly because there is no turning back once I start to unfold my plan.

### After the train exits the Atlantic Avenue station in Brooklyn, it will cross over the Manhattan Bridge into Manhattan. I enthusiastically anticipate the moment that the train will hit the middle of the Bridge. That is where I will pull the emergency cord to stop the train and unleash the terror that has been brewing in me for years.

### A seat at the front of the car opened up and I sit down. As I sit, I slightly unzip my bag and feel the cold steel of the gun that has been hiding in it. I my life is finally going to make sense. I am finally going to fulfill my purpose.

"This is Atlantic Avenue. This is the Manhattan bound D train, the next stop is Grand Street, stand clear of the closing doors."

### This is it! I stand up and lean against the train door and to look through its window. I wait and anticipate the sunlight that will seep through the windows as the train exits the underground tunnel and proceeds unto the bridge. My hand is already on the handle of the gun inside of the bag. I glance at the emergency cord that I will shortly pull. The sounds of the subway are muted by the pounding of my racing heart. It feels as if my head and my ears each individually have their own heart beating within them. I can only faintly hear the screeching of the train wheels against the rails as it goes through a slight turn.

### Even though my massacre has not yet started, I can already hear the screams of the passengers. I imagine each person's scream being quieted by a shot to their brain.

### The train slowly makes its way onto the bridge and a sense of euphoric dissociation takes over me. I am at peace for the first time in a long time as I feel a complete disconnection from everyone and everything around me. For a moment I am free from all the expectations and responsibilities that my mother, my family, my boss, my friends, my lovers and society have imposed on me.

### I take a long deep breath and wait until the train reaches the middle of the bridge, as far away from help as possible. Staring at the emergency cord, I anticipate the perfect moment to begin my rampage. My body is filled with so much excitement a tear drops from my eye and I can still hear my heart pounding through my ears. I try to raise my hand toward the cord but I become light headed and slightly dizzy. I'm in a daze. Time seems so distorted that I can't tell if things are moving faster or slower.

### My senses almost instantly become hypersensitive and I am able to hear the screeching of the wheels of the train against the rails much louder than I heard them before. I try to gather myself so I can complete what I had planned for months to do. It's at that moment that I hear a distant voice that almost immediately brings me back to a previous period of my life. Almost in the same way hearing one of your favorite old songs conjures up memories.

"Mr. Shea? Mr. Shea?" A soft voice says. I move my arm away from the cord to look at the young woman with blue streaks in her hair. "Mr. Shea, remember me, Jayne? I was one of your students at Chestenfield High School."

### Hearing someone say my name seemed to knock me out of my trance like state. I looked at her closely and I did remember her. She was a high school student in the Social Studies class that I taught about ten years ago. I was a baby then. Only months removed from college. I remembered her being a very quiet and isolated student who I had taken an interest in.

### "Yes, I remember you." I stuttered out nervously. "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing very well, thank you. How are you?"

"Umm, I good." I said as all the built up tension and adrenaline that consumed my body drained out of me. Extreme exhaustion instantly took over my body.

"It's so good to see you. I always hoped that I would run into you one day."

"Oh, really, umm, why is that?"

"I wanted to thank you. I know it sounds corny but you made a difference in my life. I doubt that I would have even graduated if it wasn't for you."

### Her statement baffled me and all I could say was, "Whaa, what do you mean?"

"You probably don't even remember. I was such a mess in high school. I was so depressed and hated the world. I really felt like no one understood me or my problems. But talking to you in your classroom during my lunch break really helped me. You shared some of the things you went through with your family and I was able to relate. I figured if you made it, so can I. So yeah, I kinda wanted to say thanks." She said with a silly grin on her face.

### I pulled my hand out of the bag, zipped it up and stood there in shock. I wasn't sure what to say or think. There are numerous people who I have encountered in my lifetime that could of approached me at that very moment and it would not prevented me from proceeding to gun down that person along with the rest of the hopeless souls on the train this morning. But for some reason seeing this young woman and hearing her voice brought me back to a period of my life when I still had a glimmer of hope. When I still had hope for a better future. It brought me back to a period of my life where I was both terrified and excited about being an adult with his first "real" job and own apartment. It was a period of my life where I still had the courage to express myself even if it came with backlash.

"Oh, and I really like this book that you're giving out. I was skimming through some of it and it's so true. I feel the same way about society. So I really like it." Jayne said.

"Really? Well, thanks. I'm glad that you appreciate it."

"You know, I thought that it was you but I wasn't sure. Then I saw your name on the book you were handing out and then I was sure. I was like, no waaay, Mr. Shea! I'm really glad I found you, I always wanted to see you again."

"Wow, I guess that's great to hear. I'm just surprised I guess. That I had such an impact."

"Yeah you did. I remember how much grief the school used to give you for not doing things they way they wanted it done. It was like you were an outcast like me. You know, there were a lot of kids who really liked you. You were one of my favorite teachers. I just wanted you to know I turned out okay."

### As Jayne continued to talk I began to develop a better recollection of who she was. Jayne would always come to my classroom during her lunch period. The last place most high school students wanted to be during their lunch period was in a classroom hanging out with a teacher. Jayne was different though, she didn't have many friends. She kind of reminded me of myself at her age. She had a somewhat pessimistic outlook on life and questioned everything, usually to the annoyance of other students and teachers.

### It is surreal to hear that I was one of her favorite teachers. I was a total mess back then; how I could have been anyone's favorite anything? My life consisted of a depressing cycle moping around in my messy, barely furnished, insufficiently lit Bronx studio apartment; attempting to conjure up the energy to make myself presentable for work; and then making my way to work where I pretended to be a teacher.

### I remember most of the lessons I taught were concocted while on my way to work because I never took the time to create lessons at home. Not because I was lazy but because the anxiety and depression I experienced on a daily basis dominated my home life. My poor emotional state prevented me from doing anything else besides laying on my dingy futon and listening to music in the dark until the next day arrived. I would have never imagined that a walking disaster like me could be someone's favorite teacher.

"So what are you up to these days?" I asked.

"I just started a graduate program. I'm studying psychology."

"Wow, you're in graduate school studying psychology?" I replied.

### Has it been that long since I taught? I guess it has been. It was about eight years since I was a high school teacher. I guess enough time has passed for her to be in graduate school by now. When I taught Jayne she was a high school sophomore who couldn't seem to fit in anywhere and was very confused about life. And despite being very intelligent she wasn't sure where her life was going.

"So are you on your way to school now?"

"No, I don't have class till later this evening but I think I might actually take off tonight. Right now I'm headed back home. I was visiting my aunt and cousins. They live in the Coney Island area."

"Oh, that's cool, so are you still living in the Bronx?"

"Yeah, I live in an apartment in Riverdale."

"Wow, Riverdale. That's a nice area, who are you living with out there?"

"Um, well, I'm living with my girlfriend."

### I guess I shouldn't be surprised that she was in a relationship with a woman but I kind of was. I remember her having a boyfriend in high school but I guess that doesn't mean anything. Most kids in high school will do anything to fit in and appear normal.

"That's good; at least you have someone to enjoy your day off with."

"Not really, she works all day today. So, I'm pretty much going to be hanging out alone in the apartment, listen to music, eat bad food and try to figure out what to do with myself."

"I'm sure a young woman like you can find plenty to do in this city."

"Yeah, but it's going to rain today, so I just might end up drinking hot chocolate with chocolate liquor and catching up on all the television shows I missed while I was in school studying."

"That actually sounds like a pretty good way to spend a cold, rainy day. But I prefer rum to chocolate liquor."

### When I said that, she paused and smiled at me as if to indicate that she agreed.

"What are you doing today?"

"Nothing really, I took the day off."

"Really, well maybe we should hang and catch up. Would you feel weird about hanging out with a former student?"

"Not at all, besides, movies and drinks sound great."

"Well, I didn't want to be that forward. I was going to suggest we go to a café or something."

"Um, yeah of course we could do that." I said as I looked down at my bag and realized that I could go nowhere with a bag full of guns and ammo but home. "How about I give you my number and you can text me later."

"That sounds like a plan."

"I don't mind going to the Bronx. I'm there often anyway." I knew I needed to get off the train as quickly as possible to return home so pretended that the next stop was my stop.

"My number is five, five, five, twenty, seventy-six. I need to get off here."

"Okay, I will text you later."

"I look forward to it." I said while taking a grasp of my bag with both hands and making a quick exit out of the train and station. I have no idea way this just happened. Its weird coincidences like the one I just had that often makes me think that there may be a God or at least some higher power who once and awhile decides to muddle his hand in our lives. Whatever the case, I need to get home as quickly and discreetly as possible. There would be nothing worse than being caught and arrested with the contents I had in my bag. Especially in this city with its strict gun laws. I would rather be dead than spend time I jail.

### I walked briskly up the stairs, hailed the first cab I saw and jumped in.

"45th and 10th avenue in Brooklyn please."

"No problem." The taxi driver said and quickly sped off.

### Once I was in the cab I felt safe. The classical music that came from car stereo speakers calmed my nerves. I guess it wasn't meant to be. The mind is a funny thing. I was so certain a couple of hours ago that it was my destiny to commit mass murder and then kill myself. Now I'm left with that familiar empty feeling again. The ever present void that exist in me that comes from knowing that I have no purpose.

  6. The Calm During the Storm

Mass Murderer's Log Number 48 - Few people are able to acknowledge that in the same way a mass murderer cannot emphasize with his or her victims, there is almost no one who can emphasize with the mass murderer. One might say, "Well this is obvious; who can or even wants understand the feelings and motives of someone who can commit such a horrific and heartless act?" And to that statement I would like to say that the lack of empathy that a mass murderer feels or experiences from others usually begins long before the plan to commit that horrific and heartless act ever enters his or her mind. At least that is the case with me.

### Many people who suffer from depression report that their symptoms get worse on cloudy days. On the other hand, I usually experience a lift from my depression on overcastted days.

### I think there is nothing worse than lying in bed depressed on a beautiful sunny day. Unless you have extremely dark curtains that completely block the sunlight from entering your home (and you already know I don't) and sound proof windows to mute the laughter of children in the street, you will have continuous reminders that the rest of the world is having a great time while you are in bed depressed. The steady sound of the rain drops on my windowpane is more curative than Prozac or Zoloft could ever be. I felt at solace in the fact that most of the tri-state area was stuck indoors like me.

### After lying in bed most of the day I decided to turn on my cell phone. There were several messages from Mrs. Ramos asking me why I didn't show up to work. Expecting to be dead by this time I didn't think there was a need to call out sick. I texted her back explaining that I was sick and I sent her a text earlier in the morning but for some reason my phone it didn't send it. She didn't give me any grief probably because I caught her blowing Donald in her office a couple of days ago. The image of Mrs. Ramos on her knees with a mouth full of cock is still etched in my mind. I think I might lie and tell her that I took a pic of the incident on my cell phone. That would give me a ton of leverage.

### In the middle of my pondering how to blackmail my supervisor my cell phone rang.

"Hello." I heard a female voice say.

"Hello?"

"Hey Mr. Shea, its Jayne." I was a bit shocked that she called. People say things like, "Hey we should hang out to catch up sometime." But they rarely mean it.

"Hi, how are you?"

"Pretty good, pretty good. I'm just here being my nerdy self and watching the weather channel. I sort of have a fascination with the weather, I love when it rains."

"Oh yeah, me too. Sunny days sort of irk me."

"Yeah, what a coincidence."

"So what are you up to?"

"Not much actually. I was kind of wondering if you wanted to really meet up. I need to go into Manhattan to return some clothes I bought that don't really fit me. I thought we could meet at this lounge that I like to go to. It should be pretty quiet today since it's the middle of the work week and it's raining." It's strange how going to a lounge during a time when it would be least crowded seemed to be as equally appealing to Jayne as it was to me.

"Well, that sounds like a good idea actually."

"Oh cool. So it's about four o'clock now. When do you think you could get to 57th and 8th avenue in Manhattan?"

"How about sevenish?"

"Sevenish is good for me." She said with a chuckle.

"Okay, I will see you there."

"The name of the place is Chimera Lounge. I will see you there."

"Okay, bye."

### It has been months since I have socialized with another human being outside of work. It's been even longer since I have been out on a work night. I was somewhat excited but more emotionally detached than anything else. If I wasn't so ambivalent about my life at this moment I would never even think about going out with Jayne. I would assume that most attractive women in their mid twenties are fixated on finding a mate to marry and breed with and Jayne would be no different.

But why stay home? I thought to myself. If you are going to eventually kill yourself anyway, what will a night out with Jayne hurt? I rummage through my closet and find a pair of jeans and a sweater that bought last winter but never got a chance to wear. God, I'm a pathetic hermit. I throw the sweater and jeans on my couch and start to undress to shower. I wonder what this night will bring.

  6. It's not Easy Being a Man these Days

Mass Murderer's Log Number 15 – For me, the only thing as torturous as being alone is being in the company of others. It is commonly thought that there is a total emotional disconnect between a sociopath and the rest of society but I don't believe this to be true. A sociopath can be one of the most unfortunate types of human being. He is disinclined to being intertwined emotionally with other people but still has the desire to have an impact on or to leave an impression on others. The existence of such a conflicted soul can lead to unfortunate outcomes for those he encounters.

### Chimera Lounge is definitely the type of place I would typically take first dates to when I was actually dating. I could tell by the look of the place that even on a busy night it is probably not as busy as the typical New York City bar or lounge. The whole place is dimly lit and the music that they are playing seemed to invite its patrons to relax or maybe even fall asleep. There was nothing exciting about the place at all.

### When I walked in I was greeted by a plain looking pub style bar with wooden stools. In the back is a dark lounge area that is barely lit by the small desk lamps that are stationed by the burgundy colored couches that fill the area. I order a whisky sour and head toward the lounge area to wait for Jayne.

### I take a sip from my drink and look up to see Jayne walk in. She is wearing a thick black parka jacket, tight dark blue jeans and black leather boots that went a few inches above her ankles. She smiles and waves from a distance as she orders a drink. Her dark hair with purple streaks drape down in front of her face and nearly cover her eyes. Her overall look tells you to fuck off almost as much as it sparks your curiosity. With drink in hand she walks over and sits by me on the couch.

"Hey Mr. Shea." She says grinning.

"You know that you could call me Nate."

"I know but I like calling you Mr. Shea."

"I like this place, it's so low key."

"Yes, I love it here and it never is really crowded. Even on a busy night there is always a spot on a couch to sit down and chat with a friend."

"I figured as much. This doesn't seem like a place that people would go to if they are looking for a wild night out on the town."

"Nope, not at all." She said as her eyes roamed the room almost as if she was there for the first time. "So I read that little book you wrote. The one you were handing out on the train. It's pretty deep and dark at the same time. You have a very raw and pessimistic view of the world, don't you?"

### I was almost embarrassed that she read it but somewhat proud that she found it interesting. Of course I never expected to be around to hear anyone's impressions of what I wrote, whether it be positive, negative or neutral.

"Thank you. I'm glad you liked it."

"Have you ever thought about writing and getting published?"

"I did want to be a writer at one point but I guess life got in the way. Once I started working and living on my own it got hard to do anything but work and decompress."

"Yeah, life sucks sometimes. It can really drain all the passion and creativity out of a person. I was kind of forced to fend for myself since I left high school. I have been working and going to school since I was eighteen. I want to write too but who has the time?"

"Why were you forced to be on your own at eighteen?"

"That's a long story that I don't want to get into on a first date."

"So this is a date huh?" I said with a grin.

"Yeah, I guess it is."

"What about your girlfriend?"

"Well, we kind of have this agreement. We are in an open relationship. We are poly."

"As in polyamorous?"

"Yeah, we are committed to each other but free to date other people."

"So how is that working out?"

"Poly relationships are like any other relationship; extremely exciting initially but overtime it loses its luster."

"Really? I lot of people think that polyamory is the wave of the future, that in a few years most relationships will be polyamorous."

"Well, I guess I'm a little ahead of the curve then. Don't get me wrong, being poly has been a blast but I think people are getting ahead of themselves when they say it's the wave of the future. But I guess most people won't know till they try it. After enough people try it and experience its highs and lows things will balance out like the usually do. It's kind of like when you're in your early twenties and think that going out to clubs, getting smashed and hooking up is so awesome. Then you get a little older and you start to appreciate quiet places like Chimera Lounge."

"Yeah, you are probably right."

"Besides, so many people get into polyamory for the wrong reasons.

"Polyamory is the new thing that everyone wants to try now. The same way everyone was into S&M a couple of years ago. People are such sheep. They are willing to try whatever some popular book or television show tells them to do because no one wants to feel left out."

"Yeah, and if you don't go along with it then everyone thinks you're strange for being original."

"Tell me about it. I actually worked as a dominatrix in a dungeon near Jersey City for a while."

"You're kidding me?"

"Nope, I'm not. For months I spent my evenings spanking and whipping wealthy men and actually got paid for it. Since none of the workers in the dungeon ever technically have sex with clients in exchange for money, it was totally legal."

"That's kind of funny. It's legal for someone to pay another person to beat the crap out of them but not to have sex with them. What's the logic in that?"

"God knows. Anyway, when I first started I only had male clients, but after the S&M boom I had women and even couples coming in regularly for sessions. Everyone wanted to know what it was like to be dominated, humiliated, degraded, manhandled and even tortured by a professional dominatrix and I was happy to oblige for a fee. At one point I was easily making over a thousand dollars a week for just working a few hours."

### I also thought it was odd how popular something like S&M became in the United States. While I have nothing against it, I saw little difference between some of the women who worked in the dungeon and serial killers. The same emotions that drive a true dominatrix to receive pleasure from degrading and torturing her clients are similar to that of a sadistic killer gets aroused when torturing and murdering a helpless victim.

### Jayne is a beautiful woman. She has dark golden colored skin and her slightly chubby face is filled with tiny freckles that you can only see if you are sitting right by her. She is a bit overweight but has perfect curves that she knows how to show off well in her snug fitted clothing. Her hair is straightened now but I remember the full dark curly hair that she had as a high school student.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She said as she looked away and smiled.

"Like how?"

"I don't know. The way you look at me. Your eyes are soft but piercing. It's a bit arousing."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She said seductively. It almost seems unnatural for a woman like Jayne to be flirting with me. "So what are you doing with yourself?"

"I'm a Quality Management Specialist." I said and signed.

"You sounded so enthused when you said that." She replied sarcastically.

"It's a decent job that pays my bills. I can pretty much do the job in my sleep."

"You are single with no kids. Why not take a risk and go after a job that would be fulfilling? What is your dream job?"

"I'm not sure anymore to be honest."

### Jayne had pity written all over her face while she looked into my eyes and rubbed my leg. "You know, my thesis paper that I'm writing for grad school is about men like you."

"What do you mean?"

"Men have lost their place in society. The job market has changed, the economy has changed, the education system has changed, families have changed and women have changed. All of these changes put guys in situations like yours."

"What situation am I in?"

"I have done a lot of research on this. Every day society is being shaped in a way that doesn't coincide with the strengths are tendencies of men. Whether or not people want to believe this biologically men and women are designed differently. There are things that men are better at than women and things women are better at than men. It just happens that the things women are better at are becoming more marketable than the things men are typically good at or want to do.

### Middle class society is dominated by various service jobs which require you to have good communication skills; or to at least like communicating. Talking, persuading and cooperating with people constantly. All stuff that women love.

### The male mind is designed to focus on a task until it's done, to compete, to explore, invent, to pursue glory, to conquer and to solve problems quickly. It's hard for the male mind to get excited about doing many of the jobs that are in high demand these days, even if they are capable of doing them. That same male mind that is incredibly useful when building an empire is unfortunately not incredibly useful after it's built and polished."

### Jayne had a point. I never dreamed of become a teacher, quality management specialist or any of the other jobs I worked since I finished school. I hardly even liked any of the jobs I have held.

### I thought about Chester who thinks that new American Dream is to make as much money as one can without getting stressed out in the process. He thinks that since he couldn't fulfill his childhood dreams all that was left for him is partying and sexual conquests.

### Jayne continued, "The education system works against boys now too. Boys were never designed to sit quietly at a desk to read and write for hours. They are designed for movement, to explore, to construct, to deconstruct and to solve puzzles. When you ask a boy what his favorite subjects in school are they usually say gym, math or science. But schools focus more heavily on reading and writing these days. And forget about being an intelligent but hyperactive boy who gets bored with sitting in one place for hours at a time. You will end up in special education."

"I think you are right Jayne. I would love to read your thesis paper when it's done."

"Sure." She said with a proud look on her face. We both take sips from our drinks while we check each other out. Jayne takes along long sip from her drink through the skinny red straw that she caressed with her beautiful thick lips. She talks a gulp and then states, "As much as I like this place I want to get going before it starts to rain again. It's like a five minute walk to the subway from here."

"Okay, I understand." I said assuming our little date is about to end.

"My girlfriend will be away till tomorrow night. I wouldn't mind some company. I can make drinks for us and maybe watch a movie together. How does that hot chocolate with chocolate liquor that I mentioned to you earlier sound?"

"Umm, that actually sounds like a good idea."

"Cool." She said with a coy smile on her face. "I really need the company and it beats bar hopping."

"Yeah, I think I agree with you on that one."

### As we grab our coats I can't help but think about how surreal this feels. About eight hours ago I was hell bent on murdering as many people as my bullets would allow me to. Now I am on my way to enjoy a night filled with chocolate cocktails and who knows what else with one of my former high school students. The strange thing is that I feel just as alive now as I did this morning, moments before I was about to open fire on the passengers in that subway car. I feel more alive than I have felt in several years.

  6. Jayne's Place

Mass Murderer's Log Number 55 - It's hard to pinpoint where or how it happened, but at some point in my life it became extremely difficult for me to get involved in any relationship without desiring to have some type of advantage over the other person. This is because throughout my life I have seen very few relationships where actual unconditional love existed. From my vantage point it seems that in almost every relationship one or both parties are trying to obtain something other than companionship and love from the other.

### The trip to Jayne's apartment was longer than expected. From the lounge we needed to take and transfer from the D train to the 1 train and then take a taxi from the last stop on the 1 train to her apartment. Jayne lived in a cooperative apartment building in a quiet and wealthy area in Riverdale. We walk in to her building we are greeted by her doorman, "Good afternoon Jayne."

"Good afternoon Dominic, how are you?"

"Pretty good, you?"

"Hanging in there"

"That's good."

"Do we have any packages?"

"I don't think so, let check quickly."

### I could tell that Jayne had a way with people just by the way she interacted with the doorman. She is subtly flirtatious and it seems like she knows that she can get whatever she wants from a guy. If an attractive woman makes it seem that there is a chance she might have sex with a guy, that guy may do just about anything to keep her interested.

"I don't see anything here for you Miss Jayne, were you expecting something?"

"No, not really."

"Okay, I guess I'll talk to you later then Dominic." Jayne said as we quickly walk to the elevator.

### Any semblance of conversation between Jayne and I end as we walk toward the elevator. It's almost as if we both don't want anyone else to overhear what we have to say to each other. Maybe it is because we both feel that our being together is a little taboo.

### Our silence continues as we enter the elevator. I walk toward the back of the elevator and Jayne moves to the left to push the number twenty-three. While her head is turned away from me I am able to look at her lustfully for the first time since we left the lounge. Even though her torso is covered in a thick black winter jacket I am able to appreciate the plumpness of her breasts. I am also able to get a good look at her legs and thighs. The jeans she is wearing seem to capture the curves of her body perfectly. She turns around to look at me and I quickly shifted my eyes back to her face. "Do you have anyplace else to be tomorrow?" She asks.

"Oh no, I have work but I have plenty of sick and personal days saved up."

"Ok, great." She says in a cheerful voice as she smiles at me.

### We finally reach the twenty-third floor, walk out of the elevator and to her apartment door. While she looks for her keys in her coat a nervousness comes over me that I hadn't felt in years. The type of anxiety a man feels right before he is going to have sex with a woman he actually likes as opposed to a one night stand he could care less about.

### Jayne opens the door and I am surprised to see how beautiful her apartment is. It is furnished with leather couches, very expensive looking oak tables and cabinets and an enormous entertainment system.

"Very nice apartment." I tell her.

"Thanks. Well, I don't know why I'm saying thanks, it's not really mine." She says with a light chuckle. "Let me get your coat so you can take a seat and relax." She takes my coat and hangs it on a rack. She then turns to smile at me again before she walks into the kitchen. I sit on the couch and continue to take quick glances at her body now out of her thick jacket.

"So do you want that drink?" She asks as she takes a carton of milk out of the refrigerator and pours the contents of it into a pot on the stove. "Oh, I forgot I have vanilla vodka too, it goes great with the hot chocolate." She says with excitement.

"Sure, the more alcohol, the better." I say and watch Jayne as she gathers all of the ingredients for the drinks.

"So you live here with your girlfriend, huh?"

"Yes, for a couple of years now."

"She wouldn't mind me being here?"

"No, why would she? We're not doing anything wrong . . . yet." She says with a smile.

"Yet? Hmmm, Jayne, what did you have in mind?"

"I don't know, what did you have in mind Mister Shea?" She says flirtatiously as she pours hot milk into a two mugs, followed by cocoa power, chocolate liquor and vanilla vodka. After mixing the warm drinks Jayne walks over to the sofa I am sitting on, hands me a mug and sits next to me. We both take a sip from our drinks and place the mugs on the coffee table next to the sofa. Jayne then maneuvers herself into the corner of the sofa and put her legs over my legs in a playful manner. I place my hand on her leg and she smiles while biting her bottom lip at the same time. The look on her face invites me to kiss her and I do.

### Within seconds Jayne and I are kissing passionately on her leather sofa. If things hadn't unfolded today in the strange manner that they did, I might have been more concerned about the fact that a young, very attractive women is so willing have sex with me after just meeting on the train a day ago. But in a bizarre way it seems almost as if this was all supposed to happen, so I just go with it. Even though, in the back of my mind I am wondering why she is doing this. The same thought seemed to cross her mind and forces her to ask, "Are you going to judge me for this?"

"For what exactly?"

"For wanting to have sex with you."

"Um, no, no, I wouldn't judge you for that."

### Then she said a statement I heard so many times before from women right before having sex with them on the first date. "I never do this but I kind of feel connected to you." While I have heard it said a million times before it seems genuine coming from Jayne. Jayne takes me by the hand and we slowly walk together into her bedroom.

  11. Discovering a Lost Promise

Mass Murderer's Log Number 67 - You ask me, "How have I made you suffer?" I wouldn't expect you to know or even acknowledge the pain you have inflicted on me or anyone else you have ostracized. I wouldn't expect you to understand how your mere existence and attempts at obtaining happiness or contentment brings me anguish because it is in direct conflict with that which brings me happiness and contentment. My existence is in disagreement with your existence. I did not ask or try to be so different from you; this is just who I am.

### So called sex experts talk about things like pheromones and how some individuals just have a natural, biologically based sexual connection with one another. I thought that was all bullshit until I had sex with Jayne. It was almost as if every sexual experience I had in my life up until this point was leading to the day I had sex with Jayne.

### All of the good and bad sexual experiences, the moments of inadequacy, the moments of overconfidence, the triumphs and lessons learned all culminated into the perfect experience I just had with her.

### I could honestly say that the afternoon that I spent in bed with her was probably the most pleasurable time that I ever had with a woman. Jayne has a unique ability to make me feel like I can be as sexually liberated and perverted as I desire to be without making the experience seem trashy.

### After we experienced a multitude of orgasms, we lay in bed together. I feel a sense of tranquility as Jayne lays her head on my chest. As I enjoy the calm after our sexual storm, I take the time to examine her bedroom for the first time.

### It is definitely a comfortable room to be in. The room is painted in a darkish blue color with a brownish trim. The corners of the room are illuminated by scented candles. The colors and ambiance induce relaxation.

### My eyes scan the room and stop for a moment to focus on a group of pictures on a desk near the bed. Several pictures on the desk are of Jayne. I could tell that whoever Jayne's girlfriend is she is very fond of her considering how many pictures of her are dispersed throughout the room. On the desk there are also a few of pictures of Jayne with an older woman with short dark hair. The woman looked familiar but I couldn't quite remember where I saw her before. "Is that your girlfriend?" I ask.

"Yeap, that's my baby." Jayne replies.

"I'm just curious, how old is she?

"She's 45."

"You seem to like mature men and women huh?"

"Yeah, I guess I have mommy and daddy issues." She says and laughs softly to herself. "I have always been attracted to older men and women since I was in high school. I'm surprised you never noticed Mr. Shea."

"Maybe I didn't want to notice if my underage students were attracted to me or not."

"Oh yeah, I forgot. I guess I was jail bait back then." She says and laughs again. Jayne rolls over from her position on my chest to lie on her stomach and makes a face that signals that she is about to say something serious. "It's rare that I date someone my own age. It's been a while since I have been with someone that wasn't at least five years older or younger than me."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Because whenever I date someone around my own age it usually ends up turning into a serious relationship where we do stupid things like call each other three times a day. The idea of having a normal relationship really bothers me because eventually one or both parties start to wonder where it is going. I hate that. I like a situation where both people know that this is just an adventure and that nothing serious is going to come out of it. That way we can enjoy the moment with no expectations and no thoughts about tomorrow, yet still have an intimate connection. Intimacy without expectations - that's bliss to me."

"Yeah, I hear you, expectations seem to have a strange way of ruining things. I think it's unfair that sometimes we have such high expectations of our lovers. I mean sometimes people demand more from the people they sleep with than they would ever would from any of their family members or friends."

"Yeah, it seems ridiculous to have higher standards for the person you have been fucking for a couple of months than a friend you have had for years."

"I feel the same way" I say as I continue to look at the pictures on the desk by her bed. It bothers me that Jayne's girlfriend looks so familiar. I try my best to search my memory and analyze the pictures until I figure it out. After thinking about it long and hard for several minutes it hits to me. I gasp for breath when I realize who it is. Jayne's girlfriend is Promise Maywood, a pastor at Parktown Revival Church; the church that I attended as a youth and the same church that my mother religiously attends to this day.

### This discovery completely befuddles me. How could a pastor from a church that considers homosexuality a sin be in a relationship with Jayne?

"So it seems like your girlfriend makes a lot of money, what does she do?"

"I don't want to lie to you so I'm not going to tell you. She doesn't want me to tell anyone what she does."

"Why, is it something illegal?"

"No, she just doesn't like for me to talk about it so I respect her wishes."

"Ok, I guess I will respect her boundaries too. Can you at least tell me her name?"

"Yeah, I guess that's not against the rules. Her name is Promise."

"Pretty name."

"Yeap, it is very pretty."

### I can't believe it but then again I realize I shouldn't be surprised. One of the reasons I lost faith in Christianity was because overtime I came to discover that some of its leaders were liars and manipulators. To think, Promise Maywood, a woman who on many occasions has actually told her congregation that homosexuality and any sex outside of marriage was a sin, has been in a relationship with a woman for two years.

### This revelation angered me. When I consider that my teenage and young adult years were spent in a state of perpetual guilt because people like Promise Maywood made me feel horrible about wanting to do the things any person my age desired to do, my blood began to boil. I even become angrier as I thought about my mother who has scarified so much of her time and money to a church with a hypocritical pastor. How can Pastor Promise Maywood stand in front of thousands of people and say things to make them feel guilty about having premarital sex or being attracted to the same sex when she is in fact guilty of both of those things? How could she pretend to be a pure woman of God, living in self-sacrifice when she was doing complete opposite?

### I'm too intelligent to give Pastor Promise the benefit of the doubt and consider that maybe she secretly struggles with her homosexuality in private but really doesn't want to live this way. I know better. She probably feels no remorse for her actions. She makes money off the emotions of broken individuals and then unabashedly does all the things she makes others feel that they are shaming God for doing.

### In the mist of my anger I am still able to think clearly enough to realize that an amazing opportunity has presented itself to me. For whatever reason, instead of being a dead man who just committed mass murder, I fortuitously ended up in bed with the girlfriend of Promise Maywood. This is s strange series of events indeed.

### I am not one to believe in destiny but it seems like my fortunes have changed for a reason. I could be lying six feet deep but instead I have been given access to home and life of Promise Maywood. This is definitely an opportunity I can't let go to waste. It's time to come up with a better plan.

To be continued . . .
