I’m exhausted. I should feel guilty. Ashamed. Fear. Something.

But I don’t.

I got high at the Sour Diesel shop. I felt happy for a while. I bought two extra joints, but haven’t fired them up. They detract from the experience.

I tried talking about it with Burn. She was a bit stunned. “Don’t go feral,” she said. “Hang in there.” I chuckled a bit inside, but managed to change the subject, back down… ease up… ease up.

I’m not going feral. Some folks don’t understand. They don’t see the experience. But I do. I love it. I crave it.

I read once that the difference between a sociopath and a psychopath was the sociopath would just withdraw from society, and live a closeted life. A psychopath would be attaching shackles to their furnace. A sociopath has a severely damaged sense of morality. A psychopath has none.

I have a bit of both, I suppose. But fuck it. They don’t know. They can’t know until they open their eyes, and see what I see. That moment. That moment of pleasure that exceeds any drug, any sexual encounter, any high that can be had on this earth.

That moment when you see the life bleed out of something. When you hold it in your hands, and feel that static rush. So good. So damn good. When you break someone and see the defeat wash over them. Total fucking submission. Then you abandon them.

It started with the zombies. I shouted at one. He couldn’t reach me through the bars, but he listened to me. I saw a sense of comprehension. Then I killed him. And watched. Till the last twitch, till the last, false, agonal breath left his rotting corpse. It was beautiful. I had freed him.

I hide it of course, behind a declining sense of morality, but knowing I must portray decency, I do. I must. But alone, with nobody to watch but me, I cradle their heads, and talk softly to them. To all of them. The living. The dead. The game I hunt. The dying. The broken. Then I watch, and wait. That moment, that electric full-body orgasm that washes over me like a tidal wave. It’s beautiful.

I hope to find others that understand. That can see it. That can feel it.

For now, I’m alone. I must shield it from the eyes of others. To maintain. To endure.

But it’s there, coursing under my skin. I’m trying to aim at the darkness in society. In life. To target it. To live in society, I must enforce my morality.

The darkness. It gives me life. A beautifully crafted existence. I may be the child of a lesser god, but I don’t think I can leave it behind. I can only… dream it, do it, and live it.

I only wish I wasn’t alone.