Homocide: Murder One

Something’s come over me today. When I was coming from work today, I felt like killing someone: that someone could have been anyone, could have been me, her, him, it, that guy over there, that girl over there, anyone. If Singapore had allowed guns, there might have been a homocide reported today, and if I had my way, a suicide would have been reported.

But I guess, the law saved the lives of some people today, and habit prevented me from dying. If habits were easy to break, I would have broken my habit of life. As I was thinking these death thoughts, I was thinking about my future. How would I react if I was raged and facing my wife? Would I murder her?

It scared me, so much so that I felt compelled to call up the Mental Institute of Health and self-admit. I wanted someone to die today — so much.

I have been through “rages” before. I would smash and destroy, and use brute force all over the place. But during those moments, my rage was targeted towards objects, not people. Today was different… it was towards people… even after I stepped off the train, I glared at the people inside, in a show of contempt of their lives, in contempt of mine, and in contempt of everyone existing today.

To those who dared, or were smart enough, to have ended their lives early, I salute them. Life shouldn’t be lived alive, it should be lived dead. And actually, that’s what most people are doing. A life lived alive, will make a person want to die, for a person truly alive will see, and be enlightened that life is suffering, and if smart would detach himself from suffering, and thus life.

And I used to be happy. This morning I was esctatic, right now, downright low. So damn the world. I don’t know if I can take extremes anymore. Life in the middle seems the way: if I’m never happy, I’ll never be sad.

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