Last confessions of a murderer.

On a cold dark night I decided to do it. My motives were many. Its crimes against me were innumerable. It took everything away from me. I'm old and didn't feel scared. Ironic, really.

I had considered many ways of committing the crime--yes, killing is a crime and I knew it. I'm not about to offer any justification for my act, my crime. All I can say is that I decided to do it. I planned for days, weeks. I could feel the pressure building through days of busy work and a hectic schedule.Because I knew what lay waiting for me at the end of it all.

I planned. Yes, I confess, this crime was premeditated. I planned it step by step. It would have been so easy to use any one of verious methods. Poison, a bullet, a rope. All these options were open to me. But I chose none of them because these would directly affect me. And I wanted to triumph over that which wronged me many times. Many times. Ah, the irony of it!

Perhaps I need not have done it at all. I would have survived. But I saw--and see--no reason to not commit the crime. I cannot say I forced myself. It was completely out of free will. I even enjoyed it. Yes, I admit to that too. I enjoyed it!

But let me tell you something, before you judge me, my parents, my family, my sanity, my morality and all else associated with me. Let me tell you. You are guilty! Guilty, at this very minute of the same crime I committed!

But now... now as my pen grows slower and slower, as the seconds tick by, I realise the futility of my act. But I didn't realise it then, when I committed the crime.

Yes, I went through with my plans of vengeance and murder. I committed the heinous crime. I leaned forward, picked up the remote and turned the television on.

(People going What obscure crap! may want to refer to the comments section.)