I’ve heard it said that what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.
But what if only a part of you is killed? What if an essential, human part of you was stabbed, set on fire, run over and then run over again, stepped on, stomped on, and spit on, but your physical body remains alive and conscious? What would that make you?
It makes me powerful and dangerous, because I care for nothing or no one but my revenge. No one can hurt me, persuade me, engage me, sway me, frighten me, or touch me.
There’s no need for me to go into the details of my upbringing. You can well imagine. Suffice it to say that I will track down my parents, and my brother. My grandparents, certain schoolmates and teachers, certain employers and coworkers, and certain people I feel don’t deserve to share with the world their hypocritical happiness.
People are foolish, and try to reach me. They try to change me. They try to love me. I don’t consider myself one of them anymore. I have ceased wondering why I was put upon this earth, and why my life has taken the path it has.
I only want satisfaction. Satisfaction gleams and dances like a spinning prism, just out of reach. It must be what happiness feels like.
I’m not a murderer. A murderer might be apprehended, and spend a life in isolation, away from those he seeks to ruin. No, I work every moment, every day of every year, to reach my goals. No-one is murdered, not by me.
Soon I will be in charge. I will be the leader. I will then, inch by inch, breath by breath, senator by senator, take hold of absolute power. I am strong, invincible, and dedicated.
The tribunals will be held every week, much as I would like them to be a part of our daily life. Weekly tribunals will keep the terror fresh and new. I may send my soldiers to find my father last. I will let him wait.