The Missionaries

I died that day. The day my love was lost, so too was I. That awful gloomy day shall never be relinquished from the detailed record that is my memory; wretched thing. Now all that is left of the burning fire which spread warmth within the confines of my inner self is a smouldering heap of ash whose empty coldness brings constant shivers to my spine, ever reminding me of what was and shan’t be again. Hopelessness lines my broken heart, a shield against any happiness, trapping inside only pain and fear. Fear for change, fear of love, fear of the plague of happiness that threatens my well-being and survival. For what is happiness but a promise of pain to come? Moreover, love, a dark, evil emotion that lurks about, waiting, under the guise of a bringer of joy, to strike surely and deeply, tearing you down to a pit of hatred and depression.

Hatred is the only REAL feeling; always honest, never hiding its true intent. Hatred is the only thing we can trust in this cruel, pitiful existence. We only exist to hate and hence, to destroy all in an attempt to save unsuspecting victims from the sinister crimes of those scheming emotions; love, joy, ecstasy. These conspiring diseases trap us in an addicted state of false enjoyment leaving behind a trail of hurt and misfortune. These are the most intoxicating drugs of all.

Their evil accomplices; sympathy, pity, empathy and hope, are but distractions, weaknesses which leave us vulnerable to even greater suffering. If we succumb to these temptations, we will find ourselves bruised and bitter. In our bewildered state, we will lack the strength and will to fight our dangerous foes, blindly following their misguided, destructive causes.

If we are to succeed over these greedy, misleading forces, we must let our anger control us, allow furious rage to overcome these vicious tormentors. Bring the tyrannical overlords down and drag their bodies through the dust as a message to all so-called ‘do-gooders’ This is the gospel I preach: Satan wishes not for suffering, but to protect against those blinding forces which intensify the depression it causes.

That is why I chose to kill them: so that I could save myself from the torture of heaven, and to end the dreadful storm that lingered over their ambitious and proud relatives. My only wish is that I could have saved them from themselves. They were missionaries, peacemakers; breeders of the filthy curse of happiness. I made it my duty though, to avoid their suffering.

They did not see, nor feel, deaths choking grip, as I was cunning enough to drug their systems during their short recess at the local café. It only took a sleepy driver and a well placed fishing line to catch the legs of the speeding horse’s and send the unconscious victims over a high altitude cliff... to the creepy, cold corners of heaven.