Chapter Fifty Three: The Haunting of Generosity

Again, the Killer was feeling something foreign in his own body that he was unable to fully identify; however, this time it was very much stronger. The extreme emotion was haunting him, taunting him, and it was deliberately stealing his inner focus and strength. It was a pestering disease in his opinion, and it continually drains his energy as well as his stamina.

It was three days anew since he committed his last murder; and for his predetermined schedule of events that he gallantly imposed upon himself (and for him to diligently follow), this current situation is quite delayed to be considered exemplary. Even his greater thirst for blood was trying to say something upon his deliberate nature: his present demeanor was costing him more time, and it gambles with an assurance of the certainty of victory. Above all else, that should never be allowed to happen to him. There will be no visible escape for his person, after all the audacious desecration of life that he already did.

He was holding an obvious resentment against time as a matter of fact, because time took away from him every rational being that he had loved and served with full devotion all of his life. For him, his acquired immortality has become an unbearable curse, and he had decided long ago that it was the fundamentals of time that must be faulted for all the experiences of his evident misery. It was a stupid error to consent to an eternal life, just to spend its entirety all alone, and he was regretting every decision that he had made in the curiosity of his own youth.

He was a walking dead. But he is undead.

In fact, he was never too sure anymore if it was by his own greed that he was able to be incarcerated within the invisible jail surrounding this unique ability. It was already too late for him to reverse the consequences of his choices, no matter how hard he tried in the past; and with all the sincerity that he could afford to muster. For years, he had sought friendship and peaceful relationship with everything and everyone around him, and he tried to cope up and live in harmony with his past, and with the view of his immortal future. But nothing better had worked for him.

The pain of regret hits him every time.

Every time he tries and becomes totally happy with the celebrated moments in his life by trying to live normally, he was still left with nothing but bittersweet memories in the end, and a grieving heart that is too burdensome to hold. It was truly self-balancing, the feelings of happiness and sadness, which therefore characterizes the same misery of his self-contradicting arguments.

And to further add insult to injury, no one he has ever loved was left behind when it was time to grieve for him. Or to bid him goodbye, and to give him a heartfelt eulogy in order to honor his life and his legacy. His immortality was slowly eating his perception of his own worth, as well as his sense of purpose, just like any rust would do a certain destruction to an iron. One by one, everything else that this eternal existence have to offer has lost its own predestined luster. Life soon becomes meaningless for him, and as it gnaws away against his soul day and night, it then gradually turns into a complete case of involuntary worthlessness.

He was not truly immortal, no; he was tricked to become this monster of the undead, and he seeks death more than anybody else that exists in the universe. He was vicious, and bloodthirsty. That last bit of him is somehow a confession that he considers to be very true. Of course, he already wanted to end his own life. And he wanted it to be more than just painful. He must suffer greatly, involuntarily.

He hated his life as long as he could remember. Even before his choices were the source of his sure downfall, his life was already desperate. Falling apart and wasted.

For him, the smell of blood from all his victims has been a source of immediate comfort. The effect was very similar to the indications caused by an illicit substance, and it calms him down and brings back his temporary sanity. But now, this weird emotion that was haunting him for many days was another reason why he wanted to kill other people in the first place. Any unwanted effects of this false immortality given to him was the very enemy that he wanted to subdue all his life.

There is nothing good in this world; there only exists a shameful double talk. All of them are pure hypocrites trying to portray any "purported" goodness to cover up the several repressed schemes in all of their delusion of grandeur.

After all, a two-pronged tongue belongs to a serpent. Even the situation of nature is a sure testament upon itself.

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This Chapter is sponsored by Valentino.