The Dark Passenger [REWRITING]

Prologue

I believe I'm a monster. Prowling the streets in the dark of a moonless night, I pondered upon whom to pick as my next target. I had a very special ritual reserved for the one tonight. However, picking a lamb for slaughter happens to be the more arduous task. The list of qualifying applicants was long and it didn't help when all of them fit the bill so well.

I remember my last hunt as if it were just yesterday. Although, it turned out to be a bit of a disappointment. I never expected her to be so composed. Even in the face of impending doom, she had held on to that fleeting sense of pride she'd nurtured over the years. It's never any fun when they don't scream. The kill then turns into something you have to do and not something you need to. I felt no satisfaction as I pushed the blade deep into her bare bosom. She wasn't worth the patience. It was just better to make it clean and quick.

But tonight, it'd be all about satisfying the need; I've waited far too long for it. At times I wonder though; does justice ever exist in a kill? Or is it just a mirage; an illusion? How exactly does one justify a murder in cold blood? I know world leaders do it all the time in the name of the general good. But aren't they only doing so to satisfy their own personal agendas? Is it justified when someone does it as revenge? How can one be sure it eases the soul of the deceased? Or if such a soul even exists? Aren't they just relieving their own grief and remorse? I believe my situation would be a lot easier to empathize with in comparison.

My victims; they're all special. The lowest of the low. Scum of the society that walk around in sheepskins; the best money can buy. Convinced by their arrogance that they've nothing to fear. Their lives, though seemingly perfect from the outside, were drowned in the vanity of nothingness; edged on by the abuse of drugs and alcohol. And the things they do to give meaning to their otherwise fruitless existence might just as well make me look like a saint.

So am I a saint? The skeletons in my closet would certainly beg to differ.