It's a Hell of a Thing

I killed a man with my bare hands. That’s not something I tell too many people and I’m not completely sure why I’m telling you now. There’s something in your eyes, I guess. It’s not that you look so much like someone I can trust. No, I don’t think that’s exactly it. You just strike me as the kind of person who wouldn’t care.

Understand, I don’t mean that in a bad way. I don’t think you’re indifferent to such things. I imagine you’re a bit taken aback by it. You’re a sane, reasonable human being, best I can tell. Not the sort of sociopath that reacts no differently to being told I strangled a man to death than you would if I told you I take creamer in my coffee. Of course, that’s not the best analogy. I don’t actually take creamer in my coffee. Black. That’s how I drink it. I did strangle that guy, though. That part’s true.

Saying you wouldn’t care isn’t right. I didn’t word that well. What I’m trying to say is that you don’t seem like the sort of person who would just rush to judgment. Like I can sit here and tell you that I killed a man with my bare hands and, sure, you’d be shocked by it, but you wouldn’t flip out, or make some hasty judgment. You’re not going to panic and assume that I’d kill you. Would you? No, of course not. You wouldn’t. I shouldn’t have asked that.

Since I brought it up, though, I want to be clear that I have no plans to kill you. I mean, I wouldn’t do that. You’re safe with me, is all I’m saying. Not that I had any plans to kill anyone that night. Not originally, anyway. By the time I did it, yeah. It wasn’t an accident. What I mean to say is that I didn’t set out to kill anybody. I wish it wouldn’t have come to that, really, but when it came down to it, I felt it had to be done. I suppose that’s how everybody feels when it happens. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be nearly as much killing going on. Don’t you think?

Am I sorry I did it? That’s what you want to know, isn’t it? Most people go straight to asking why, but that’s not really the question they want to ask. What they want to know is if I’m sorry I did it. Remorse. You know. That’s the burning question, but they don’t want to ask it. What if I said no? Well, that’d sure put them on edge, wouldn’t it? If I wasn’t sorry, then I’m liable to just pick up this coffee mug and bash you in the head. Isn’t that the way people think?

I am sorry. Every day. It’s a hell of a thing to kill a man.