Intrusive Thoughts of a Psychopath?

Every morning, every day, the same.

Every morning, every day, the same old humdrum.

Wake up, coffee, shower, shave, brush teeth and floss.

Get ready, leave house.

Let those intrusive thoughts run wild as I make my way into my favourite cafe. I say favourite...closest to home is perhaps more like the truth.

Have you ever looked someone in the eyes and thought, as you take in the full exent of the emotionless expressionless way their eyes meet yours, that the world might not be such a bad place without them in it.

Without them standing there in front of you, mouth gaping open wide, the surly look of a teenager that has been told by their parents to clean their room.

Without them muttering just beneath their breath in response to your questions as you wait for them to take your order.

Your order which you are going to pay for at their crappy cafe. Your order of the dullest sandwich, most bitter coffee and driest cake you've ever had.

It may seem like a bit knee-jerk reaction to bad customer service to want to rid the world of their existence. To make a widow or widower of their better half, to make their parent's childless and orphans of their children.

But, still, for a fleeting moment, before you sit at a free table to the back of the poorly lit room.

Before you slurp that first slurp of bad coffee and think things can't get much worse.

Before you take the first bite of the overpriced tasteless sandwich.

You imagine pummelling their face into the floor and leaving a cranberry-hued mess of blood, skin, bones and flesh. Something a bit more interesting for the flies to feast on.

How dare they make your life and world and experience that little bit crapper. Just because they are fed up.

How dare they indeed.

Of course, you leave the cafe and leave a tip because you may have anger issues and definitely be on a spectrum of some kind, but you're not a complete monster.

Then, when you walk down the street, and have to avoid all the bloody people standing in your way. This is a pavement for walking, not standing and talking about this and that, that and this. You just missed a bus, but don't worry, some old fella with nothing better to do is about to chew your ears off about the blood shrinkflation or some such nonsense. You look at his neck, all wrinkly and leathered and wonder how many breaths he has in him. How easy it might be to strangle the life out of the old sod then he wouldn't have to worry about the size of Kit-Kats or the amount of crisps you get in a regular bag of Walker's. You for a second, zone out his mutterings as you imagine the sweet delerium as you feel his crumpled, dry skin in the palm of your hands and feel his weak lungs pushing air through his windpipe as it feebly tries to reach his facial exit hole.

Fortunately for Old Walter or Arthur or whatever the hell his name is...I snap out of it before I snap his neck.

After a stress-filled but drama-free bus ride to work, I spend the rest of my day helping people travel to their next life.

Not nearly as satisfying as it sounds, as they are already dead before I get my hands on them.

The smell of burning flesh, though, soothes me.

At the end of a hard day, a shot of whisky, steak and chips and bed.

Time to prepare myself for another day in this dull existence I've carved out for myself (when really I want to carve up someone).

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: This idea was begging to be written. So I obliged. Obviously a work of fiction. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it...may become a series in the future..