Top Class Murderers

Blind selfish quest to know someone's in depth weakness. Accepting one's self

Shoot! I missed. It is the last bullet of my Colt Single Action Army revolver or my Peacemaker.  I have wasted my six rounds even though the target was dead on. I just hope that my opponent never noticed my predicament. Oh joy, am I in a fix right now. The next thing would be the last and I wouldn’t even know what would happen next. A killer having a gun without any bullet is nothing but a grass being stepped on without a fight. I am merely taking pity of myself and my pride is suddenly vanishing. I am not really courageous and I have understood that all my courage was borrowed from those six bullets. I am nothing now, nothing but a man who is one step next to death. I wonder who he is, or what he is like. All I know is �" he had embraced me even from the start. I can no longer escape now but I need to write something down for this short time that I have left in my hands. My fingers tremble as I dropped my gun. I smiled as I have faced my opponent. I am not scared or anything. I have nothing left. I threw away my pocket diary and my fountain point pen towards him. He shot me down squarely in the chest. Three, two, one. . .  Everything is blank. I know I’m dead but at the least I know that someone would tell my story.

                I was in between the gates of heaven and hell. I am waiting for my judgment to be passed on so that I could cross over from this field of nothingness. Waiting is the most boring word for me and in actuality it is the word that will kill me slowly. I look up and I was amazed to see my opponent reading my diary. He smiled and began to walk home while reading it. He arrived home while putting down his double barrel French 99 automatic shotgun, shortly after; he called out his son while telling the words that have been engraved to him upon reading my diary. “We kill the things we love. . .”

                I reminisce my days. You could describe me as an insignificant pimple on the world’s smallest amoeba’s butt. I am really insignificant. To put it simply I am a no body but here’s the catch I am a very keen observer. Nothing passes without me noticing it. As I grow up I learned to use my ability and for me to use it to its optimum state. I have joined a band of rebels. We are called the radical dreamers; each of us wields a different type of weapon. We are ought to be the most feared men that walks the Earth. I enjoyed the glory and power. We ransack villages and turn them upside down and inside out. We are maniacs who were born with killer instincts. Yes we are born to kill. We breathe the smell of blood every night, we reap the innocent and the bad, and we kill for the mere sense of enjoyment. We face numbers of men, both of great warriors and mere pawns of the head of the town. They wield guns and bombs and directly point it to the four of us yet when the sun breaks, men would fall and on top of every dead bodies there stood the gruesome band of murderers; we the radical dreamers. We are a family who spoke with one language. �" killing.

                I remember my brothers well. I have all the time I need to reminisce everyone. I wonder if time still moves in this world of nothingness. Here it goes the radical dreamers.

 

Swords

                “My katana is my soul and my soul is my katana.” Kenjiro is our fearless leader. He knows nothing but to kill and reap blood. He says that the more blood that touches his two katanas the sharper it will get. He mastered the art of Kage no Mai (Dance of the Shadows). He could draw the sword and wave it within a split of a millisecond. One shot one kill. Every strike can kill. He decimates and slices his enemies without mercy. His eyes were fixed as though you would never be able to see light again if your eyes gain contact with his. His noble words were; “To create new life we must kill to return the souls to the creator. Someday the world would thank me for doing so.” This is his philosophy. He wishes to cleanse the world by his ways. He is amazing but for me he is just a man who needs guidance. He is walking astray the path of being good.  Once we have arrived on a certain city. A battalion of soldier blocked our way they fired all the bullets they had towards us but Kenjiro never flinched he blocked every bullet by his swords. He slashed his way in a fashionable style. Blood rained down and we moved on forward.

                We walked down the street killing everyone in sight. Kenjiro is calm, he is always calm. We arrived at the last block of the city. There we found an old woman smiling towards Kenjiro. She crams to her bag and reaches out a letter. She is giving it to Kenjiro. I blinked for a moment. I opened my eyes and then I saw the old woman bathing in her own blood. Still Kenjiro is calm but he took the letter of the old woman. The night of that day Kenjiro suddenly laughed out very sarcastically. Then he just knelt down and wept. Morning came and all we saw was Kenjiro’s dead body. He killed himself by the use of my gun. We found his swords safely in their sheath. I read the letter in his hands. Your master is happy that you have been a wonderful swordsman. You are his blessing and may you have a wonderful life ahead. Kenjiro me and your master are your parents. We love you and we always wish you happiness. We kill the things we love. The calm Kenjiro now matched the state of his swords now. They have found their sheath, the one that would control all the anger and hatred that his katanas feel just like as he have found his parents. “Our gifts can either destroy or beautify our lives,” the truth is humanity thinks and does the opposite. Kenjiro found his answer in a very rough way.

                Swords and sheathes �" Finding a purpose for our blessing.

 

Fire

                Duvan is a Russian scientist who devoted himself in studying the secret knowledge of Alchemy. He roamed the world while strengthening himself. For him nothing is more interesting in the realm of Alchemy than the art of Pyromancy (Fire Manipulation). He joined us for he admired the philosophy of Kenjiro. I wouldn’t join you because I want to help you. I want to join you for me to claim all the lost books of Alchemy. He is a selfish man who only thinks about himself. He travelled with us but most of the time he is chanting different spells and practicing them onto the corpses from the battles that we have won. His favorite spell was the dragon heart. It burns the enemy’s heart without even leaving a trace of burns in their skin. They will just drop dead while screaming in pain. He laughs ridiculously in awe of himself.  I am brilliant and no one could ever stand up against me, not even you Kenjiro.

                We grew tired from walking from town to town leaving nothing but ashes. Duvan incinerates everything until there is nothing left. One day we arrived at a town called Desagguero a town of ancient libraries. He didn’t know about its existence. As usual we attacked and killed everyone. The chief begged for his life but Duvan used his favorite spell on him. “Cry in pain you worthless pig.” He then started to run wild and began scorching everything in sight. He is a mindless fool. He casts fire all over the place. Just then the chief let out a small cry. “Our precious library, our very treasure, the knowledge of Alchemy ends here.” Then the chief died. Duvan’s eyes widened as if he is in the middle of life and death. He surges into the library building without thinking. All the books there were all about Alchemy. It is the complete compilation of everything. He knows how to cast everything into flames but he didn’t know how to put them out. He scanned some books that are not yet in flames. He is hungry for knowledge. He is never satisfied. He crammed onto everything and he never realized that the building is now collapsing. Kenjiro stopped me as I was to call Duvan to go out. Duvan died with his obsession. We kill the things we love. Duvan loved himself far more than anyone. He is obsessed in nurturing his own. Selfishness is like fire slowly burning inside. The dragon heart is really ironic; he burned his heart with his obsessions. His ashes will leave nothing but black soot of his selfishness and arrogance.

                Heart and dreams �" A fire of blessing that we should tame inside.

 

Perfume

                 Gustav a French artist who believes that beauty is everything and he literally means everything. He is a celebrated perfumer and he attracts everyone by its scent. He treats everyone as a slave. For him everyone is gullible and they are all crazy about being beautiful. Truly nothing would make you more beautiful than a whisk of an enchanting perfume. Gustav is disgusted of all the humans who are foul. They deserve to die rather than to live and destroy my art. I will create a perfume that will entice them and kill them. I will do them a favor. They have experienced the pure art and beauty of the perfume of Gustav as they go to their peaceful rest.

                Town after town, Gustav will throw a bottle full of perfume that is mixed with odorless poison. People are lured to the smell and they will continue to inhale deeply as they unknowingly die. They all die happily. It is the least Gustav could do for them. One morning we have came to a town full of women. They all wear perfume and for Gustav this is the place in Earth that he could live. It is as if he is walking in a garden full of different fragrant flowers. He is happy but he is also greedy. He said “No one will ever surpass my beauty.” Then he released the toxic perfume. Every woman in the town searched for its whereabouts then one by one they have found it. One by one they died. The last remaining woman arrived at the place of the scent of the perfume. She said out loud “I am in heaven this is so amazing, the most wondrous scent that I have ever witnessed.” Then she died. Gustav had created the perfume but once he didn't have smelled it. He suddenly ran off the safe zone then began inhaling his own creation. He is happy. He has created a really heavenly scent but as it goes he also died in an instant. We kill the things we love. Beauty captures everyone, but its deception will give birth to madness.

                Art and Beauty �" madness of every person.

 

Guns and Lights

                As for me I am their gunslinger. I use my peacemaker as a tool for death. Every time I pull the trigger is a choice that I have made with my own hands. My gun can load up to six bullets. I can reload them within the span of 3 seconds. I have mastered them and used them for my personal gain. I am the only remaining member of the radical dreamers. The smell of gunpowder and blood sticks on my sleeves. I am a sinner and I have done things that no one could ever have imagined. I killed thousands. I consider myself as a demon but beneath my form and darkness, there is a light that resides in me, the wisdom that my brothers have left for me. I am the living legacy of our misfits and wrongdoings. But I am dead now. I have been killed by the man that I have loved. I could even trace the words in his mouth just before I closed my eyes. Celeste I love you and I will never leave our son like you did. I killed the very thing I have loved. I joined the radical dreamers to prove something for myself. That dreams are nothing but a waste of time and faith. But I was wrong. We are nothing but murderers.

                We blindly killed the ones we love. We took every blessing for granted. I have never appreciated life at all. We share the same burden. We have killed everything in sight but instead we are slowly killing ourselves. I envy those who are living and breathing in Earth right now. I wish I could have spent some time with my only son.

                My gun taught me one thing. We couldn't stop our decisions when we have pulled the trigger. Every bullet is precious time that we must treasure. Humans tend to follow after power, knowledge, beauty, and purpose. All of these tend us to choose between the ones we love and the road that we must take for our own. As long as there is hatred, greed, selfishness and arrogance each and every one of us would be a murderer of the future that once was set to be given to us by God. You murder your own future as well as you stain your past.

                Take every second as if it was the last and treasure the things that are given to you. Yes, things that is worthy to be given a chance to live. Try to open your eyes and ask yourself how many dreams have I murdered? We deserve chances and the road ahead is filled with light and hope. Try not to kill dreams, life, love, and happiness that supposed to have been yours this very second. Magically we dream but desperately we kill.