This feeling pervaded everything in my life, yet the first few months
after realizing my goal, I had done nothing. Then one day, as I was
driving home from work, I noticed two children crossing the street. They
were happy, happy to be free from their troubles. I knew, however, that
this happiness and sense of freedom were much too overwhelming for them.
This happiness was mine by right. I had earned it in my dreams. As I
neared the young ones, I put all my weight on my right foot, keeping
the accelerator pedal on the floor until I heard the crashing of the
two children on the hood, and then the sharp cry of pain from one of
the two. I was so fascinated for a moment, that when after I had stopped
my vehicle, I just sat in a daze, sweet visions filling my head. My
dream was abruptly ended when I heard a loud banging on the front
window. It was an old man, who was using his cane to awaken me. He might
have been a witness to my act of love. I was not sure, nor did I care.
It was simply ecstasy. As I drove home, I envisioned myself committing
more of these "acts of love", and after a while, I had no trouble carrying
them out.
The more people I killed, the longer my dreams were. I soon quit my job,
and stayed at my house in an almost comatose state. My dreams grew longer
and more vivid. They kept me alive and proved to be the only thing
to live for. I had killed nearly 38 people by the time of my twenty-third
birthday, and each one was more fulfilling than the last.
