Beat the living shit out of someone? Fine. Knife one of those mask-wearing crazies in the shoulder? Done that, not a problem. Suppose I have to add homicide to the list.
It's getting to be a pretty long one
at this point. So you killed a person. That's done. Bravo. No point in dwelling on it, right? I thought you'd gotten over this already. It's been two days.
I just killed a person. Fuck.
Obviously not, you've reduced a human being to a bloody pulp. That's murder, remember?
Never mind that you don't remember doing it yourself, that's just making it fucking worse, isn't it Robin?
Leave it up to the imagination to fill in the blanks in the most unpleasant way possible.
It was a mask-wearing prick who wasn't all there. You could hear it in his voice. Sick, like a rabid animal.
Was he really even human at that point?
I don't know; you're the one fucking asking.
It was shaped like a human being. It moved like one, but it was wrong. Wrong shape, something just fundamentally wrong about it. Not that that it matters either. He's dead. Done, over with.
Oh fucking hardly, or you wouldn't be fucking monologuing over it, would you? Dumbass.
Are you even sure you're feeling guilty about that? And besides, you stopped going to church years ago. After she died, remember?
No point in stopping now, is there?
Doesn't seem to be. At this point you're fucked either way, so what's the harm in a little more? You'll go crazy and die, or get murdered by some idiot in an out-of-season halloween costume.
You really don't have time to waste, do you?
And to be perfectly fair, it'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it just a little bit.