Could it be I'm falling in love?
I'm in a hotel room on the second floor. It's 6:04 a.m. I am awakened by the sound of the sliding glass door to the balcony being forced open. I quickly exit the bed and pick up a ten-pound barbell from the floor. The door slides open slowly. I am waiting with the iron plate. The intruder comes in. I bash the intruder as hard as I can in the head. I turn on the light. It's a man--Caucasoid medium build. He's dead. I pick up the body and throw it off the balcony as far as I can. The body falls into the sidewalk. I wipe off the handle of the door so his fingerprints are no longer there. I wash the barbell plate off in the tub. In the morning a policeman comes to the door asking if I heard anything strange last night. I tell him no and show him the earplugs that I sleep with. He tells me that they found a body in the parking lot and they're looking for any leads to see if anyone might have seen who dumped it. He thanks me for my time and leaves. It's great. The lady behind the checkout desk says that the cops think the stiff got dropped off by a car in the middle of the night. She says that kind of thing happens out in these parts. I got to kill somebody and get away with it. I feel great. I mean, wouldn't you? You're like me. You know how many times you've fantasized about killing someone and getting away with it clean. You've always wondered what it would be like to kill somebody. In your mind you've killed so many times it's not even funny. You've killed your parents, lovers, bosses, etc. You know that if you ever did, you would feel like the most powerful person in the world. I bet you've come up with ways to do it and not get caught. That's the only thing that stops you--fear of getting caught and doing time. That and guilt of course. I feel fine. I don't care about human life. You're all strangers to me. You're all "Its" and "Them." Fucking insects, that's all you are.