The confession of a murderer




Everything that has a beginning has an end.

The familiar saying is always there, reminding us that the cruelty of the reality is not going to spare our pitiful existence, not even spare minute, or even seconds of life and let us have some nick of a millisecond to draw in fresh air, to think freely, or even to be still, to be relaxed, to be unhindered by any suffocating happenings in the world. That, I truly believe that it’s a universal truth, that we human had never truly relaxed before, or put it in a more critical nomenclature, we human never let ourselves catch a breath.

Yes, again I stressed and believe that everything that has a beginning has an end.


Exemplas Gratia, the end of school holiday is an imminent outcome when you finally come to a end term holiday. This holiday had provide me means to indulge in my own seclusion, to read a good book, eating silently, wasted the whole day just lie there, ears jacked into a variety genre of music. It’s carefree lifestyle actually, and the first few days passed by in a kinda rapid manner.

However, as the holiday progressed, things start to turn sideways as the nature in us as a social creature cries out for accompaniment, for a earnest ear to talk to, and a companion at times of boredom which came out of nowhere. No man is an island, as the saying goes, implies that the true nature of homo sapiens never includes solidarity, by which arise yet another question, who then, decide to isolate from the pack of social animals and live a abnormal, unnatural lonesome life??

Forget it, the chase for the truth for all kinds of lame question in the world wouldn’t bring us any closer to the real truth. I shall delay those questions for another stories for another time, if only I’ve been granted to live that long. Human, men or women all the same, had blinded themselves with all sorts of physically-attainable wealth, that they have lost their original nature themselves. Take me for instance, I find it hard to converse, to express my own thoughts and feelings through a careful choice of words, which is the basic of building up a good communication. What had our national education methods taught us?? To be idiot literates.

Yes, where’s our generation’s mannerism?? Where’s our generation’s code of honour?? We’re just some bunch of literated, educated idiots roaming around claiming to have bright minds. What a paradoxical statement, the sheer irony drifting amidst of us, the greatest lie widely accepted by all.

And set that aside again, I know this is not usual for me to write something like this, but this I tell you : During times of despair, hours can be years, minutes lapsed like decades, seconds can feel like a century.




Time seems to drag slowly in its continuum
Moments of life stops as everything of it amplified
The pretty became beautiful
The ugly became sadistic
And I am given no choice but to murder

And finally I’ve done it
Am I’m not even gonna be ashamed of it
As if it’s something that’s ethically misleading
I just murdered
Some time

Some-little-time





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