[ He was a loner, even as a small child. He preferred to stay in the comfort of his double-story house and imagine dark, edgy action movies in his head.1 ]

He was a loner, even as a small child. He preferred to stay in the comfort of his double-story house and imagine dark, edgy action movies in his head.1

He wasn't much of a communicator either and answered most questions with the standard "yes" or "no". Any question that threatened to break him away from his quiet self and open up would send him running and retreating in his room, sobbing silently with his back against the hard, concrete wall where he cried until he could cry no more.2

Most people couldn't understand why he behaved in such a bizarre and insecure manner and his mom was constantly advised to bring him to see a counselor but the damage had been too great to the boy that he found delight in nothing but the darkness of his bedroom and solitude. 3

The boy's name was Nijumet and he soon enough grew up in the quiet, dodgy neighborhood he lived in nearly all of his life. 4

It turns out that the boy had a traumatic early childhood with the presence of a physically abusive father and an emotionally abusive mother, of whom the latter the boy preferred. Nijumet was also sexually molested by his father and never forgot how it felt, and the wounds in his heart were so deep that they killed his personality, his joy, his optimism, his hopes, and his voice. He vowed to himself never to speak again until Madam Justice came to save him from his Hell. 5

But that justice just never came...he sought escapism on the Internet, browsing through hacker manuals, and particularly adored reading the notorious adventures of loners much like himself through articles he found on the Web. 6

In school, he never participated in any sport, although he like crushing snail shells and kicking fist-sized rocks onto the path of oncoming cars, solely, to see their drivers' reactions. 7

He hung out with what the popular jocks called "dorks" and Nimujet never once felt out of place among his fellow misfits. 8

This was because he was a genius - he was practicing his demented fantasies in his head mentally and anticipating the consequences of his imagined decisions. 9

He hero-worshipped the Columbine shooters and he taught himself how to "die with honor". He bought himself one day a double-barrelled shotgun and a jagged, Swiss army knife that he brought with him wherever he went once in his possession. He stalked the rich and successful, playing the role of a voyeur in the beginning of his adult years and later the role of a merciless, brutal killer after he knew his victims (the rich and successful) well enough; their whereabouts, their characteristics, and what they did for a living. 10

Unbeknownst to him, Nijumet was suffering from severe clinical depression and he hardly got the chance to be examined by a trained psychiatrist and was in relentless agony every single day of his miserable life. The voices in his head told him to kill those that made life difficult for him and he refused, instead taking out his torment on innocent, lively executives to temporarily satisfy his tormented, deranged state from spiralling into hopeless suicidal thinking. He went from zero to subzero in no time and got hooked on Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds and good ol' Buttweiser booze and lost track of all time and continued his same methodical killing, and self-abuse in a routine, mechanical fashion. 11

Until one day, he ran out of luck when an eyewitness identified him as a key suspect in the death of a celebrated and well-liked senior manager. He almost went berzerk and he knew his time had come for "death with honor". He filled his shotgun with a few rounds of custom bullets and slit both his wrists with his sharp-edged Swiss Army knife. He knew he was busted and to be caught and photographed and incriminated in what he did best was nothing more than sheer humiliation and he would not tolerate any more shame and mockery.12

He heard a knock on his apartment door the next day with an order to open the door. His body, numb with adrenaline and drugs, stayed where it was...locked up in his own bedroom. He waited anxiously until his heart jumped with relief as he heard the main door shatter into millions of wooden fragments as the S.W.A.T. team smashed their way into his apartment and the words "Go, go, go!" A tear rolled down his cheek, his first emotion in more than a decade as he dreaded the potential pain he was about to inflict on himself. Before the cops could open his door, he tied the trigger of his shotgun to the doorknob and placed his position in front of the weapon and sat in a samurai manner, a Japanese kneeling. His back was facing a huge, clear glass window and he stayed there for what seemed like an eternity of torture to him (when it was only a mere few seconds) and he mouthed the following words just as the doorknob turned and reacted by pulling the trigger: "Father, forgive me for I know not what I do". 13

THE END14