/lit/ - Literature

It appears as if I have entered into a game of cat and mouse with someone who lives in the same apartment building as me. How exciting. I have always relished the opportunity to kill a man. I would welcome and open and shut case for justifiably doing so. The whole ordeal partakes of an intricate puzzle. The foe in question works in the building, and may have access to my very apartment through said “master keys”. If I get him fired, perhaps that would be his breaking point and he’d seek me out in vengeance. If I simply slit his throat and string him up, that of course, would be murder plain and simple and I am in no rush to go to prison. The ideal circumstance would be one in which I get to kill him without any legal trouble, which would mean I bait him into acting.

What’s more, I’ve had paranormal visions of a man fitting his description infiltrating my abode at night and harming me in bed…perhaps it all fits together.

I feel as though I have been inserted into a paperback pulp-fiction misery novel with me as the protagonist.

I could easily dispatch this man in fair one on one fisticuffs. But if he shoots me in the back of the head with a revolver or assassinates me unawares out of nihilistic abandon then I don’t know what to say. Again, I can’t do what is needed and simply execute the fucker on sight because of the laws of the land.

Rest assured the I am in the right. This guy’s job is to be nice and all he has done is give me the stink eye every time I walk into my building. He does not understand what restrained and tested brutality he toys with underneath my placid surface. I am ready to kill. I am fascinated by the concept.