I am probably a wicked man, but if that had ever at all bothered me, I probably would have stopped killing. Killing is my release, my sanctuary. In those brief moments, I feel free because I know that killing is the lesser of two evils, and I have put to rest a monster more vicious than myself. Because in those moments, I am made immortal and will live on forever through the lives of the people I’ve saved and the generations who will follow them.
And they will never know that I watch from the shadows. They will never see me or know me. They will think like everyone else, that I’m a monster, a madman with a special kind of twisted soul, and that is how I will leave, in obscure darkness. The same darkness I emerged from. The same darkness where I have lived my entire life. It’s where I belong.
Everyone has their own perspective of evil, and I suppose I will be the only one who ever views myself as some form of hero. They see the pain that I cause, but not the pain that I feel. They will remember my actions not my motives. They will always know my name, but they will never know me. They will never consider how much I hate myself.
I know monsters exist and that people have to believe in them. I am the monster, the hated, the sinner without hope. I am because someone has to be. Someone has to live in the darkness to protect the light. Someone has to be the villain.
That someone is me.