It was distressing how many problems a good murder could solve.
[AN: According to the doctors, I am now officially fine. According to me, there is still a tightness in my throat that I am going to see my doctor about]
Too many arseholes in the world. Far too many. But if one could select an arsehole to excise from reality… If you could pick the ones who were most to blame for the current, sordid state of reality…
If you could pick off the ones who made their wealth from others’ pain…
Ah, but those are the ones with the most security. They’re the ones who isolate themselves in armour-plated ivory towers. The ones who think they’re safe.
But they still let people like me in. To clean for them. To dress their hair or do their makeup or their nails. To ensure that their life of leisure is never besmirched by a mote out of place.
They trust people like me.
More fool them.
It’s an easy thing, to come in when expected. Easier still to find some expensive treat and add a little extra touch.
A virus here. A pathogen there. A little arsenic for old time’s sake. Never the same way twice. Never working for the same company twice. Sometimes it’s advantageous to be so poor that one can only ever get temp work.
And one by one they fall. While invisible me carries on as always. Weeding out the true scum of the earth.
One rich asshole at a time.
Sooner or later, the money will go to someone who wants to do good with it. All I have to do is bide my time, weigh them up and, once I have found them wanting… administer justice.
All the others want to be caught because they know they’re doing something bad. Most of these arseholes? Nobody will miss what they do very much. Nobody really cares. Not about them.
[Muse food remaining: 45. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]