Why does it take so long for a person to die?
It's a valid question. In the end, we all die. Every single one of us, some peacefully, others painfully. But why? Why are we born, only to face death?
Some say it's a test from God. But that's just humanity coping. There's no test, no karma, no divine plan. It's just humans being humans, masking their destructive tendencies with lies and fairy tales.
Tell me, are the children born into poverty being tested by God? Or is it just the consequence of humanity's negligence?
We condemn killers, yet we kill in silence, through policies, greed, and indifference. Those in power never act for the greater good. It's always about them. Their people, their wealth, their race, their everything.
It took me years to realize who the real villains of this world are. They're not hiding in the shadows. They're out in the open. They're the ones who took my family from me.
My family was too good for this world. My mother, a kind and loving soul. My father, a hardworking man with a gentle heart. We had little, but it never stopped him from helping those in need.
"Why do you help them, Dad?" I'd ask him.
And he'd smile and say, "Because I can."
I didn't understand it then, but I do now.
Growing up, I thought nothing bad could ever happen to us. If karma was real, surely something good would come to my family, right?
It did. Something incredible.
I was twelve when it happened. Four men broke into our house in the middle of the night. They thought we were asleep. My father wasn't. He heard them and went downstairs with his old baseball bat.
You can guess how that ended.
My mother wasn't the same after that. I watched her health and mind crumble before me. It wasn't long before she passed away, too. A heart attack, they said.
That's when I understood, karma isn't real. It's just a story we tell ourselves to make sense of a senseless world. But I didn't buy into that lie.
If karma isn't real, then I'll make it real. I'll make sure of it.
The first ones to pay were the men who killed my father. I knew who they were, the police had their names but couldn't do a damn thing about it. So, I did.
It wasn't long before I expanded my crusade. Killers, rapists, pedophiles, they all found their place in the dirt. And then, the corrupt. The rich, the officials, the ones who turned a blind eye to suffering while lining their pockets.
The problem? They're all corrupt. So who's really innocent?
The media gave me a name, 'Mr. K.' A symbol I left behind with every corpse.
I know my journey is ending. It's only a matter of time before they catch me. I probably left some evidence behind when I dealt with a pedophile last week. Another day, maybe two, and they'll have me.
But if I'm going out, I'm putting on a show.
"P-please… s-stop…"
The man beneath me keeps kicking. Too much, actually.
Crack.
Finally, he's limp. I tie the rope around his neck and shove him off the edge of the hundred-story building. For a moment, he swings lifelessly in the wind. Then, with a snap, the rope breaks, and he plummets to the ground.
"Oh well," I mutter, lighting a match. "Time for the fireworks."
The ground trembles beneath me as the charges go off. The building shakes violently. I take one last look at the chaos below, flames licking at the night sky.
And then the floor gives way beneath my feet.
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