When I was young, the fact that that people died after you killed them seemed
to be an random addendum, some sort of price tag. Somehow the passivity
of death after such a violence did not have the same logic that it does
for me now. To kill someone, I thought, would it not give them more power?
Would they not be fueled by resentment or anger? Death seemed to be such
a thin membrane, only a tunnel. Surely it could be traversed if one had
reason enough or desire. And you wanted them to return, to confront you
with their death. You kill because you want a response. And that is what
nightmares are. They are these deaths reborn within your head, they would
spring out of it. Murderers do not seem to be aware of the finality of death.
Later their heads begin swelling, aching.
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