Machines At Their FinestUnder this calm demeanour I am a murderer. My family however, doesn't see me as such.Machines At Their Finest3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
My family are murderers. I too am a murderer.
True that it isn't often you'll find me disembowelling the enemy like the rest of them on the battlefield.
Not by hand anyway.
I am a handyman. A jack of all trades.
Its these trades that keep me alive.
On bloodless days my family ask me to fix broken things. Doesn't matter what it is, anything will do as long as my hands and mind are kept busy.
Perhaps this is why I'm not considered a killer?
I often wonder to myself, "what makes a murderer? The hands that use the weapon that kills? Or the hands that built the weapon that kills?"
What happens if both components of that phrase applies to myself?
Surely if either one makes a murderer, then both would make a monster?
While my family rush around the battlefield, dodging bullets, screaming, enraged, fighting for their lives, I'll be sitting. Waiting.
Waiting for that one sorry bastard to walk into