I have experienced so much rage.
So much. RAGE.
And where has it gotten me? Nowhere. Absolutely nowhere.
Ranting and raving at a computer screen, making abstract lists I have neither the time or the true will to enact.
Why? Perhaps I was still clinging to the unfairness of it all. Outwardly cool and collected, inside screaming at my loss. And then forcing that loss upon others. Showing them a little bit of the universe's grand indifference.
Then I found the Box, with its neat ability to capture little... moments around it. And I used it, delved into the minds and bodies of others, feeling their suffering as I tortured and murdered them. And you know what I discovered?
They will never come close to what I feel. Every moment of every day, every second infinitely worse than the most brutal of tortures I could force upon them. This realization... was worse than the moment I first drew breath in this piece of ground meat I am forced to liken to a body. The fact that no matter what I do, I will always be at the highest peak of suffering; that at any given moment, no other person is capable of experiencing the pain I am shackled to at the basest form of my existence.
And this is why I decided to shoot myself. I picked up the nearest shotgun, pressed it to my temple, and pulled the trigger. Now imagine my surprise when I woke up. There was a stain from where my brains had landed on the carpet, but no other sign of my death excepting a little scar where I think my skull had exploded outwards.
I am beginning to believe that my level of suffering has transcended humanity. No being that can feel this pain can be human. No man can disintegrate his skull then wake up with a vague hunger for havarti cheese.
So enough of my pettiness, my rage, my pity, my loathsome habit of forming grudges. Consider the list abolished. I resolve to no longer target any individual.
No. This year, everyone dies.