Haphazard Explorations & Experiments In Fiction
Some people try to understand why a college kid decides to shoot up his school, or why the girl down the street got shoved up against a wall, stripped, and fucked so bad she needed three rounds of surgery to repair the damage, or why the nice man next door decided to chop his dog’s head off with a shovel. That’s the mistake they make though: they try to understand. As if there’s always a reason.
It might just be that fucking dog barked one to many times, and it seemed like a good idea to shut it up. Maybe the way the wind blew across that girls skirt caught his attention in just the right way. What if the kid stopped thinking, just snapped, bought a few guns, and pulled the goddamned trigger? There’s no reason for the things we do. Not really.
Why do I look for men and women that remind me of her, or the guy she left me for, every now and then? Why have I hunted rapists, child-molesters, and the occasional murderer? Or the upstanding husband, looking out for his family, or the mother of three? Because I felt like it. Let me repeat that: I felt like it. Just desire and follow through. But reason?… No.
(Merle Jensen ∴ No Reason)
(Originally published on March 7th, 2013)