story from asylum

story 2.

i love pretty things.   there's nothing prettier than a beautiful woman.  There seemed to have this controllable urge when I see one of those woman.  I could not really tell what is it really.  It's very hard to put my hands on the feeling.  The young psychologist is incredibly beautiful. 

it would be stupid to assume that I lack the knowledge of my sexual desire.  On the contrary, I know too intimately.  Too intimately.  That's why I am afraid.  A feeling to own, to grab, to be gentle, to be passionately, scared the hell out of me.  I want to be able to love them.  I want to be able to protect them.  They would feel happy, wild, secure, and satisfied around me.  But all I could must in reality is far away from all those ideals.  I loath myself.  And I loath those men who could not do any of these.  That's why I killed.   But they did not understand.  The so called police, counselor, judge, they don't understand.  So the injustice befell on me.  I killed a man of evil, that man deserved to die.  I am not claiming that I am the mouth piece of god.  but no, that man did not deserve to live. 

For 40 years, the only thing that could comfort me was the dreams of all the beautiful women I've ever met.  I consider it is blessing that, at the end of my life, I could see one last beautiful woman.  She permeates an air of calm, and she's both genuine and sincere.  I could just sit back and glee.  Looking at her for a glimpse, made a day whole to me.  I sleep most of the day.  Yes, I feel secure, and happy.  She brings peace of mind to me.