Reasons

Today’s prompt: “There are often three reasons for something: the reason we tell others, the reason we tell ourselves, and the real reason. Write about the war among the three.”

Other members of the congregation often approach me in awe. How do I always end up with such a high body count for Our Dread Lord Cthulhu? Why am I able to murder so many people to honor The Great Dreamer?

I always smile and tell them something about how the Master of R’lyeh inspires me, or that it is the Dread Cthulhu’s own malevolence shining through me, making me a better killer. I let them think I’m just that much more true a believer, that much more pure a vessel for his hatred and murderous rage.

Most of the time when I’m murdering someone, though, I don’t have to pretend to piety. Most of the time when I’m killing someone, I’m just telling myself, I really need this now. I just need to spill some blood. Work has been really stressful – my boss has been pressuring me to land more accounts, but it’s such a slog to do all the prep work for the sales pitch only to have to throw myself out there at the mercy of the buyer. And things are really rocky with Becky right now. Three nights out of the last two months, she’s taken the kids and stayed with her parents. Sometimes the murder is the only thing that makes me feel normal.

But occasionally, like today, when I’m taking a chainsaw to your guts, it hits me, the real reason. I kill so much to cover up the fact that I’m a fraud. I kill so much because I know I’ll never be good enough. Dread Cthulhu will never smile on me. I kill to pretend that’s not true, but it is.