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There is a stereotype that murder – of human or animal – is bad. But why no one wants to look at murder as necessity? As a method of regulation and survival? Like a basis for evolution? In this sense, murder is quite good.


Perspective: Dmitry Kiperov


"I am a killer".

This thought weighs me down. My body is aching like from any other lucid dream I had before, but this thought brings even more pain: I saw all that dream both from the girl’s and the man’s perspective at the same time. I am feeling sick: I know all of that was wrong, but some deep part of me enjoyed the view. It enjoyed the power, I felt. Not only when I saw this dream from pastor’s eyes, but also before that. When I ran up a building, when overpowered the guy in the bar and… Screwed the hot babe. The memory of this part overlaps with the child’s perspective I saw, and I feel close to vomiting.

I try to sit in the bed and feel someone on me: it’s that babe from the bar… Wait, I’m still in the dream? Fuck... I hate multi-layered dreams.

The girl is naked, her right arm on my chest and right leg over my right leg. She is, like, hugging me. Her face seems a bit worried: probably some dream or the other. She has some nice curves… My right arm is just over her head, not being used like a pillow, as would be expected. I try to reach out to her thigh, to feel its roundness and tightness. The position I am in is not really comfortable, so I am able to reach her stomach only, just a bit over the thigh. As soon as I lay my hand on her, the image of sperm on the belly of the one from another layer of a dream gets into my head and I feel even sicker than before. I sit up in a quick motion, covering my mouth. Besputha wakes up:

- Some… Something’s wrong?

- Nah… Just not feeling so well.

- Headache?

- Yeah, - I lie, - a migraine. I get those sometimes. And… To be honest, I do not do… Well… This. So, guess, it can be considered as some stress.

- I figured you are new to this. Need something for the headache?

- No, no… I think I just need to go to a more regular place for me. Well, home.

- You sure? I can make something up to eat, if you want…

- No, no need, - I say, starting to gather my clothes. Every time I look at her, I am remembering that girl for some reason and it is hard not to vomit over her. I need to retain my face here, even though this is a dream, too. I mean, this is a place, where I can behave like I want, right? – I’ll just go home to recuperate and then… I’ll call you.

- O-okay.

I leave her apartment. Somehow the feeling of euphoria that I felt… Wait, was it yesterday? Do dreams even have concept of yesterday? Well, before. The euphoria I felt before got replaced with some kind of emptiness and heavy weight on my shoulders. I am walking slowly somewhere; I think that is the way home. Even if it is not, I just want to try to walk it off, this feeling of burden.

At some point I start hearing steps behind me. Two or three men. I do not like the sound of their footsteps, like there is something bad going to happen. Robbers so early in the morning? I feel uneasy and… I think I am seeing myself as in a third-person game. It’s like I am out of my own body, yet I still feel it, but I am not the one who is actually playing this game: I am just a spectator.

I see myself starting to run and three guys are following me. I turn right into a dead end and stop. I try to force myself to move, to turn around and continue running, but my body is not listening to me: it listening to… Something else. To movements of the pursuers. To their breathing, their heartbeats, their footsteps, their hairs growing on their renewing skin-cells. All three walk right after me. Two of them stop and the third one is walking towards me, playing with a wooden plank:

- No point in running, - he says and swings the plank.

My body turns and strikes out with the left arm, which crushes the wood as if thin ice. Not even losing the momentum, the same arm grips around the guy’s neck. I feel tingling in the palm and then the warmth of blood pouring from the wounds on the guy’s throat. I see… I have no idea what I see. Is this another layer of the dream? Or are these the guy’s memories? So… Vivid, as if I am living them right now. All his life in just a few seconds, that are trying to be interrupted by the second assailant.

But my body does not seem to mind. I just sweep him away. My right fist feels just a tiny bit of resistance and then more blood on it. The poor bastard’s head is nothingness now and his body is bending the wall and painting it red. Although the blood does not stay there for long, it keeps flowing towards me, slowly, as if controlled by some unseen force.

I drop the first assailant, since he is now dry of blood. Small black spikes on the left palm retract themselves back into my skin. The last guy turns, planning to run away, but I stretch my hand towards him, and feel the skin bulging, being ripped apart by a huge sharp bone. It is covered in my own blood, but not for long, too: blood retracts as if by command and starts mending the torn-up muscles and skin after the bone launches forward.

The projectile reaches its target faster than my skin is mended. The last enemy is nailed to the ground now, his guts falling out and off his pierced stomach. But it’s not enough. Oh no… It’s not enough of a punishment for trying to ruin my walk, you shithead. You’re still alive, yes? Guess what? You may still feel it, when I’ll be slicing your skull open.

Skin on my right arm is torn once again, but by claw-like bones coming out of my palm. I walk up to the spiked guy and raise my hand. Swinging it down, I feel my bones crushing his, slicing his brain as if butter, then getting some more resistance from the spine, the top of which is now looking out of his body. The halves of the skull dangle on the neck skin, brain sliding off of them.

I feel exhilarating. Even more blood coming my way. Rivulets of blood all over the place, all coming to me. Images keep flashing through my mind. I think one of them enjoyed fishing with his father. And they were promised gold by someone to beat me up. Oh, come on! This is my dream, not yours: of course, you will lose in a battle with me!

I feel someone else’s gaze on me. There! Around the corner. I leap, in the anticipation of another dose: in just a flash my left hand is grabbing the bystander’s spine. I am squeezing it as if a staff. I feel burning on my skin, because of his acid, but I do not care. I laugh. I laugh, ‘cause now I am burning. Literal fire is eating away the skin on my hand. And the skin and bone of this poor loser.

Why does it smell so good? Why does his burning skin smell so fucking good? It’s like the best smell in the universe! And I am the one creating it! His skin and outer muscles burn out and now I am holding a skeleton, with some few innards here and there, where fire has not started eating them yet. The bone blackens quickly as fire becomes hotter. More! More! Burn! Soon, there is just a small pile of ash near me.

Oh fuck, am I horny right now? I do not care that my left hand is blistered – it is healing without any concoctions poured on it. Am I invincible right now or something? Who cares? I just smile as if I am crazy, because, hell, maybe I am. I just want to go somewhere warm, somewhere where there are lots of chicks in bikinis. I will be filing them all till the sun burns out. I feel so…

- Exuberant.


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