8/8/2019 Have You Ever Wondered How Murderers Are Formed

1/2

What have I done?:

Have you ever wondered how murderers are formed?

Do they behave like us?

Are they normal?

And whats the definition of a murderer?:

Someone who kills:A soldier, a policeman...a teeneager.

And what about about the victims, does it count if theyr e not really dead?:

Merely locked in a cuccoon of innerturmoil, sitting there:

Waiting.

What if theyre animals; the ones we kill;

Does that still count?

And what about people who commit suicide?:

Are they not taking away a life?:

But I guess that incriminates all of us

Because while we all sit at home watching television

Theres a child dying every moment.

Every minute.

***

And so as you can see from these results it clearly depicts a dying world. Ladies and gentlemen if we

dont act now we will see a world with a 20 percent higher...

Michael tuned out of this lecture. Hed heard it all before and he wanted nothing more than to go

home and watch television. His eyes scanned the moderately sized room what with its plumply

cushioned seats perched on a pale linoleum floor, the room looked half decent. Suddenly, something

in the corner drew his gaze: food. He felt his stomach rumble and with complete disregard to what

was being said, made his way over to the food stall. However, whilst stuffing his face with doughnuts

he managed to catch glimpses of the man at the podium and his words drifted in and out of his mind

Famine in Kenya...not enough food...we must act. Michael glanced down at the small feast that

hed devoured in the matter of a few minutes and then let his mind wander off towards those Africanvillagers. The prominant thought running through his mind though was When can we go home.

Useless.

***

Pitan peered up at the sun bathed desert she now worked on. The once green, pristine valleys were

now just one great big desert. Dying. Destitute. Deserted. She sighed. This would never get easier;

the ground behaved as if it were in pain, crumbling before touched and unable to house even weeds.

Impatiently, She ran the plam of her hand across her sweat drenched forehead in an attempt to

redeem some sense of cleanliness but to no avail. Working here was like working at a graveyard:

everyday there were more and more animals dying from lack of water and food. It would soon be

people a voice silently whispered. Murmured in the wind, barely comprehensible, but still withenough force so as to make Katherine shiver. She shook her head and refused to think about it but

deep down she knew that if nothing grew there would be no crops. No crops meant no food. No food

means we starve. Pitan knew this, however she was still optimistic. Her husband had gone off to find

work in the city and though she hadnt had any word from him in the last few weeks her hopes were

still high of him finding a job. She and the children had stayed back for the land: it had been in their

family for generations and ,no matter how small and regardless of the lack of growth, she had

insisted on remaining here in the village.

8/8/2019 Have You Ever Wondered How Murderers Are Formed

2/2

She slung her bucket across her back and plodged her way back home. As she approached her mud

hut though, a sense of forlorn overcame her. A feeling that was emphasised as she turned the corner

and spotted Ibaken, a cousin, standing by her gate. Pitan began to raise her hand in greeting but

something stopped her dead in her tracks. The blood slowly drained from her face as her breath

caught in her throat. On her cousins face was painted a look of grief. Of death. Pitan, closed her

eyes, and forced herself to breathe deeply, but a numbness had begun to seep through her veins,

blocking off the magnitude of the upcoming reaction. She gripped her stomach in rebuff as shecrumpled to the ground, a whirlwind of images whizzing across her mind. Her family, a prospering

farm...her husband. One by one the things were being taken away. Forever. She fisted her hand and

shoved it into her mouth to stop her shattering sobs but when, through a haze of tears, she spotted

her cousin making his way towards her: a look of sympathy etched deeply into the lines of his

chiseled face, her mind went blank. All she could think of was escape. From him. From everything.

She threw the bucket away from her body, sprinted through the clusters of identical huts and ran

into the doorway of her own.

As she was inside her home. Waves of guilt began to crash over her. If only shed gone with her

husband when hes asked. If only shed been less stubborn. Mama a small voice called from the

corner. Pitan looked up into the sagging face of her once beautiful baby girl. The little girls eyes

socketed deep into her skeleton like face the girl was half-starved. Slowly and with dread, Hpitanforced her unwilling eyes to circle the room. All they registered was horror. Death. There was the

stench of death lingering in the room, empowering ones senses and forcing Pitan into accepting the

truth: they were all going to die, just like her husband. Her eyes continued roaming the room, as if in

denial, bt all the while only noting all of the things that she had chosen to ignore before. Her 7 year

old son crouched in the corner, unable to work due to fatigue, the empty cooking space. Not a single

grain left. And more importantly the gaping hole that had formed unknowigly in the space of her

stomach. For once she acknowledged the ache deep down, the tiredness of her muscles, the dryness

in her throat. She looked on at her two children, with their swollen stomachs and boney arms, they

looked more like ghosts than children.

In some sort of trance she walked into her bedroom, the only other room in the hut, and slowly sank

to the ground. With quivering hands, she slowly gripped the small mirror she possessed and looked

on at her reflection, wiped a few dripping tears and acknowledged the streaks of crimson painted

across her face. The blood of her family. Stained there permanantly. What have I done? she

whispered to herslef. And funnily enough a voice replied, the same one that would now live in her

conscience. Forever. In a sickeningly taunting voice it stated the the truth Youre murdering your

family

***

A thousand miles away in that one little conference room, Michaels eyes remained on the screen,

barely noting the implications of the numbers, the figures: the only thought running through his mind

was when they could finally go home.