[ WP ] You are a reputable lawyer who moonlights as a serial killer . One day , you receive a client who has become the main suspect of your crimes . You have to frame him such he is incarcerated while still maintaining your reputation as a competent lawyer .

It ’ s easy to get lost in the rhythm. The tip tapping of curious patterns seemingly gibberish at first glance. You ’ re still speaking, an observer of your own mental capacity. In the corner of the room unseen, peering at the stenographers fingers as they grace across the confounding keys. This idea of translation so unassuming but such a particularly unwavering belief. That really, anyone can truly represent precisely what you ’ re saying. Even if your intentions are completely harmless. They are trapping your soul as they see fit, like specters from a long forgotten land. Everything you say trapped in stone. 
 
 
 By the time the judge intervened I had been rumbling down an ill-advised diatribe for some time. The prosecution deciding not to interject, a self-sabotaging lawyer the best thing they could possibly hope for. My client on the stand looking increasingly perturbed. His fingers slowly sliding out of my grip, dangling off the edge of a cliff. And I can ’ t even get it together enough to really appreciate the gravity of the situation. I swear I ’ m a good lawyer under normal circumstances. Can so eloquently and discreetly influence a jury. Sweeping pathos, pulling at their heartstrings. But this case might be my undoing. 
 
 
 It ’ s not like I ’ m without fault for all of this. Though I suppose if I ’ m being truly honest with myself that ’ s an extreme under-exaggeration. I am the sole proprietor of all my circumstances. Narcissus fated to stare into my own pool for eternity. An unquenchable desire to be the sole determining value for how my legacy would reflect upon me. It ’ s such bullshit this societal acceptance that there is necessarily a collective aspect to the ‘ self ’. And I ’ m not trying to espouse some Ayn Rand individualism crap. But that at the end of the day you only own your life once you start forcing people to see it your way. 
 
 
 Of course some people might take this in one way or another. Might go live off grid or something. Have some transcendental experience at Walden Pond. But as you might expect I took it in the way you would expect. Through intimidation, which slowly transformed itself into extreme violence. I will admit one thing though. I am a coward. If I was trapped on a deserted island, the only thing to eat a colony of wild chickens roaming around, I honestly don ’ t know if I could even kill and animal with my bare hands. So like a buffalo jump, I found a particularly careening road and set up various traps and blockages to force them off the road, tumbling down the cliff side. 
 
 
 It wasn ’ t even rational in its logic. But after a while, this sort of control became the complete representation of who I viewed myself as. That each incoming vehicle was just another person who at some point in my future would come back to haunt me. I was simply pre-empting any potential incursion about my superior way of living. But like all things, a long enough series of accidents will become increasingly suspicious. And after a serious investigation began, I understood the implications if I were to get caught. Moved my desires onto a new ‘ game ’ of sorts. Framing a person for my crimes. 
 
 
 Fortunately for me, as fate once again would have it, the man I was framing came to me for representation. Sitting in front of me on the stand. An innocent man peering at the ground hundreds of feet below him. Staring at all the buffalo carcasses that came before him, unable to understand exactly how he got here. But I ’ m choking. I ’ m fucking choking and it ’ s all spiraling out of control. 
 
 The judge peered down with a sort of righteous indignation. Like I was blowing the case on purpose. Maybe in another life, but I desperately needed this. Had been speaking for nearly five minutes, and hadn ’ t yet asked a single question to my client. It ’ s not like it would have even really taken all that much effort. I had done a magnificent job. Witnesses placed the man within walking distance to the scene of the crime that night, he had prior aggravated assault charges. We even had a psychiatrist positively diagnoses psychopathy to try and get him off on insanity. 
 
 
 The case really wasn ’ t even about innocence or guilt; it was about the mental capacity of a man who would make a sport of running people off the road. And yes I know, I know, you might be thinking that I collapsed under the weight of my own self guilt. Under the weight of my own demented mental processes. That this whole case was just a way of facing my reckoning head on. And you might be right to some extent. Whatever latent hypocrisies I tried so hard to partition off from myself now ready to reap. 
 
 
 [ Will write part two in a bit ] 

