[ WP ] You decide to become a serial killer . However , you turn out to be the worst serial killer in existence . Every time you try to kill someone , you improve their life .

This is going to sound crazy. 
 
 Seriously. I know this will sound totally stupid, but just hear me out. I swear it will make sense by the end. And if it does n't? Well, shoot me then, I guess. But I'm running out of time, so I'd better hurry this up. 
 
 So, anyway, do you remember three years ago, when someone tried to shoot the President? Of course, he was n't the President then, he was n't even the nominee. Hell, no-one even thought he was * gon na * be the nominee. Two weeks before Super Tuesday, trailing the two leading candidates by eighteen points? Wittering on about terrorism, and no-one was buying it. Well, that changed in a hurry after he got shot. The election was barely even a contest. 
 
 I did that. I mean, I did n't *mean* to, but I did. I was n't even aiming at him anyway. It was his wife. His wife. God... she was always so beautiful. 
 
 We met at college, you see. The only woman I ever loved. And boy did I love her. I never really got over her. I heard she got married, and it sucked. I did n't sleep for a week. Before I met her, I never realized that `` heartache'' was literal. 
 
 The pain went away over time, mostly. I mean, if I thought about her, I did n't cry, I did n't cut myself. I could deal. Until her ass-wipe husband starts running for President. All the media knew he was a jack-ass, but she... she was made for the campaign trail. 
 
 I could n't get away from it. She was everywhere. I'd turn on the TV, or try to get a magazine, or just fucking drive down the street, and she'd be there. Smiling. Watching. Staring at me from the news-stands and the billboards. And it hurt. 
 
 And one day, I just snapped I guess. I ca n't even really explain what happened. I just could n't fucking take it any more. I could n't deal with it. It hurt too damn much. So... I bought myself a rifle. I do n't have it any more - threw it in the river the next morning just in case - but I remember it. It felt so good in my hands. A kind of reassuring weight, like how her child would've felt in my arms. 
 
 It was surprisingly easy after that. I'd always been a good shoot, but I practiced. Walked into a hotel room with a guitar case like something in the movies. Almost no-one even looked at me. I thought it was a good day. 
 
 But I missed. Of fucking course I did. Hit her asshole husband in the shoulder. Suddenly, he went from being a looney-toon spouting on about terrorists to being a visionary who'd shed blood for his point. 
 
 Honestly, I thought they'd catch me, but no-one even questioned me. I wonder if he pulled some strings, so that no-one was looking for me. It kept festering in my head. It would n't fit his rhetoric if he was shot by a pathetic little white-boy who never got over a summer fling with the President Elect's wife. 
 
 I could n't get over that thought. It ate at me, until that's all I could think of myself. Pathetic little white-boy. Ca n't even fucking shoot straight. 
 
 That's when I really lost it. I just started trying to kill people after that. The first one was to prove it to myself... I was gon na kill someone. Anyone. I did n't even care about getting caught. I just wanted to prove I could do it. 
 
 I chose her because she was kind of pretty, and looked a little like... like her. I was gon na shoot her and her boyfriend. Went with the boyfriend first, and she ran off the second he went down. I read later that he was her step-dad, and he'd been molesting her. 
 
 `` I do n't know who killed him, but he freed me''. I was n't sure if I should laugh or cry. 
 
 The next one was just someone I met at a mall. Reach out, a bit of a push, and watch them tumble down the stairs. Two weeks later, he'd had some experimental medical procedure that finally got rid of his back pain, and a cheque from the mall owner. He could finally set up the gym he'd always dreamed about. Good for him, I guess. 
 
 The bomb did n't work. I'd had a fight with the cops over a parking ticket, so I tried to bomb the station. The same bastard who'd ticketed me found it, and now he's a hero. Of course, the President himself took an interest in that one, and cops got more powers. I never thought I'd see the day they'd put CCTV cameras on every single street. 
 
 I ca n't even remember most of the rest. I tried to set my land-lady's house on fire while she slept. I did n't even hate her - she was just close by. Of course, she woke up half-way. New house, insurance pay-out, and some deal with the electrics company for faulty wiring. Then, there was the time I crashed my car. Literally, just drove through a red and straight into another car. Husband died - wife-beater. Apparently, he was such an evil fucker that the wife and the cops just let me off. Hell, she hugged me, and said thank you. 
 
 Twenty-four people in total. I tried to kill twenty four different people, and every single time, it only made them happier. It's like I have a gift - if I try to kill someone, their life gets better. 
 
 Twenty-five was always my lucky number. That's why I'm doing this now. If you're reading this, cut me down. I just want something good to happen to me now. 
 
 I mean, what's the worst that can happen - right?
