[ wp ] The killing of ten thousand people can now bring one person back to life .

Sorry if this is bad or too dark or anything, I just started writing and this is my first submission. 
 
 One thousand and sixty-three feet. Seven thousand tons of wrought iron. One hundred and twenty-six years and almost fifty thousand days since the world existed without it. Today would be the start of a new era; Today history would be made. 
 
 Soon, all that will stand in that glorified cow pasture in France will be yellow tape and families. Families looking for their loved ones or families crying over what they had lost already. Not one of them had felt loss like I had. None of them had experienced the journey I had. 
 
 March 19th, 2015. The day I turned left on County Road 52 in Dade City, Florida and lost two weeks. One second I was smiling because she was singing, the next my eyes crept open in a hospital bed, and it was April 1st. I thought it was an April Fools joke when they told me that I had been T-Boned by a cement truck. When they said she had died instantly in the passenger seat. 
 
 Nothing was the same after that. I flunked out of university due to the two-week gap in my attendance. I lost one hundred pounds because every taste of food reminded me of a time I had eaten it with her. I no longer listened to music, for the same reason. I broke my cell phone because one day I called her voicemail to hear her voice and all I got was an error message. 
 
 The only constant between my two lives was my insomnia. Before the accident, I could n't sleep whenever stressed. I'd stay up all night reading or playing games. After the crash, it was a much more frequent occurrence. 
 
 It was due to this insomnia that I saw a news story on some bullshit channel at four AM. Some neo-nazi got arrested for murder because `` the devil told him if he killed people Hitler would come back to life''. I giggled at it, posted it on the nottheonion subreddit, and moved on. I did n't think anything of it until a week later I was three days deep into another no sleep cycle. 
 
 I finally toughed up and put a bullet in my head. Apparently, I'm a failure at that too, as I did n't die. Just woke up in another goddamned hospital bed, although this time, I had dreams. Hallucinations. I spoke to a man in a suit; he told me he could bring her back. He said that he knew I would do anything, and he was right. I woke up and spent my mandated month in health care, and again thought nothing of it until I got home. 
 
 When I got home, I found a notebook in my desk. A notebook I had never seen before. A black cover with a red spiral binding. In the notebook itself was blank pages with two columns. The right column was blank, and the left column mostly empty. There were only two words in the left column, her first and last name in red ink. I slammed it shut and broke down, as any rational mentally disturbed person would do. As I was laying on the ground and looking at the book, something wrote itself in front of my very eyes. On the cover of the notebook words engraved themselves. 
 
 `` Do we have a deal?'' the notebook spelled out to me in looping letters. I thought to myself `` what the fuck? What fucking deal?'' And then the notebook's words disappeared, and spelled out something else `` five-thousand lives for your one life, make a thumbprint in blood in the book to agree''. At this point I figured I was too high off of antidepressants or too mentally perturbed to care anymore, I did it. I bit my thumb until I felt blood and pressed it into the cover. 
 
 I heard a voice in my head saying `` here, I'll make it easy for you and guide your hand for the first one.'' I saw a name appear in the right column. Gary Freeca appeared in green, not in Red like her name. 
 I googled his name. Articles read `` Negligent driver kills 1, wounds another.'' I realized this was the man that killed her. He was drunk at eleven in the morning and crashed his godforsaken truck into mine. He was the reason she had a closed casket; he was the reason her family blamed me. He was the reason for the bullet in my head, and he was the reason I had detached from reality. I knew I had to do it, regardless if I believed the voices or not. 
 
 And I did, it was easy. I knew once I killed him I had to move fast because I had a connection to this murder, the others will be random and from afar. I found him in a trailer in a town close to mine and set it ablaze. It felt good, it felt right. I put this man's remains into the ground, just like my dear girl was. At that moment, I realized I could do this. I could kill for her. I would kill for her. 
 
 When I got home from that night and looked into the journal, to my horror another two names had appeared in red. Susan and Sarah Freeca. I killed his family too, I supposed. I did n't feel a thing. I started on my path. My friends had set up a gofundme for my bills after my accident, and my parents successfully sued the cement company. So I had some money to my name for this. I took it all and went to New York City and started killing in the dangerous neighborhoods. Every name always appeared on its own in my book. 
 
 After a month of random stabbings, I realized I needed to think bigger. It would take me years to kill five-thousand people one by one. I started researching terrorist attacks, domestic and foreign. Oklahoma City, Unabomber, World Trade Center, I put research into these horrible men and realized I was one of them. I put research into the structural integrity of my target and planned out everything. Four charges on each of the four struts to hopefully level it to the ground. Luckily for me, unlike most terrorists and killers I did n't care to be there when it happened. So, I did it. I bribed, I sneaked around, I did everything necessary. I do n't know how I managed it, sometimes I think the Devil wanted me to do it, I think he helped me succeed. That would explain my almost supernatural luck. 
 
 The day came, and I sat and waited. It was a warm day in the summer, so tourism and capacity should be at its peak. I thought if what I was doing was right if she would even still love me. I thought some more and pressed the button. The screams of who knows how many people rang out, the cries of the world as the Eiffel Tower fell. 
 
 I had a flight booked for that night, and God knows I did n't want to be in Paris anymore. Unfortunately, but not unpredictably, France closed all flights in and out of the country. I stayed in my hotel and counted my names. Four thousand three hundred and forty-three. Six hundred and fifty-seven names are left. Luckily, I could go smaller this time. I need to be so very careful not to go over my mark. When I get to four thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine, I think I'll need some time to decide if the last name should be mine. How would I exist and not get caught for this somehow? How would we explain her livelihood? How would we disappear together? More importantly, would she even still love me? After I killed five thousand innocent people for her? I do n't know, but tonight, the world weeps for its loss. And I plan on how to make the next one worse.
