[ WP ] In the future you can apply to the government for a killing permit . What it is is a piece of paper that exempts you from any legal action for the murder of one person of your choice . Describe one man 's experience with this permit .

At times, I did wonder why they gave them away so easily; all it took was proof of ID and a few seconds with the chip and pin machine. I remember squeezing the small plastic card tight in my hand as I exited the building and didn ’ t let go until I reached my apartment, where I dropped it on the kitchen counter, next to the espresso machine. It remained there for the following six months. As it turns out, killing another human being isn ’ t as simple as getting a licence that allows you to do so. 
 
 Initially, I was excited. The lure of violence had always been present, and my position in the lower middle class had nursed my anger well. I was too privileged to feel sorry for, yet not privileged enough to get what I wanted. What it was that I actually wanted, I can ’ t remember, but the need for it had filled me with an unspeakable rage. 
 The plan was to make use of the licence right away. In fact, I did meet a candidate on my way back that same day. The man shook his mug of coins as I passed him on the street, grabbing my attention. He was in his forties, perhaps, thin and haggard. No one would miss this man. I could beat him to death with my bare hands and he wouldn ’ t be able to resist one bit. After, I would await the arrival of the police and hand in my licence. They would then get rid of the body and I would be left do deal with my conscience. 
 The man looked at me, then looked at my hand. The bright orange card was most likely visible, despite my death-like grip. He looked at me again, shaking his cup, a bit wearily this time. I hurried home. 
 
 Pretty soon they started handing out licences free of charge. In some cases, people were paid in order to direct their inherent rage at someone of the bureaucracy ’ s choosing. Criminals. Murderers. Who was chosen for execution, and why, was never made public. Young people from the poorer areas lined up to become justice warriors and make a pretty dime in the process. My own licence remained unused. 
 
 “ So, who did you kill? ” 
 I turned to see the homeless man from before, seated in the very same place. This time, he was wrapped up in a blanket and had various trinkets spread out around him. Stuff was easy to come by these days. 
 “ I didn ’ t, ” I replied, dropping a coin into his cup. “ and I won ’ t. My licence expired last week. ” 
 He picked up the coin and held it up. “ A dollar from a marked man. ” He smiled and put it in the front pocket of is jacket, patting it tenderly. “ Perhaps it will bring me luck. ” 
 I laughed. “ I have no enemies. ” 
 The last thing he said, before I quickly turned to walk away, stuck with me all the way home, all the headlines that I had read flashing before my eyes: ‘ Unemployment rate down by twenty percent! ’, ‘ Government prognosis says the number of people living in poverty will be halved in only ten years ’. I shook my head, trying to clear it, but to no avail. 
 
 I raced home. As soon as I got in, I quickly shut the door and leaned against it, taking deep breaths to calm myself down as I repeated his words in my head, over and over: 
 “ Sir, anyone with a lust for murder is surely an enemy. ” 

