Der Untergang (the unfinished suicide note/manifesto) by Lindsay Souvannarath

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Perhaps you have already heard the news of a mass shooting in Halifax. This is where you’d expect me to post my reaction to it, but unfortunately I have no reaction, for I am now dead. My head has been broken apart with a single shotgun shell.

This is a queued post.

It has always been my greatest dream to die in battle. But I do so not as a soldier, but as a murderer. I fight no man’s war but my own. I fight for principles, not politicians. Tet the modern world, with its wars fought for greed instead of glory, has forced me to bury these heroic longing deep beneath my surfaces where they have since festered at my core and metamorphosed into hate.

Hate. It’s a strong word, but I’d rather let a strong word define me than a weak one. “Love,” for example, is a week word, for one who loves is not nearly as strong as one who hates. Love is merely the attempt to nullify one’s own weaknesses with the weaknesses of another. Hate is the drive to exterminate all weakness. In all of my twenty-three years of life, I have never learned to love another person. I receive love, but it passes through me like water through a sieve, having neither the substance nor density of the hate that crystallizes in my heart. Love softens the spirit and makes it malleable to the society around it. Hate sharpens the mind to where it becomes a weapon against all others. I pity the lover, who will never experience the wonder of isolation. Severing bonds with the rest of humanity is the first step to rising above it. Free from empathy, free from manipulation, the isolate man sees the world for what it truly is. The result, of course, is hatred.

My hate is beyond good and evil. What morality is depends on which end of the gun you are looking at. With a gun in my hand, I am God, for no one can argue against me when I am armed and not afraid to die. I do not consider myself evil, not even for committing murder. Murder makes no difference. All living creatures die. There is no such thing as dying “before one’s time.” The earth can only support so many humans at a time due to finite resources, and continuing one’s existence means consuming resources that might have otherwise gone to another. We are constantly making decisions that shorten the lifespans of others without even knowing it.