My so-called friends tell me that I should not write about dying. That it is morbid. But you know what I say? I say fuck it. I want to die. I want to go on to the next adventure.
We are not our bodies, we cannot be harmed. I have lived many lives in the physical. When off the physical I am God. I am not male or female, I have no body. I am God! I am a part of God as we all are. And as a part of God . . . as God himself, I can deign who lives and who dies.
Mister Finn has to die. Mister Finn has lived far too long. Mister Finn is an abomination . . . Mister Finn has to die.
Mister Finn took my sister. Mister Finn defiled her. Mister Finn will die this night . . . as I will.
I await him with the knife in my hand. I await the warm blood that will be let loose . . . that will flow onto me. I wait with death in my soul, in my being. And in my hand. I will dispatch Mister Finn . . . sweet death this night. Sweet death for us both.
His throat is slit. He is bleeding out his life.
Now it is time to rejoin the Godhead.
I am God!
The destroyer of words. A destroyer of men! I am God . . . I am God!
I am pitiful.