What does it take to kill?
The thought resounded about my blank mindset almost as loudly as my voice against these concrete walls.
What does it take to kill?
I thought it over.
For some, it only takes a dagger in hand and a chest full of rage. For others, all it takes is a misplaced pill, dropped in a drink. For the professionals, all it takes is a wad of cash. For not so professionals it might only take a gun. Even for the lesser, it might only take one needle too many, or one pill too few.
A part of me pondered why I was haggling myself like this. Why ask?
But all the same, the question bounced about my mind.
What does it take to kill?
What does it take to kill?
I paused.
What did it take for me to kill?
I sighed.
Such atrocities had been committed. A mother, child, a pensioner and a father. A whole family. My friends. Slaughtered. And all it took, all it took for me to kill, had been three bottles of beer.
And some car keys.