I've killed. I've killed today.

Tens. Hundreds. I didn't lose count, I never counted in the first place. All of them dead.

I prefer neurotoxins. They're faster, less messy, and more economical. I'm not above less refined means to end lives. Smother, suffocate, burn, drown, or smash -- yes, smash. I will do, can do, and have done it all.

People ask what have they ever done to me to deserve to die. I say, what have they ever done for me? Nothing. They're ruthless, selfish. The world is better without them.

They'd kill me if they had the chance.

People say the first kill is the hardest. It sticks with you. Every kill after the first is a futile attempt to erase the memory from your life; your soul.

I don't even remember my first.

I remember today's, though. A quick burst of poisonous gas and the little bastard's nervous system is destroyed, he just didn't know it. It was funny, sickly satisfying the way he limped away. Taking those final steps before the legs gave out and the oxygen stopped flowing. The heart stopped pumping. Did he know? Did he know he was dying, his life was over? Were his final thoughts about his short, worthless life spent doing nothing but consuming and hoping to one-day reproduce? Or did he not know? Did he suddenly realize that, despite all odds, he was no longer alive?

I remember last night's. You can't tell me she didn't deserve it, the way she threw herself at me. Invading my space without welcome, touching my things. Her disgusting little hands dragging across the surface of the things I own. When I was done watching her with a disconnected sense of indignity, I grabbed a cloth and smothered the life out of her. Discarded her lifeless carcass just as quickly. Then, back to whatever I was reading before she sauntered into my life.

They think they can go on living without paying for the consequences, they're wrong. They think they can come into my home, my car; they think they can follow me. They think their tiny little lives matter more than mine. They don't understand that I will kill them simply because I can. Because nobody has come along to stop me.

It's not that I enjoy it. I don't crave it. The death. The killing. I do it because I need to. Because not all life is sacred. Not every living thing deserves the sanctity I reserve for myself. Some just deserve to die, and I have no problem being the force of death for these. I'm the wildfire clearing the brush from the forest, allowing for more life. Better life. Things more deserving of life. I am that force.

They are that brush.

They deserve to die.

They must die.

Damn spiders.