jimthompson
New Member
I know how they operate. The customs agents watch you for the tell-tale signs of fear. Shaking hands, sweating heavily, fidgeting with the hands or the hair. Failure to make eye contact. None of this mattered to me. I have no fear. I am not brave. I just don't care anymore.
In the past I used to have fear, but it died. So did most of the other parts that made me human. Happiness. Sadness. All dead. All except anger. For some reason that never died. In fact it not only lives inside me: it grows. Like a tumor.
The customs guy finishes with my bag and I pick it up and walk up the ramp into the airplane. I knew there was no way they would ever find the weapon.
I am the weapon.
In the past I used to have fear, but it died. So did most of the other parts that made me human. Happiness. Sadness. All dead. All except anger. For some reason that never died. In fact it not only lives inside me: it grows. Like a tumor.
The customs guy finishes with my bag and I pick it up and walk up the ramp into the airplane. I knew there was no way they would ever find the weapon.
I am the weapon.