It was the sixth commandment–Thou shalt not kill–that really got him. He knew that murder was wrong in any world, but killing? What if the ends justified the means? What if he were in war? Or in some sort of combat, or defending himself–or others?

The taste for blood was not something that he had; in fact, he was rather squeamish when it came to even the mention of blood. He felt, however, that he must not be so narrow-minded as to rule out all killing: there must surely be some case where it could be justified.

His mind raced, as always, with the possibilities. He figured that he was abnormal, having these wild thoughts and fantasies of killing, especially without blood being involved–because the life is in the blood! How could he escape the threat of death, of killing, without having to involve himself with the blood?

Of course, he could use some sort of poison. Or he could use rope or a belt. Or he could use a bottle of pills.

But guns, knives, flames–cutting or blowing up body parts or setting them on fire–that wasn’t what he had envisioned.

The perfect scenario: what would that be? Well, he thought, it would be clean, noiseless, simple, succinct–just like his life. His mark of murder would be his very own life.

Looking in the mirror, he asked, “Would you tell anyone if I killed you?”