Zachary Sinchross: Therapy Chapter 1

This blog will be strictly for my novel entry for NaNoWriMo 2009.

I hope I finish it.

The first chapter to my tale.

ALL OF THIS CONTENT IS WRITTEN BY ALAN MORALES.

Chapter 1: Hi, My Name is Zach

I am on the roof of a high rise complex in the heart of Herrace city. It’s a bit windy, but it’s not so bad. At least the sun is out; the light it’s emanating is giving me very comfortable warmth. I’ve been here for seven hours, just sitting on my stool, sniper rifle at hand. You heard right, a sniper rifle. Yes, this is my job. I’m a hired gun. If that term is too simple for you, then call me whatever the hell you want. Frankly, I don’t give a damn. Most people don’t react too well when they hear this. Don’t judge me. Wouldn’t you do whatever it costs to make sure you provide for yourself or your family? That’s what I thought, so keep your mouth shut. This job keeps me alive; I kill for money, money buys me food, I consume the food and it sustains me. I know that it’s an extremely simple way of looking at it, but in the end that’s basically what it is.

I don’t get paid by the hour and it’s alright. I just get paid a very generous amount of money when the deed is done. I am not exclusive to any person or organization or group or….well, you get the point. There is this one guy, Al Coker, who seems to hire me a whole lot. He gives me this dirty look every time he gives me a job. I like to keep things neutral and low profile, so I don’t get into conflicts or arguments with any of my employers. But if this guy Al takes it another step further, you can bet all your money that he will be leaving in a body bag.

So yeah, seven hours and I’m still sitting here. I don’t normally get bored, but when I do, I end up thinking about this city. Herrace is a metropolis; it’s enormous. I find that cities like these are where we can easily find the two types of people in the world: normal people and psychos. Now I can’t tell you which people are “normal” or “psycho”, although I can tell you I do categorize people, but that’s based on my perspectives. I mean, whose place is it to place these people into one of those two categories concretely? You could have one person calling another person, whose ambition is to have a large family (several children), crazy. On the other hand, you could have someone call a business executive, who fires a man who desperately needs his job, on the basis of saving a multi-billion dollar company, a few thousand dollars and enjoys it simultaneously, normal. Is it screwed up? Possibly. What do I think? Sure.

Then again, what isn’t screwed up in this world? All over this miserable planet, these kinds of people exist and there’s nothing we can really do about it. We just somehow end up thinking that way. It all comes down to survival I suppose. So in the end, I came to the conclusion that everyone is crazy, crazy for thinking that they can place people in certain groups while calling themselves normal. You have to look at yourself first to be able to look at other people. Scratch that, you might end up calling yourself crazy and commit suicide. Don’t hold me responsible.

I know I’m crazy. You know how I know I’m crazy? My psychiatrist told me so. Not asylum crazy I guess, because I’m still running around killing people. You want to know another reason why I know I’m messed up? I actually enjoy my job, very much. I mean, when I see the blood running out of my targets body, spewing out, dripping on the ground and making a huge puddle of thick red liquid…it’s just so humanizing. Thinking about it is just giving me such a rush.

Hah! Just kidding. I’m not that twisted. I’m not a hardcore sadist and I’m not a serial killer. I’m not going to lie though; I do enjoy inflicting pain on my enemies and victims, to an extent. Especially when I go bare knuckle, no gun in the world can beat that visceral feeling. All of us are capable of feeling joyous emotions when we see people fall. Even the holy pope can. We just learn to suppress and repress it. We trick ourselves into rationalizing situations and associate violence as a negative act, when really; it’s just a whole lot of fun to beat the living hell out of someone from time to time. When you start a fight, you get this surge of energy running through your body and --- wait a second; I think my target's coming out of City Hall.

He’s out, finally. Let’s just stabilize this rifle...there we go.

In between the eyes Sinchross, in between the eyes.

Boom! That was fairly loud. It caught the attention of everyone on the street.

Wow, he went down fast. I guess that’s what happens when you’re three hundred pounds and live a sedentary lifestyle.

And here comes security to defend him and check on his body. It is unbelievable how these so called “body guards” are so terrible at their job. I just want to scream out “The man is already dead you idiots! Great job “body guarding!” ” Body guards are so useless.

Now where is my log…?

….

Ah there it is.

Monty Fernbrook, male, 56 years of age. Occupation: Mayor of Herrace. Time of death, 16:56 hours, by head shot.

There we are. Now there should have been someone from my employer who watched this whole thing go down, you know, to make sure I did my job. All I have to do now, is go to him and pick up my money. Yup, it’s that easy. Just another day in this life of mine.

Oh, by the way, I apologize for not formally introducing myself. My name is Zach, full name, Zachary Sinchross.

Don’t forget it.