It is often said that killing changes a person, something inside you also dies. But I was not so sure, first time I killed I was just nervous and frustrated, and then relieved that it was finally completed. But it was true, I was changing slowly but surely I was getting more comfortable with it. I progressed from different stages not always linear, anxiety was replaced with fear, shame and even guilt. Till one day I was ready with the weapon and eager for my prey. I not only was not dreading the act but I could feel the euphoria the release of oxytocin after the act was completed. That was not all though I had tasted blood albeit metaphorically and I no longer wanted to give up. I was only holding my weapon, more sternly I had not given up. I did not want to give up, I wanted to continue, continue with my electric bat till all the damn mosquitos were killed.
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