I daydream as I work. I can't help it. I've always had a wandering, unfocused mind, but my daydreams have always felt so vivid.

I drifted back to nearly a year ago. I sat in a closet, cowering. The barrel of a pistol filled my mouth. It disgusted me, a metallic twinge coating my tongue. I slowly withdrew the firearm and tossed it to the side. I couldn't do it. Not only was I depressed and suicidal, not seeing a point in continuing, I was too much of a coward to end it.

It was at this point I had a bit of a revelation. A therapist had told me "when you feel like killing yourself, why not just end your old life?" What he meant by this was, in short, if I didn't have to be afraid of what happens next because I wanted to end my life anyways, why not do whatever I had always wanted to do? I confidently marched out of that closet, my head held high for the first time in months. I knew what I had to do to be happy. My mind felt free. I was so relieved.

I snapped back to reality, looking at my neighbors, a relatively young couple who seemed to have it all figured out. They were my fourth and fifth victims. Their lifeless bodies were strung up by the ankles in a device I had made in my garage. I sighed with a mixture of relief, pleasure and euphoria as I made a slit in each of their throats and watched the blood flow down into the drain.

The corners of my mouth inched upwards, slowly developing into a toothy grin.

I've never been happier.