I lost my drive to write this story mid-way through it. Tonight i was looking at my tasks I had on my to-do list and re-read this story. Finished it tonight. Been writing it for quite some time now.

The Lonely Man
Justin Gomes

I
There once was a very Lonely Man. This man was very lonely because he was obsessive. Like characters in fiction often are, the Lonely Man was obsessed with very odd things. Saying he is obsessed with odd things doesn't make too much sense, in retrospect, as obsession is odd to begin with. So imagine with me, if you will, that you are the Lonely Man. What would the first thing you think about be?
Would it be something macabre and twisted? Would it be the murder and rape of hundreds of people?
No.
Would it be something creative? A vision of another world, filled with sights and senses foreign to human comprehension?
No.
Would it be a certain person? A woman of beauty, or a man of great success and the subject of jealousy?
No.
No, if you were the Lonely Man, you would be thinking about ideas. The Lonely Man was always thinking. He was lonely because he isolated himself. He wanted nothing to do with civilization and society, because in his eyes, it was flawed.
It wasn't that he believed that he was smarter than anyone, or that he was the solution to the world’s problems, he just wanted thing to change for the better. So he locked himself away in a dark place, with lots of papers and pencils, and he began to plan. Days went by and he needed food, so he got food. He stopped caring about his appearance, after a few weeks he began to smell, and he looked dirty. People began to avoid him, and so he became the Lonely Man.
Normal people would be bitter about this seclusion, but he was happy to have everyone ignore him. His isolation gave him freedom to think. His mind wouldn't be tainted by the ideas of others.
The Lonely Man sat in his tenement room, alone, writing, day and night. He wanted to change the world in the best way possible, he wanted a utopia. He thought and he thought and he thought, but to no avail. He began to become frustrated with himself; why couldn’t he think of a cure for the world?
What was wrong with him? Was he sick?
He felt that he had the potential to change the world, but something was holding him back! Maybe it was his brain, his organ of intelligence, was it not up to par? The Lonely Man lost himself in this concentration, and began to hate himself.
This is where everything started.

A
Could this have been prevented? Perhaps, maybe if the Lonely Man wasn’t so lonely, he never would have begun to hate himself. Maybe he never would have lost himself, and none of this would have happened. –Anonymous

II
The Lonely Man began to hate himself. This caused a few problems. The Lonely Man was always thinking about the world. About changing the world. He was obsessed with it. It became part of him. As the Lonely Man spiraled deeper and deeper into self-loathing, he began to think negatively. What happened to the man he used to be? He wanted to change the world, he was so positive! Maybe the world wasn’t worth saving; maybe the world needed pain instead of caring. The Lonely Man himself began to change, his inner-self, warped by negativity and hate. Imagine with me, if you will, that you are the Lonely Man. What is the first thing that comes to your mind?
Would it be a certain person? A woman of beauty, or a man of great success and the subject of jealousy?
No.
Would it be something creative? A vision of another world, filled with sights and senses foreign to human comprehension?
No.
Would it be something macabre and twisted?
Yes.
The Lonely Man left his humble adobe of paper and darkness, and walked about the city. The weather was overcast, and night would be falling soon. He stared the other inhabitants of the city; these “people” All of these walking, moving, thinking, talking compositions of carbon and other matter. All they ever did was think of themselves! All they ever did was imagine their own future, and how to better there own situations. How could they all be so selfish?! It made the Lonely Man sick, it made him hateful. Most of all, it made the Lonely Man jealous.

B
It was weird. One day he just, left. He walked out of his apartment and never came back. He stopped paying the bills; he left no contact information, and had no friends or family. The apartment was a mess, but it’s regulation to leave it alone for 30 days before we take everything out. I remember seeing the cop’s faces when they came out of there after searching it. I should have said something, but, shit, I don’t know. – The MGMT

III
The Lonely Man made a decision. It was time to change the world. He needed to rid the world of wickedness using the only thing wickedness understood. More wickedness. The Lonely Man moved out, taking the clothes on his back, and his trusty pen, and lived in the park. He slept by day and woke at night, waiting for would-be evil doers to do there evil. He’d come across a mugger, mugging an innocent.
A rapist, assaulting an innocent.
A thief, stealing from an innocent.
Drug dealers, corrupting the innocent.
These fiends, these horrible people, the Lonely Man had no mercy for them. He felt no remorse, because he was making the world a better place. He would take his pen, and draw ink from the bodies of the wicked. He would use this ink to document their sins, and leave it with their lifeless bodies. Reports were being made of an insane vigilante writer, leaving bloody victims, necks punctured, with death notes in lifeless hands. . Imagine with me, if you will, that you are the Lonely Man. What is the first thing that comes to your mind?
Would it be something macabre and twisted?
No.
Would it be a certain person? A woman of beauty, or a man of great success and the subject of jealousy?
No.
Would it be something creative? A joy in his art, his message, and his interpretation of the world around him?
Yes.
As time went on, the Lonely Man became more and more involved in his select means of punishment. Ending the lives of sinners wasn’t simply enough, he wanted them to feel the pain he felt. Years of trying to figure a way to end suffering caused the Lonely Man suffering, suffering he was willing to share. Stories of murder victims showing signs of torture begun to surface.
Aaron Pearson was found hanging upside down, suspended by his ankle using a towing rope, from a fire escape in a back alley near the park. His wrists show signs of being bound using the same tow rope, as does his other ankle. His forearms had six lacerations each, a pen appears to have been the tool of incision. His tongue had been split in half down the middle, using an unknown object. There is a single puncture wound on his neck, penetrating the trachea, killing the victim. The murder weapons is assumed to be the same pen used to cut the victims arms and write a note found in the victims pocket. The note was written in the victims own blood. The note states: “It is only fair that you should experience that which you bring unto others. You spend your evenings attacking women, using their bodies for your own perversions. You lose yourself in their bodies, pleasuring your own. It’s time you felt the pain that you give so carelessly to others. So lose yourself with me, as we explore your pain, your body, your limits.”

C
The Writing Reaper, lame, I know, but I coined it. We were having a few drinks at the bar, throwing around names, the other journalists and I, when I thought of it. Next thing I know it’s the headline the next day, “WRITING REAPER STRIKES AGAIN”. Thank god I didn’t get any credit for the name, I wish I would have thought of something more creative, you know? I don’t know, something cool, Aris-stabber? Get it? Like Aristotle? Eh, you’re right, anyway. Yea, it was weird, right after we started calling him the Writing Reaper, he just, disappeared. I hate to sound like a sociopath, but that really kicked us in the balls at the paper. We ran out of good stories without that sick fuck killing people, you know? Now we’re back to writing about crooked politicians, woohoo.
–Jonathan Harper, Journalist

IV
The Media, in their misguided struggle to sell more papers, labeled the Lonely Man as a villain! How could they do this to him?! He was trying to help the city, help humanity! Why would the voice of the people damn him so?! This question plagued the mind of the Lonely Man.
He was hurt.
He was confused.
He began to study the newspapers meticulously. Every single dot of ink on every single piece of recycled paper was consumed in his hunt for understanding how HE could be so misunderstood. Then it hit him. All of these stories, this misconceptions of reality, of the world, of society. They all stemmed from one thing. The Media. The Media is what made people bad! There was no good and evil in the world, other than what the Media told people was good and evil. If he were to destroy the Media, we would destroy evil! For if one knows not of evil, than evil must not exist. Prevent people from learning of evil, and it will cease to be! And thus, the Lonely Man decided that to save the world, he must kill the Media.

D
We figured the serial killer had gotten bored, or fled the country in fear. Those two weeks were really relaxing, no serial murders, no more headlines, no more press breathing down our necks about our lack of a suspect. We had finally began to breathe again, we figured it was all over. Man, were we wrong.
-Peter Watkins, Police Officer

V
The Lonely Man found the internet. The internet had a lot of fun ideas for the Lonely Man. It was there he learned how to make explosives from the hardware store. It was there he learned of the lawn products and pool products he would need for his celebration. It was there he learned how to end suffering. Hidden in a shack under a bridge, there he made plans for his first of celebrations. Gifts for his party, stacked to the ceiling, stinking of fertilizer and chemicals. The Lonely Man had finished wrapping the lat of his party goods, and he stood back, staring at the answer to wickedness, and he smiled. The Lonely Man was happy with himself, he was so smart! Finally, an easy way to save everyone from hurting!

E
This is a breaking news story, we’ve got a live feed from downtown, where the Central Press building was apparently just bombed, details are still coming in at the moment, if you look towards the bottom of your screen, you can see the front half of the building is just gone, a hole, there is nothing left of it. There is fire everywhere, it looks like they are trying to contain it and search the building. This is horrible, I can’t believe we’re watching this right now. Wait! It seems the police may have, they found the bomber. We’re switching over to-
-Clara Rodriguez, News Anchor

Looks like the police have surrounded the suspect, they are yelling at him. He seems to be confused, afraid to move. He is now just staring, it’s like a deer in the headlights. I can’t believe we’re watch- WAIT! He’s reaching into his- (gunshots). Oh my god, the police have fired on the bomber, he is on the ground, they are rushing over to him…
-Jason White, Helicopter Respondent

VI
The Lonely Man was dieing. Collapsed on the ground, writhing with pain. The Lonely Man couldn’t breathe, he felt like he was drowning. Everything was slow, he couldn’t hear anything anymore, it was just the loud sound of ringing gun shots now. He looked down at his hand, and he saw the picture in it. Imagine with me, if you will, that you are the Lonely Man. What would the first thing you think about be?
Would it be something creative?
No
Would it be something sick and twisted?
No
Would it be a certain person?
Yes
And as the Lonely Man lay, dieing. He realized how much he missed her.