I've always wondered why people took other's lives...and now, I know.
A/n: Random idea I got while reading a horror collection. Very basic, very vague. Sorry if it doesn't make much sense, but tis just a little random one-shot after all. If you don't get it, my apologies.
Me no own Detective Conan, Shinichi, or Gin. Want to, but, sadly, don't.
I've always wondered...
What drives people to kill? To end another's life?
I've heard the excuses. I've heard the apologies. I've heard it all.
Very rarely do I get to meet the person murdered in my line of work, but destiny likes to play with me. I've met a few. Some I like, most I don't.
Nothing to kill over.
But those I don't know before hand, the corpses with only a name and meaningless testimonies to go by, I can't help feeling...sorry.
Whatever they did in their life time...whatever sins they committed...they didn't deserve this. Not death.
I've always despised murders, as far back to when I only had my father's novels to go by. They were the 'bad guys' in life. They were wrong. They had to be punished.
That's where I came in.
My job was to catch the 'bad guys'. I had to set everything right. I was the 'good guy'.
But I always wondered.
Somewhere, in the deepest, probably darkest place in the back of my mind, I wanted to know.
What does it feel like to kill?
Now...now I know.
All around me I can smell blood. Some is mine...
Most is his.
I don't know how I got his gun, but I did, and now I know.
I know why people kill.
It's a terrible emotion. Our worst.
It makes anything worth it just to make the feeling of helplessness to go away.
Slowly, my balance wavering, I get up off my knees to look at him.
Bullet point-blank to the brain.
I spit some of the blood in my mouth onto his cheek.
Take that, you bastard.
I look down at him, suddenly feeling stronger, despite this small body and the bloody bruises.
I beat him.
The 'good guy' won.
But why is he still smiling? I shot him. He's dead; I'm not.
I won, the end, good-bye.
I'm suddenly aware of the gun resting in my right hand. I drop it in disgust.
I'm just as wrong now I realize. I'm no longer the hero.
I'm a murderer.
This is what you wanted isn't it, Gin?
The dead eyes just stare back, unblinking, unmoving, unyielding.
I drop back to my knees.