The Voices:

It had always been an odd life. A life that knew nothing of despair and anguish, a life that had never know pain or desire, everything had always been there for him. It had to stop. So he had studied, not study as you or I would study. He studied not art, mathematics or science; he studied pain and anguish, which was about the only thing he did not know about.

The subjects he had studied were of little use in his studies, they had come willingly at first, but soon they were against him so they had to be stopped. The first one was easy; while she slept he merely ran the razor blade over her neck. That wasn’t so hard he had thought. But was it his mind? Were the voices back again? He couldn’t tell. So he continued in his experiments. Over a period of about a year he had studied anguish and suffering in all its forms. Starvation was sad, he didn’t like to see the subjects waste away. Drowning was another, death should be quick not a drawn out process. So he had settled on the perfect idea. Gas.

He could easily make fluorine gas from household products; the only problem was constructing the airtight chamber to test his subjects. You were only lucky once. So now he had his chamber built and had run several experiments through it. Each time they fell to the ground gasping and screaming for air, their eyes turning red as the gas entered their nervous system. It was perfect.

For the next few weeks he had built up quite a supply, the plan was simple. Or so the voices had said. Get enough of the perfection as they had called it and release it into a large group. Then educational value would be immense. But there was always a back up.

He sat there on his bed; little more than a filthy mattress with a rag over it. On his lap he held the back up, a burnished black automatic shotgun. Not so much for killing but a shot at the legs would give him knowledge of the anguish. So now it was complete. But where to strike? The voices recommended a concert, but that didn’t seem like a good idea, it was open air so it would have little effect. What he needed was something, solid, with high window and very narrow interior.

It was perfect. The balcony reserved for clergy made it perfect. The doors were three-inch thick solid turn of the century oak. The walls were stone and mortar. And the stained glass windows were airtight. The Voices were content and gave him an hour to get ready. The mask was important; it would protect him from the grand experiment as the Voices had called it.

The church was packed, carefully he reversed his car up to the door to prevent the people getting out then headed upstairs to the balcony. In a grey duffle bag was the gas. Contained in jars with small explosive charges. The shotgun was slung around his shoulder and knocked against the wooden ribbed stonewalls with each step. As the congregation started to sing he smiled. He opens the bag and takes out the first two jars. The just waits for the right moment. The Voices were back now urging him on. Go on do it, you know you want this. We agreed. Finally the congregation fell to prayer. It is unknown if any of them heard the tinkle of glass.

Within a minute they were coughing and spluttering, gasping for air and clutching their throats. Aside from the wails came seven bags from the shotgun taking down over a dozen people heading for the vestry. The man felt a tingle in his back, and then he found it hard to breathe. The mask! He had forgotten the mask! The voices laughed.

Now you get the ultimate education. You will learn how suffering feels and shall feel the anguish you have given to those people. You are weak and easily manipulated. Child.

The voices had never called him a child. As he felt his life slipping away he gingerly gripped the shotgun with his trembling hands and turned it to face him. Slowly he put the barrel in his mouth, his life leaving his body with every second. With a great deal of effort he pulled the trigger. The last thing he saw was the painted image of Christ looking down at him with two glaring eyes.

The voices were gone, for the rest of eternity all he saw was black.