There was something about the act of killing another human being that forever Milkin in awe. It was not something that he had a particular affection for as an unsanctioned act. As far as the state was concerned it was a necessary pruning that from time to time needed to be employed upon those that would not abide by a reasonable limit. He did not need to agree with the type of target or the reason he had been sent out to pull a trigger. It was simply part and parcel of his stock and trade. The greater mystery of life and the death that he imposed fascinated him. To see someone in the midst of hostile action from a distance in your reticule was one thing that might be analogized in one’s mind as a rag doll puppet of sorts. A well placed round in the vicinity of the upper thorax severing the spinal column sending the intended target instantly lifeless to the ground in the span of less than an instant. That in itself might be in part a confirmation of the acuity of one’s own professional training regimen. Yet, in a covert hit in a public place, more up close and personal, even a moment of acquired familiarity with the personality of the person targeted at that instant of the kill marked a limit where when deprived of further ability to function the transition to the inert forced the mystery of it all.
Milkin wondered if those who worked within a slaughter house each day dispatching hundreds of bovine lives for the sake of tomorrow’s dinner had a similar sense of insoluble wonder? Might he have analogized this transition as unexpectedly losing your car keys and being obsessed for the duration of the next month. Within that time retracing your successive actions right up to the loss and forever frustrated to find any explanation why this had happened. To watch the life in one’s eyes go blank and lifeless with no possibility of return begging the question of where? He might occasionally remark to himself that he could always rely on a second career when this one came to an end. The job application of a scientist over familiar with the phenomena of the symptomatic series of processes of dying. Maybe there were many ahead of him that were well accustomed to its less violent varieties that had made a career of manning hospices? But considering all the many forms of demise he had been tasked with a knowledge of if such a clinical career path was allowed by current society, he was sure that his own experience would surpass these others in an all around sense.
It was within his own mercenary perspective to dispassionately approach each task that left him uninterested in carrying on his interest in the form of a nagging obsession. To him it was just a job that while to most others would find it shockingly distressing, he could easily go home at night and sleep unperturbed and then mow the lawn the next day without even a thought of it in his head. The layman might try to brand him with the label of psychopath. But to him the ongoing social structures supporting the civilizations that general humanity was dependent upon was borne out by a long history of killing as a noble profession. Many of the greatest killers having found longstanding recognition over time as exemplary heroes to be emulated in those times when politics of two opposing empires would turn it into a free for all.
No. That was not what it was all about for him. It was about looking up to a tiny platform some sixty feet up in the center ring of some circus troupe the performer’s own facial features barely visible and in the next instant hearing what collective gasp of horror of the audience as the very same form hit the ground. A sense that the two images separated by that fatal instant never seemed to apply to the same object? What sort of magic lay behind it? Certainly not anything that those proselytizing an organized religion had any real grasp of! And definitely a degree of understanding that a regular scientist would most certainly overlook. He had no illusion that the cosmos that all were supposedly party to had some great overarching plan above and beyond the constant machinations of men and women who busied their lives with seeking ever greater power and influence. No it was evidence of some sort of illusion based upon a degree of perception that mankind in general was completely ignorant of.
To pull the plug on another invited the ultimate limit of finality. Something as an absolute that equally defined the existence of all around him as anything that was imbued with the energy of self-propelled inspired motion. A bullet or the rough dynamics of the sophistication of the type of tube that issued it being a lesser topic of interest than the source of the genius behind its inception. The larger more studied view of the connection suggesting some unseen hand that manipulated man like a puppeteer for the sake of an equally undetectable taste. Was it just as simply as discovering that your ‘you‘ was merely a plaything experiencing a gulf of understanding that was as impossible to fully comprehend as the far side of a grand canyon. All the notions of humankind of right and wrong and up and down seemed trivial to this sort of awareness. They did not enter into the picture that one might be able to sense from afar as he was tasked to be well accustomed to.
There was the issue more close to home of his own relative disposition in terms of mortality. He was subject to the same rules and boundaries as he imposed upon his many clients. His own existence was daily refreshed by the realization fostered by his job category of employ. He did not count on a sun rising the next morning any more than he could be sure that an assignment might not somehow backfire and take away his own life. That seemed to be a sense of fairness that inspired his continued diligence and attention to details that were needed to keep the odds of this not happening in his own favor. The one thing that was sure that he could always count on was that he would not be concerned about what might be left behind after his own transition. He, like all the others, would then be meaningless to this current world. The shift bringing the blessing of a nothingness of non-being or a new situation that would have to be learned as this one was from the initial point of birth. Either way, he was along for the ride. Certainly nothing to fear by someone that had never been overwhelmed by earthly attachments.
He supposed that many others before him had come to the same realization. His own persistent embodiment begging the question of whether he was the dreamer or a character playing the lead in a passing scenario as posed by another dreamer. Could this be a way of mentally sorting out an otherwise insoluble puzzle? Each time he reviewed the many instantaneous transitions locked so clearly in his own recollection they spoke to him as a chorus. He like so many others were a conundrum. The successive actions followed over the path of each individual life leading to that one inevitable moment of closure. Some might have termed it fate, or perhaps within an industrial sense, destiny? Over and over like the hands of a mechanical clock or a spinning top these thought continually enchanted his mind. Something that would distract him on that very day of his own final solitary transaction.