Introduction to the Corporate World, a Short Story About Freedom.

Somehow writing in general has always been more natural to me, when I do it in English, in spite of my first language being Finnish. Still, at the times I notice that I've been thinking in English for the last few hours, so I guess I was just altered to massive amounts of this global tongue when I was a kid, sitting in front of my first nintendo and playing Super Mario and such games, where you just had to figure out the meaning of the unknown words on the screen. I think I'm doing quite well by now. Here's one of my older works of fart.

Introduction to the Corporate World, A Short Story About Freedom.

I am a by-product of your society.
I am a complete maniac without the everyday must-haves
such as patience, ambition, greed and ability to shut my mouth.
As I stand here on the field, carrying an half-empty can of gas and a bag on my back,
I can't help thinking the surprise on my boss' face when he wakes up
in his burning house approximately 3.50 am this very same night.
Half-empty. That is so typical me. Always Half-empty. Always.
Oh, and of course there's a possibility my boss won't wake up.
He's running against time, running against the toxic fumes that fill the room
Cunningly, climb up the walls and jump in to his lungs, replace the sweet oxygen
he so desperately needs.
I hear the voices, I see the house, I smell the gas.
My fingers are aching for all the work I've done during these last painful weeks, and for what?
For no apparent reason! Just to make sure my boss can have his bigger garage.
What do I profit of my work? Barely nothing. It keeps me alive, it pays my rent and food,
I survive. It also makes sure that I am not able to do actually anything. I can sit home, numb my mind and watch TV. Then, eventually fall asleep and wake up for work. It is the miserable circulation of my days. This is my life. And I fucking hate it. I despise it with every single muscle I have in my body,
And Now I have had enough of it. I have had enough of that miserable office, enough of those happy-painted faces that sit in their cages and accept their fate, enough of my apartment, enough of my "friends" and most of all; I have had enough of my boss.
This is what happens eventually, when you put people in to locked up little cages. Some depress, some accept, some rebel. Well... Take a guess, will ya?
It's getting colder, but I don't feel a thing as I approach the lonesome house across the field. I am so fucking excited, dopamine levels soaring high, all my senses ready to focus on the upcoming act of violence and hate. It is purely freedom. Slave breaks free and burns down his boss' house, and that miserable little faggot with it. Probably his last thoughts will be something like "No, my sweet, expensive Armani suits are on fire!" When the flames are ready to engulf his miserable remains, he'll be still thinking about his deposits, cars, all that expensive trash he has in his fucking house! It'll all be burned down tonight. His plastic wife, his perfect kids, his perfect, successful life, it'll all be gone tomorrow.
I am a by-product of this world. I am the living proof of what happens when you kick people around. I am the fucking living, breathing Hand of Karma. I am the Fist of Justice. I am the Flames of Truth. I am the absence of sense in this world of complete lack of chaos. I am the end.
I'm getting closer and I check my pocket. Yep, still six more bullets. Just in case there would happen to be any problems. I know there won't. I know my boss. I have studied him closely during the last two months. I know his nearest neighbors are on their annual vacation. My soon-to-be-victims are alone. My chains will soon be gone. I am the ghost, the last one to be suspected when the time will come. I am a complete fucking nobody. I mostly just stay out of the way and observe the world. I am an observer. I gather information. All the time. I am a supercomputer. I am god. And soon I will be an arsonist too. I'm here. I could try to describe the excitement, but you still wouldn't understand. You've never been caught doing anything illegal, you have no clue about how I feel right now! This is fucking incredible! My heart is racing, my veins try to pump the blood up to my brains, which are too busy sending messages allover my body to even stop for a second and take a deep breath of the oxygen my blood has delivered only for their needs. My hands are shaking, knees go week, I feel nauseous and yet, this is the greatest moment of my life! I am devious. I am not normal. You might think sooner or later the guilt would kick in, but it won't. I have no use for such term. I have never felt guilt in my life. I take three empty bottles from my bag and carefully fill them up. Obviously, I'm wearing a pair of black gloves all the time. I may be a psycho, but I'm not stupid. I am actually the most intelligent, the most beautiful being to walk this earth. At least I feel like it right now. The bottles are full. I handle them carefully, like my own kids. Well actually a lot better than I would treat my kids if I happened to have any. These are lot more than some stupid miniature failures of your and someone else's genes. These are my three, beautiful white doves. Doves of freedom, ready to fly in to my boss' house and set me free. My three, beautiful Birds of anarchy. My violent little doves. Something's missing....ah! the wings! I pull white cloth, one of my three shirts I wear at work, and rip it into three pieces. I soak them with gasoline, and tie wrap them around bottles. Carefully. This is my one-way-ticket to freedom. There they are. My three, beautiful kids. Smelly little rascals ready to fly away from home already. Kids. They grow up so fast these days. With shaking hands I reach towards my left pocket, and take the lighter. One by one, I light them up and throw them towards freedom. CRASH! First window broken first bottle reached it's goal, the bedroom. I instantly hear the surprised screams of terror and disbelief. There's practically no way they could escape now. The second bird spreads it's burning wings. CRASH! It hits the living room, windows and lands just where I want it, at the lower end of the only staircase in the house! I start to howl, so beautiful is this moment of my redemption! I will be free by dawn! The expensive, synthetic furniture my boss was so proud about, is now being turned against him. You see, synthetic fabrics are extra flammable, and easily catch the flame and proudly carry on my message: I WILL BE FREE! I dance around like a complete maniac and light up my last bird. She flies. I aimed at the garage, but slightly miss it. That's what you get when you get too confident! CRASH! My last bird explodes against the roof of garage, and the flames reach for the night. What a beautiful sight! This is fucking incredible! Every cell in my body tells me that I'm finally free! BURN VICTIM! I hear the cries of my boss and his family..BURN VICTIM! This is beauty in it's own right, something clean and pure, something I've always wanted- Balance. Karma fulfilled. Nirvana. I calm down a bit, for I don't have much time. I gather my stuff carefully, and start to run. I run all the way back home, and stop only to vomit on the way. I regurgitate out all the shit I have carried with me for all my life, I dispose all of it from my system. I run home, close the door. I'm exhausted. I fall flat on my face, and fall asleep. For the first time in my whole life I do not see nightmares. I am whole. I am complete. I am blank canvas to paint. Tabula Rasa, indeed.