Our human capacity for violence is, sadly, limitless. It requires neither access to a particular modality nor seasonal fluctuation. It favors no race, culture, or creed.

The rage of untold years of evolutions simmers within each of us, a trait perhaps we wish were more vestigial. Man is and ever will be, at his core, an animal. Though enlightenment, education, and society strive to drum the beast from us, it will not go.

It will never go.

It will only abate. Within the individual or across a society the best for which we can hope is a ebb tide. The sea of aggression will nonetheless remain.

I do not say this to excuse my actions, only explain the inevitability of them. Though I think myself little more than the sum of my biological ancestry, there is the undeniable existence of my own sentience and will.

Life, this unyielding mass of misfortune, was the fuel. Her name was the match.

I and I alone chose to burn down the world, to let loose the wellspring of hate.

Honestly, it felt good.