Good Guy

I'm not a bad guy. Really, I'm not. In fact, I'm really good guy.But even the good can be influenced. Even saints have urges. The only time I ever challenged the idea that I may be a good guy is hen I first felt the urge. It was a deep crushing pain. It felt as though an extremely large person was sitting on my chest. I was at the park accompanying my niece when I first saw the thing that triggered my... Need to do what I now do.
It was a sunny Saturday afternoon. I sat on a park bench as a pretty lady listened to her iPod beside me. Presumably the mother of one of the kids playing. Maybe a jogger taking a break. Maybe both. As I surveyed my surroundings, I made sure to take every aspect of this park in. I breathed in deeply through my nose. the air was clean. I felt happy. Behind me, I heard the a loud skidding sound. A man hopped out, only for a second, and without even closing his car door, made his way toward the first child he saw. He snatched him in the blink of an eye, and by my next heartbeat, had vanished. The people around me screamed. Mothers looking for their children, to make sure they were safe. Fathers attempting (in vain) to pursue the long-gone perpetrator.
The man that committed such a crime disgusted me. The thought of somebody that could do such a thing made my skin crawl. The police arrived in no time.
I fell to my knees. My head throbbed. My chest was being crushed. Thoughts of violence raced through my mind. I do not like these bad people. They make good people sad. And I am a good person. So as a good person, it must be my duty to bring judgement upon these people.
What if it was my niece? What would I do? I would make it my goal to ensure the good people were safe from the bad.
My first victim was some smug fucker in his mid-twenties. He apparently had a girlfriend his age, but preferred younger boys.
I set up a meeting with him under the guise of a small child. He reluctantly followed through with our little meet-up.
Once he opened the door, I shut it behind him. I smashed a brick over the back of his head. He landed with a sickly thump. When he woke up, he was tied to a chair. His fingernails were either gone or hanging off. A few of his teeth remained. The tip of his nose was sliced off.
I thought I was doing good, when I was in the moment. I now realize I had gone over the edge.
I fed him the tip of his nose. I grinded up the fingernails and teeth and coated the mutilated skin.
Tears filled his eyes. He said he was sorry. I wasn't. He gulped it down and I strangled him to death.
My second and last victim is going to be myself. But I'm not going down without bringing some people down with me.
I found all of the convicted sex offenders in my area. I've invited them all to meet with me, hinting that I have some naughty pictures to share with them.
I can not live with myself knowing the torture I made another human being endure, but I can't die knowing those sick fucks are out there. The propane bombs are set to explode in a few minutes. We've all gathered in, they have tried to get out, knowing it's a trap, but I've blocked the doors.
The police are outside.
"Open the door!"
They realize I've booby-trapped the house. It's too late.
"Get on the floor!"
I walk out with my hands up, I've disarmed the explosives. I walk onward toward them despite them telling me not to.
"STOP!"...
...EVERYBODY WALK THE DINOSAUR.
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