The Mad E-mailer
by Jellyfish
It was a dark and stormy night. Lightning flashed across the sky and briefly lit up the small dark room with a flicker of white light. Rain battered the window pane incessantly, but the man did not care. He sat at the dirty and pitted desk which was empty except for a computer, monitor, and keyboard. The monitor cast a surreal glow onto his face, the only light in the room in between lightning flashes, and beneath the sound of rumbling thunder there was the continual tap-tap-tap of the computer keys and the occasional click of the mouse.
In the depths of his mind, the man actually liked the sounds of the restless storm. It was like his mind--his mind could not rest until he had his revenge. Revenge! He was immersed in it. He could taste it on his lips. He could think of nothing but it, and it dominated his every thought. He had to have his revenge against all of the celebrities. They had caused him pain and now they would pay...as they watched themselves die off, one by one, like flies...
The man clicked on a file and a list came up, a list of the celebrities and their e-mail addresses. He was a genius, actually. He had discovered a way to place subliminal messages within the body of an e-mail note. What looked like note from a fan praising their excellence in the movies, theater, music, sports, or television shows turned out to be an order that they could not prevent themselves from following. Some of the messages were simple, like "Shoot yourself in the head with your gun." Others were more complex like the late, "Go skiing. You will lose control when you are at your fastest speed and run into a tree." The deaths of the two celebrities he had sent that message to had shaken the world--for the first time, people took notice of his handiwork.
Yes! That was what the man wanted the most. He wanted the entire world to look up from their self-centered lives and see what one man could do if someone wronged him. He wanted TV reporters to comment on the shame and pity of it. He wanted astrologists to say it was written in the stars. He wanted newspapers to report incidents with pictures of millions of people in black. He wanted to be recognized and feared as the world's greatest serial killer--only no one would know it was him. They would only be able to watch and wait as more and more celebrities died...and as he laughed alone in his small dirty room, controlling their lives...or their deaths.
Perspective goes to: