The Morality of Serial Killing through the Ages

Suffice to say that the morality of serial killing hasn't changed too drastically through the ages. It is bad. It is a very bad thing to do. However, the scope of what counts as serial killing has certainly changed over the course of many thousands of years, and there continues to be a discrepancy even from place to place geographically in one time frame.

According to Wikipedia:

A serial killer is typically defined as an individual who has murdered three or more people[1][2] over a period of more than a month, with down time (a "cooling off period") between the murders, and whose motivation for killing is usually based on psychological gratification.

This definition is, of course, nonsense. If this definition were accurate then you or I might be considered serial killers, which is clearly unworkable, because we are not bad people. I certainly am not.

Now, just over three months ago I killed a ticket inspector on a train, because I didn't have a ticket. Clearly, this was an action based not in psychological gratification, but in simple practicality. Ticket prices nowadays are ludicrously expensive, and I felt utterly justified in killing the man. In fact, I consider his checking me for a ticket an act of suicide.

A few weeks later, I was watching a national-level sporting event in a public house, and was distressed to discover that I had been surrounded by other viewers who were far more demonstratively approaching the game than was I. One fellow shouted at a sportsman in quite an alarming way, and I, not expecting the yell, was quite startled. Well, of course it is quite rude to startle a gentleman who you are watching the game with, and so I was quite forced to mash his fizzog into a mushed pulp of skinflakes, bone fragments and gore. Thankfully, his yelling quickly abated. I can be uncharacteristically merciless in the doling of justice. It is just rude to shout out; be quiet for goodness' sake.



For another fortnight I saw no wrong in the world that needed my direct intervention. Just as I crested the event horizon of that fortnight, I was confronted with what I must consider the nadir of human decorum. Having travelled to the Capital of the fair nation which has the honour of housing me, I entered a restaurant, nothing too fancy, just some common place where the common people may go to partake of their common fare. I sauntered up to the bar, for there is no waiting staff in these types of places, no one comes to take your order, you have to go up and actually order it yourself. It's a clever system. The very fabric of the place is designed to erode your dignity. Hungry as I was, I forced myself to the bar, hence my sauntering, and locked the serving wench with the iron glare of an angry eagle who has spotted something annoying and is trying to stare it out because he is an hard bastard. The wench, a veteran of this workplace, was unfazed, and spat right in my eye. I was impressed, and suddenly I felt all my anxiety melt away. The spittle, sinking in the cleft between my eye and my nose, ploughed by endless years of sleep deprivation, tricked my body into believing I was crying, and as such things always do, this belief cyclically perpetuated itself, and I began to weep. The serving wench, regaining her balance after her colossal spit, knew exactly what I was about. With a cry of "Blood alive, man! To a seat with you!" she swandived over the counter and, driving her head into the very top of my skull with the entire weight of her body behind her, we crumpled to the floor in a fallen mess. I was a little disturbed by this, but not knowing the ways of the peasant folk I kept schtum so as not to conduct any undesirable faux pas.



Groggily regaining my feet, I whipped around to face the also recovering wench, and landed a solid haymaker on her collarbone. Hearing it snap and pop, I smiled, and she led me to a nearby table and promised me that a plate of cod and chips, with mushy peas, would arrive within 10 minutes. It did, and it was piping hot and looked all set to be delicious. I arose from my chair to peruse the condiments, and alongside the vinegar, the salt, mayo and tartare sauce stood an overlarge bowl that was almost sarcastically empty. It might not be normal to have with fish dishes, but I need tomato sauce. I fucking lost it at that point. Leaping onto a nearby table, I lashed my foot out in a vicious 180° arc which caught three diners; one in the nose, another in the ear, and the third was entirely decapitated, spraying viscous red fluid into the empty tomato sauce bowl, the irony of which enraged me further. Rising unsteady on his or her feet, the diner that I'd punted in the ear made a clumsy attempt at my legs, which I'd foolishly left on top of the table; a rather perilous position. Due to my acrobatic background, I was able to avoid such a clumsy attempt with complete ease. Slipping nimbly off the table, I planted myself firmly and pushed against my clueless combatant. The force of my push sent the diner careening limply into the air, where an acquaintance was made with an adjoining window, but was short-lived. With this troublesome individual dispatched, I turned to the fellow I'd kicked in the nose. Looking down upon his crumpled remains, I discovered I'd killed him with the blow. I can be very deadly when I've been wronged.



Bracing myself back a step, I made a quick dash and with an effortless handspring, leapt into a series of cartwheels and somersaults which took me across the length of the room, the last of which raised me high into the air and, sailing over the bar, my legs, acting as fleshy javelins, speared the barmaid, with precision, through the sternum. My fish and chips remained uneaten.



I'm in jail now, because I've been "caught", apparently. What I did wrong I'll never know. One man's anecdote is another man's horrendous crime. The occasion on which I was detained involved self-defence on my part. My flatmate was trying his level best to watch a program I believe is called 'The Goblin People Argue over their Goblin Children', and for the entire half hour of the show I found it necessary to dry my hair using the most powerful setting on my hair drier. Of course, he complained because he couldn't hear the show, which was the entire reason I did it. I hadn't even been in the shower, or moistened my hair even slightly. He came at me with his fists, but using my deft fingers I was able to unzip his jeans, forcibly insert the blow drier where the dry does not blow, which caused him some measure of discomfort, and eventually butchered him thoroughly, due to a power malfunction with the device.



The police have no sense of humour, which is why they end up in fights so often.



*****

When I was told to write about the morality of serial killing through the ages i thought "Well i am far too humble to only offer my opinion to something as deep and complex as this." So i did some interviewing. I interviewed two very high profile celebrities. My first interview took place in heaven with a being called God. My second interview took place in the universe with a planet called the Earth. I hope you enjoy our conversations.

"What?" Quizzed God. "What's my view on serial killing?" God reflected. "Well, I'll tell you shall I? Yes. While I was growing up i went through a serial killing phase. Nothing i could help, i assure you. It was my hormones running wild, like when you see an elk rape a she elk; It is rape but it's also natural. That's how the species grows.
You see, when i was young there was this girl. I made her in my image, but with tits and an inward penis. (That's not true at all, really. I just told some people that as a joke and it's sort of snowballed). This girl grew into a woman who ended up bringing more men into the world. And this continued. There was at least, I would say millions of these humans on this earth and i got jealous of them. They got to play with the whole of the Earth, and there was plenty of it to go around, but they sort of, just had sex and kept to themselves. So all these boring people were being boring in a very fascinating place while i was stuck in an itchy cloud.
So to make my complex TV seem more entertaining i got drunk. I opened a my first can, declared aloud; "ENJOY THE SHOW WITH A CAN OF BOW" and drank.
A couple of minutes passed which is the equivalent of 300 earth years and i got "MEGA SHIT-FACED" I think some humans call it.
Well i learned a valuable lesson that night. When i get drunk and have a good time, i paint the world red. With the blood of people. And animals.
Now i've got some mathematics to explain why it's gone on for so long. Now, a couple of minutes in heaven is like 300 years on earth. I drunk constantly for 2 weeks straight. (Don't try that at home, I can handle it because i am God and you aren't.)
I suppose it was a little irresponsible because all that killing is a bit immoral, but people were very boring, you see. What i didn't realise was that i sort of solved my problem. I wanted more drama and curiosity and I achieved it all with a holy can of cider.
However. Since i have seen more and more people on this earth there is a huge variety of channels on my complicated television. I can watch the adventures of all the explorers of your planet. I can watch some people bickering in a supermarket. You humans have done very well for yourselves haven't you. I find it a terrible shame that these brilliant TV shows can be canceled by a stupid serial killer. And to think i used to award my best ones at one time. I was hammered then, honest.
So here's my answer to your question. The morality of serial killing has always been constant. It is immoral. But. In my eyes it was necessary which is an unpopular opinion."

----------

"Serial killing?" Pondered the Earth whilst gently rotating. "The taking of a single life performed on multiple occasions." Continued the Earth. "And you want my opinion of it's morality? Im afraid that's a complicated issue. Does the serial killing of different species count? I mean you are still extinguishing a being that i myself nourished from birth through life."

"No, just humans on humans for today, please the Earth." I explained.

"Ah. Ok. So. You wan't me; The Earth to comment on the morality of serial killing, specifically amid the human kind." The Earth ensured whilst orbiting the sun.

"Yes" I confirmed.

"Ok then I will." declared the Earth.

"Thank you. You may begin." I instructed whilst trying my very best not to let go of my humility.

"Well I was only telling the Moon about this last millennium. WASN'T I THE MOON"

"YES" howled the Moon. "YOU WERE TELLING BE ABOUT HOW.."

"I'LL TELL THEM THANK YOU, THE MOON. Sorry about that. Once we get into it, the Moon and I can chat for decades. As i was saying. The morality of serial killing. Here we go. Are you going to write this down?"

"I certainly am the Earth."

"Ok. Well on one hand i don't like it. It's a complete waste of that which i have given you. I think that humans have something wrong in their DNA, Which I discovered, thank you. Yes, serial killing is an awful thing.
On the other hand it tickles my surface when you bury them".

*****
Adam Gilder
Dafydd Evans