They don't ask my name and I don't tell them. They just line up in a row. I don't ask theirs either but of course I know them all by heart. It's silence and it's violent but I try to keep it a sport all the same.
They would say I'm sorry, I imagine, if their mouths weren't full. Full of other words, other losses, regrets more profane than the ones that brought them here. But that's why they're here in the first place. Sorry buggers.
A fun job? Sometimes. An easy job? Yes. I can't pretend and say that it isn't. It wouldn't be fair to the others. A necessary job? Well, that's the kicker, now isn't it? If I answer no, then I'm the villain. If I answer yes, then I'm the villain, but at least I'm in on it.
I suppose all villains think they're the good guys, think what they're doing is right. I think the trick is in knowing what you're doing is wrong. Knowing that you can't be stopped. That's where the power lies. You have to go with it or it will eat you up. An eater cannot afford to be eaten.
They line up. They don't ask my name. They can't see where they're going. Neither can I.
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