Walter Jerings, 2. trial, 24th of June.
"I do not believe that your actions may ever cause anything that might even slightly be in your interests. See, this scenery, it is splendid. Who do you think might have remembered the name of a man like me? Nobody but those related. There were tears shed, that I do not want to deny, but you made the world open it's eyes to me. You made me known. Your interests in personal gain and publicity haven't given you the thought opportunity to set a sample, but gave that to me. I will not die a martyr, and I am damned sure that your sentence will, whatsoever, be death. I do not fear it. I feel no regret for any of my actions, as I have made known before, and neither have I apologized to the victim's families. I see no point in taking back what I have done. Why would I have done it whatsoever? I can perfectly grasp my actions and the sense behind them, even though some might question that. I do not plead for insanity, therefore crushing the popular belief of what I would aim to do in given situation.
My death spoken out in this very trial sets a sample in your failure to talk sense. To think sense even. You kill a man who killed your kin, thus making you no better. Surely, I've got blood all over those hands of mine, but I didn't do it upholding the delusion of moral. What I have done were ideas played out. I see myself as one would see a little child, eager to experiment. Eager to try and to touch and to taste. I wasn't bound by the borders the modern man faces yet we think thoughts alike. I acted out phantasies and desires for the sake of the action, for the sake of the moment. See, I didn't want to have a moment last forever, I just regained it. It got my interest and my affection, unlike the stream of life most of you float upon. What is there in your lifes, anymore? Besides cable television, your job and maybe some emotional intercourse? Even your love is just a basic, but can't reach the bottom. You don't dive deep enough since you are afraid of the dark. And the deep, the deep is always dark. There are lusts awaiting in that dark. You just fail to grasp them. I can understand your anger, your dissettlement. Let me continue, though.
I don't want to break your moral borders, oh well, you built them up so neatly. I want to remind you that, whatever you might think, I am no demon. I am just a man like those who have died through my hands. I can not tell of any trauma inflicted in my life. I can not tell of any abuse in my family. Yet I can tell that I am a perfectly sane man. And that I have to keep strong to not laugh at you for so obviously showing that one man can win against them all. Because in this game, I won, through your hands. You didn't stop me, you haven't brought them back to life. You will just toss a stone and end a series, makin my dead the season's final. And there are other seasons to come. Because, dear gentlemen, dear ladies, there are other people to come. Because not all of society thinks alike, and this is what makes me smile, since it brightens up society a little. Individuality like that.
I am aware that the day I die, your now shocked faces will turn to gleaming little smiles; That you will sing and clap your hands and do little cute dances. But mind that you are smiling and laughing at the death of a man, which I have never done, and therefore are at least no better than the man that died."
The things about his face that look like screamingly huge mistakes are sort of on purpose. He's got a broad mouth, weird eyes, and those odd ears. He's never supposed to be a classically good-looking type.
Damned quick sketch, therefore pretty uuuh.
He's been a character in a lot of things I have been working on, and thinking that he will die really started to bother me.
