"I am 19...19, Priest." The Priest let out a shocked gasp when he heard that. The boy looked at least 30. There were deep lines etched into his face, a stoop in his shoulders, he lacked the vitality of his youth. The boy seemed to have a weight about him, an aura of despair.

"I killed for my first time when I was 9. He was some bum living down by the railroad tracks close to my house, and one night he was drunk. I remember smashing a brick into his head over and over again." An obvious chill and shudder of pleasure worked its way through the boy's body, in memory of his acts.

The Priest continued to look at the boy, staring, struck at how such a young person could have committed such crimes as he had. The murderer/boy continued.

"It is amazing, Priest...the utter freedom you feel when you steal what is most precious. It is addicting," the Priest was in shock, unable to say anything.

"It's not our place to decide who leaves this earth, nor where they go and when they do," the Priest said. He wondered if this 19 year old mass murderer was, in his own way, trying to confess.

"They convicted me of killing 33 people, but oh, there were so many more than just that. I myself lost count at something like 97," the boy spoke, smiling, his food now all but forgotten as he relived his memories.

The cell door clanged open, four guards stepping in to escort the boy to the last chair he would ever sit in. To ride the proverbial lightening.

As the boy was strapped in the chair and the clock read 11:59:53 PM, the young Priest asked the boy if he had anything to say.

"Remember, Priest, what I said. It is the ultimate freedom." and then the lights flickered.

The man who was once a Priest killed for the first time the following year, experiencing the freedom which a now long dead murderer believed in.