Murder I wrote.

Murder. Ever thought about it? A child crying incessantly on a 14 hour flight, that girl who broke your heart, the stranger who beat you at something you are good at, an acquaintance who just makes your blood boil, that lecturer who wrongfully failed you or that colleague who never does his job - a few of the possible triggers to make you go apeshit on that motherfucker. Generally, in neuroscience jargon, the orbital cortex (that's the front part of the brain behind the eyes) is thought to be responsible for ethical behaviour and solving moral epiphanies along with impulse control. While this is not the whole picture - as there is some weird relationship with the amygdala as well - people with low activity in the orbital cortex are sociopaths. They even have identified the guilty gene - known as the MAO-A (monoamine oxidase A) gene/warrior gene. Obviously . This is not a bloody scientific article so let me get back on track and start with the hocus pocus my brain is coming up with right now.
While so much has happened and there is so much scientific knowledge out there concerning this subject, I have a few fucked up theories I would like to propose and ask you to consider. Let me state that the warrior gene is present in everyone, only the dysfunctional variant is the one that is 'dangerous'.

1. What if: the polymorphic nature of the MAO-A gene could make it go from functional to dysfunctional?
2. What if: on the first 'taste' of blood, this gene were to develop an addiction to it, demanding more and more?
3. What if: those persons with the dysfunctional variant were to be developed in super soldiers?
4. What if: the warrior gene was to be successfully grafted in already aggressive beasts like koalas (they look cute but they are plotting for murder while chewing on eucalyptus, mind you)?

Ask yourself and be honest, if you had to kill someone (no names), what would be your Modus Operandi? Would you just theorise about it? What is your tolerance threshold before you snap? Your views.

Meanwhile, chickens, go watch Dexter, Criminal Minds or Mentalist.


Autumn

It is the icy whispers of nostalgia
Hidden in the quiet rustle of dried leaves

That haunting voice still resounds and deaves
Coursing through your soul like leukaemia

It is the screech of a morning gale
Tearing your eyes up a cold sunny day

That suffocating bulge stuck in your airway
Not unlike the enormity of a whale

It is the constant blows of hail
Beating your melody down to a lament

As you're chained in a waltz with the torment
Succumbing to the mental assail

Though every word had a story to tell
Discard them away, like the rain that fell

For they are the autumn of your life
And the reason for your strife