A Confession

12/105BIS Boulevard de Grenelle,
Near St. Mont Piquet – Grenelle Station
Paris,
France

June 11, 2021.

Dear Commissariat de Police,

I am John Dameron, and this is a confession. I was at the Eiffel Tower on the 31st of May. I was the one who killed most of your guards, and a few hundred innocent tourists from all over the world. I am your “terrorist”.

To be fair, I’m not a terrorist. I’m not ISIS. I’m not some kind of genius like in Agatha Christie books, looking to show off my genius. It really doesn’t take a genius to pull off what I did. I’m not the poor guy from Pakistan you’re currently chasing. Do your research. That guy’ll tell you that he’s never even been to Paris. No. I’m just Good Old Johnny.

It was painfully easy.

I walked into the Eiffel Tower, completely unchecked. I strolled in with a black backpack – full of guns. I put it on the table in front of no less than two bored guards, who told me to go through a metal detector. They didn’t check my bag. They didn’t check anything. They didn’t even touch my bag. I simply picked up my bag, hid behind one of the ticket counters to put on my mask, and lit the whole place on fire. I killed everyone in my sight.

As I write this, I can hear the screams that immediately came after I pulled the trigger. My finger didn’t come off the automatic’s trigger. It stayed there, and killed every one. EVERYONE.

When I close my eyes, I can see the splashes of blood as I ended the lives of people of all origins. People who only wanted to come to see what the fuss was all about. All they wanted there was to have a good time. And where are they now? Under the damn ground. They’re lying there. DEAD.

And you know what, I’ve been hearing your leaders talk about me, asking me how I can sleep. Here’s my reply: I can’t. And then you’d ask me why I did it. It’s because of you.

It’s because of you that I hear screaming children, wailing for their mothers and fathers to get up, as they watched blood fly from all over their bodies. Where are the children now? DEAD. Where are the parents now? DEAD!

It’s because of you that I see two lovers, who have come to the most cliché spot to celebrate love, run into each other’s arms, sharing one last kiss, as my bullets soared through their heads. Where is their love now? DEAD. Where are they now? DEAD!

It’s all because of YOU.

You might want to go back to the top of my letter. You might notice something. I just walked in. I SIMPLY WALKED IN, DO YOU COPY, LUNATICS? There is ZERO security to get there. Not to mention the lawn in front of the Tower. Some suicide bomber could just walk in, and set his bombs off and there are suddenly THREE HUNDRED DEAD! Not even on earthquake has that kind of a casualty count.

I haven’t mentioned all the people who got injured. Not many will survive.

Your guards didn’t stop me. I got in. Now, where are those guards? DEAD.

So come on over, I’m sitting right here. Inside the house mentioned above.

I’ll keep the wine ready.

A Violent Social Worker,
John Dameron

 

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