I could see the flaws in this man. They were obvious. A pornographer of all kinds, paedophilia especially, there was nothing he hadn’t forced others to do. The business was profitable, mind, with more warped minds than would be expected purchasing his goods. He could afford a comfortable house, security, first class holidays and a decent education for his children. Not even his wife knew how he earned his money. It was a relatively easy life, feeding from the pain of others.
The routine was easy: A new feature was filmed every two to three weeks; ideas were recycled over a period of six months. Productions involving children seemed to make most profit so were made more often. Though the average age was around thirteen the youngest he worked with was seven years-old, her films being particularly profitable. His starlets would perform to the camera, prices were raised and the money would roll in. Where the children came from and where they went afterwards did not concern him, all he knew was that he had a film to make, a family to raise.
And yet he seemed to harbour some kind of guilt. He did not regret his career enough to stop – it was all too comfortable just to throw away, but there was a thought growing, spreading slowly through his mind, that there were better ways to survive life. Each time he forced a twelve year old girl into another deplorable act he watched the pain on her face. And the doubt spread.
His children would soon be twelve and they still talked of their futures as if anything was possible: ‘An astronaut!’ the boy said when asked what he would be, ‘A singer’ or ‘An actress!’ exclaimed the girl. He was in this business to ensure he could provide for his children, to allow them a comfortable route through life, yet there was a realisation that though he might be providing for his children’s aspirations, he was stealing from others. The twelve year old would never be a singer she would forever be called ’slut or ‘whore’ or be the star of teenage suicide documentaries.
I could see this man, this creature, did not deserve to live. So I decided to end him. He deserved nothing more than to have a gun raised to his head and to be blown away. So I did, and I stumbled.
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