I have met two of them, to my knowledge. Men who have killed.

One was a former thug from Europe, hung out in gangs from the age of 13. He had fought, he had done drugs, and apparently been involved in someone’s death. I do not know and did not wish to know the specifics, but I had accepted his past. The alarm bells rang loud and clear, but I was falling for this one. Fell out of it pretty quickly as well when I saw what a wreck of a person he was.

The other one had been a soldier for 7 years. He seemed calm and strong and he was the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Think Michelangelo’s statues. He was in terms with what he had done and he spoke about it openly.

What I’ve noticed about these men was the immense coldness. It was not cruelty, not seriousness, it’s this sort of emptiness. With the soldier, it radiated from his eyes. Or, to be precise, it was the major lack of anything radiating form his eyes. His eyes were beautiful, black, and empty. The thug, he was suspicious of everyone and was capable of suddenly sinking to an absolute lack of empathy with any person.

All in all, they were normal people, if you can call anyone normal. You could not really tell what was in their background. They had their faults, their weaknesses, as anyone, and they were working, social and living their lives as anyone else.

I accepted their history rather quickly. I never really though of it twice. That those hands that were touching me had been responsible for someone losing their life. I thought of it quite a lot, and never reached a point where I would judge them or even feel repelled by the facts in their past.

Death, after all, is such a huge and such tiny thing in life. It is the absolute end of a life as we know it, but it is inevitable. Maybe it is  so incomprehensible anyway, that instead of being scared of someone who has taken a life, I choose to be OK with it and judge the person by the things I can comprehend.