text: This is a draft of a monologue from a full length novel I am writing. All feedback is appreciated. Be harsh with me - I'm trying to capture your soul here. Men with too many ideals simply don't make it in this world. They're missing just too many crucial aspects of know-how to accomplish anything. So, yeah, I let him die - in fact - I *watched* him die knowing that this revolution would prosper and flourish *so* much longer without him. Fuck his 'vision'. You want to know what really makes people go fucking nuts and actually sacrifice *everything*? A martyr. Why? Because rather than trying to persuade you with some kind of lofty moral tautology or periphrastic rhetoric - instead - they do something far more meaningful. They die for you. Boom, get it? Someone died so that you, inconsequential *you*, could love and live - and well, holy fuck - now you give people a whole new reason for existing rather than just eating and fucking, like everyone else, and you can *actually* accomplish something. See most people like to feel guilty for just existing. I don't know why - but they do. Maybe it's this intrinsic flaw I keep hearing so much about. They feel guilty and this martyr is the *perfect* price for penance *and* for succeeding against all odds; for accomplishing more than they could ever dream. So, yes. That blood is on my hands and if I burn for eternity, then so be it. EDIT: monologue FROM a novel.