The words of wisdom that stopped an up and coming serial killer are not necessary. But that it did is surprising. I went to speak with her in the early morning to publish a piece for corporate. She looked regular sitting in that dimly lighted room. I can see how they wanted to portray her, putting her in the only room that would make me feel uncomfortable. They already set out the setting, the play they were sure was going to wow the audience. She came to light in the crossfire between the capturing of her roommates. It was a bizarre case to report on, and I wanted to meet her face on the face. She had one story—the repeatable experience in her mind. The moment of realisation, the moment of transition and change, etched into her every action. That one moment that made everything make sense kept her going.

My course today is more on the intense side. Right after the interview, after I left that building, this is where I came first. I produced what my day would look like on my phone, started the timer, and went off. The plan is skydiving, cycling, swimming, rock climbing, then finishing with some exercise machines. I need to think; I need some time. I buckled up. Check check check. And off goes the perry pot.

She went out to catch some breakfast and afterwards sat on a park bench to drink coffee and watch a video. She had placed her half-drunk coffee on a newspaper that was sitting next to her. One earphone dropped out of one ear and landed on her lap. The sound of the eccentric motivational speaker in one ear competed with the buzz of the outside world, stretching her attention. She caught some eyes as she looked up and stuck both earphones deep to stop the outside from interfering. She instinctively was now protecting the phone as she bent her neck down, and her shoulders were now over her knees. Someone tapped her on her shoulders, and she stood up and walked away, the coffee stains over today's headlines of murder by beheading.

The words were insignificant; even on the multiple rewatches, the church ladies red face was waving at the camera. I think it was a live performance recording. She talked about how it is not acceptable to hurt another human being, 'YOU HAVE NO RIGHT' is what she said. We talked about ourselves as people, living in this world for one purpose. If we were about to harm another human being, we should break ourselves first 100 times. Lay down your life and soul before pulling the trigger and destroying another person's life. It was not typical motivational speaking, to be sure, more on the extreme side, even though I haven't been in this scene at all. To me, it all sounded like a circle jerk was going on and no actual productivity. Hearing someone talk about how life is hard and we need to keep going doesn't help. In this case, it was a self-sacrificial motivational speaker talking about how much pain we can do to ourselves and get away with, but the instant we hurt someone else, we are horrible human beings. We are utter human trash with no home besides god, which interests me in searching out motivational speaking. I can look at my words towards it and point out video work is a form of changing peoples lives. It doesn't happen often, but it does as a medium. I didn't go into this to change lives; I'm sure motivational speakers didn't either and are just doing it because it is something they like to do. I can't fault anyone for doing that now, can I? That doesn't mean it all wasn't one-dimensional content, like how some videographers are. It seems silly, but it is her story. There is evidence for this that all matches up, no inconsistencies in that. She has been very passionate and remembers the priest talking to her through the video. It brought instant tears to her eyes as she saw her life crumble away to this new life, a chapter. If it was a movie, my best bet is it would have started there or had that as the call to action, like some superhero story. But that is not evident here. I have a person who has been hurt and lived a life of absolution that no one bothered to look at her charter and pay attention to who she was and judge it. I'm scared. We, as humans, are also capable of feeling sympathy for a serial killer: That isn't this type of relationship that compels me to send letters to mass murders. I can see this person as a cousin or a sister who has trouble kicking one terrible habit or has a checkered past. I don't get it.

I was able to find myself in a situation where I was in this dimly lit dungeon of a room with this Beka for a long time. We spent together, dined together and overall spent a lot of time talking. There was never a moment of silence when it came to us. None of this could have been possible if not for Jr. she helped me out a lot. I was her first contact whenever juicy trouble came up. Without her, I could never see myself face to face with an admitted serial killer. Nor did I expect to care about her. I can see why people with evil family members continue to love them. After the shock and emotions have calmed, the person in front of you is a human being. I don't know how I got this example, but it is like cat owners freaking out when they see their kitty kill for the first time, then they forget and love them as adorable cotton balls of love. The same could be said for Beka, but she lived with a pack of rabid stray cats. Saying that would be implying nature in a way that I want to avoid.

I've seen the looks I got on the final day of my visit. I was happy to be working on a big project for the first time, producing for someone else and having my work displayed and bought by a company to share for themselves. The experience was something I would happily accept again, I would want more time between employment, but I won't say no to that kind of money doing something I love. My portrayal of the video was more informative and exploratory for the viewers. Which could and will, I bet, be argued was the more morally wrong thing to do, opening up judgement to a younger audience on a subject that was shot as morally grey when it should've blared red danger flags. I don't know, and it is probably wrong with me. Murder is inexcusable; you don't need a philosophy major to tell you that, especially serial killers. But this one. The way her story of killing ended made me curious. I wanted to understand, and I did. Right. Understanding Beka.

A new attendee today shoved in beside my time skydiving. This one was a screamer. They had the time of their life and wanted the whole world to know about it, which involved me. Now that I am back on the ground and have changed into something more fitting the sport, I wizz off to the roads for carnage.

We talked about what it was like growing up, and she wasn't talkative, more of a non-verbal preferrer as language goes but, she was afraid for the most part. Confused, had to be. Wolves raised it. The most specific words that the person living next to you is not living in the same world that you are, the structure of beliefs and the society they conform to and go about their day, therefore, isn't the same. We talked about all the things she liked to do, what she did with her spare time—upholding the suspense of disbelief for the ridiculousality that was about to go down. This person had committed multiple murders and what. If not for the story, the only time people get to open up about themselves is here. I saw that in her and wanted to stop. Wanted to stop for the story unfolding for the camera would have been the wrong one based on fear and understanding. Two words that are not said together often, but that is what it was. I had another way of understanding a person. A different approach than the traditional psychological one- talking to them like they're human beings. Like them, be there for them and keep on talking. Find a way for the conversation to flow non-stop. Maybe it is this that I have had brain freezes, forgetting to breathe.

Now that I am out of it, I can start thinking straight. Does that mean I should stop this and come back to it in a more enlightened mind? That would be smart. But um. Right. I thought this situation had created an atmosphere where I could not connect with this person in front of me because of knowledge of what they had done. Like I was keeping the fact that I knew they were a murderer was a secret I was building up to exposing. Affecting the type of questions I ask before because I am providing without making it seem like it? It felt weird to me, so I took control. The camera didn't mind, but I bet the audience would have appreciated it.

We started where we should have started. She was here because of her showcase performance piece I was reporting on—something unimaginable, somewhat. I affirmed my stance and switched to a more defensive and distant pose. And I asked, 'why do you think people have to die. She took her time, looked down towards her hands, then directly into the camera. 'i don't know,' she said. I took my time as well. Then asked, 'why do you specifically kill?'. She kept her eyes on me, smiled, then cocked her head back. "To get away,' she said. I became uncomfortable. The thought of this person sitting across from me wasn't human donned on me very quickly, which is how I ended up treating her. 'So what stopped that for you?' I asked, already theories on what kind of person this was running in the background. She had never understood how she just didn't understand; the poor thing was the string I was following. This was how it would end up, nothing new, I thought, nothing to be excited about again.

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Survived the racing bulls that are cars to a cyclist—a victory to put on the infinity shelf. My goal, my purpose now, dilly-dallying on the diving board, was to swim to the other side underwater. And then repeat. The snap of the secondhand went from zero to sixty-go time.

Again a failed video. And again, it was. I gave up on the footage of Investigative promise, not because it was unexpected, but because I could live in the film, the video I was shooting. It is weird and creepy, isn't it, the way I think about it. But here, my self-judgement and praise were off the roof. At least I wasn't that bad off.

'Because it's funny ', she said. I try to be as regular and open as possible, but I held my facial expressions hostage when this happened. 'i can't get it all out, please,' she said.

'Take your time '.

'i don't think anyone else could get this, but at that moment, I will try to recall every thought that was passing through my mind. When I first saw the video, I was impressed with the priest's power in this room. She had the attention, the air of the room. She was staring down at one person in the room. It should've been awkward, but, bam, that power was something else. I had stumbled on it randomly because it wasn't a video I sought out to watch, I was watching another person react to a bunch of funny things, and this was one of the videos that came up. It became a worm, something that everyone else thought was weird. This person screaming out their lungs was such an outsider to them, like a person on the street preaching about the health benefits of drinking water and eating food. Put the thought in my head why would someone do this.

'Given that I had a terrible week, my head was hurting a lot in this period... I follow what goes online often. I've... never felt this way before is an excellent way to show it but'. She waved her hands that were now above her head as she was bent over looking at the met. She table with curiosity, she grabbed my gaze and carried on speaking.

To my knowledge, the primary takeaways were bizarre. She talked about how much of an offset of a life she was living. How disconnected she felt from the broader set of rules that life brings around. She told me how it wasn't fair that she had to live this way and everyone else didn't. She talked about how much of a difference she could make with every day that she had. She explained the cosmos and the future, not as in the future time-based but cosmos based. Then she talked about the moment, the present. She spoke of the opportunity that now was in front of her. We talked about how much life drags you by, and without you recognising it takes you by storm, and you've forgotten you can swim.

I didn't take this part too seriously. She held eye contact too long at this point in her explanation and based on all the previous topics. I noticed how lacking lustre her face was with emotion. She talked about the reason for a chance. Everything needed to do with luck. She said she wouldn't have ever killed if someone told her not to stop. Every day she said, she would pray, tell me to stop, and I would come on. Tell me to stop then, and I will. I felt sick at this point, and now it was my turn to admire the table. The shadows were friendly, which got me a bit concerned about the inconsistent lighting on this room and how it might ruin the video with no constant light source on Bekas' face. She talked about how she felt. She talked about everything that was going through her head. She spoke about the backtracking, rule sets, and thin line analysis so that it wouldn't be true. She felt it shift in her mind, she said. This was the promise I made, and I can't go back, she said. Another thought bubble was coming to the surface and taking charge, consuming every other thought she had at the time. It made her laugh, she said, she felt uncomfortable. How could good deeds like this be calculated? If you said on national tv to not hurt another human being, and the mafia surrendered their violence. She talked about how she was in news articles, and the town she was in was buzzing about her, how uncomfortable that made her feel. She needed something different, and the thought made her giggle. Life would be different now.

I have stopped all I am doing. No more fun activities… My stomach is the worst feeling part of my body. Now that I have stopped moving, I'm sure the labour I put my limbs through will come knocking. I am not looking forward to it. I had to stop before I got a conclusion of some kind. My stomach is twisting, and my head hurts soo much. I feel like I am going to throw up. I need to understand I need to understand.

It was speeding through what happened next to now. She went home where she was living in the closet of a home that six people shared. She talked about her experience in bed, how her roommates scared her, and her environment seemed foreign. She said this wasn't home. She said she needed to get away, to somewhere safe. She talked about the phone call she had with her mom in the park. She spoke about the itch she got when she saw people walking past, noticed specific details about them, categorised them. She described how the right side of her throat would feel like closing up. She discussed how much she missed her mom and how much they wanted her to come back home. Spoke about the complications in that. Saw fireworks, then remembered the plan that was going down tonight with the roommates. She recognised the sounds she feared when she returned and placed the conversations between people, over the music and tv blasting their hearts out. She talked about her genius plan to stop them at their sites. She shaped this out for me with the lunch wrappers we had. But she pointed to where she was in all of this.

Said the moment of impact, Go time. There was no call out for action or cuts from a movie grade camera following her with a crew behind them to make sure everything went swimmingly. She spoke about the difficulties of being the hero, she ran it in her head, and it wouldn't have worked. It just wouldn't of. This was when the bubble that entrapped her started to break. The big plan is the story of this new direction to life. She heard buzzing, she said. New account, new life, new law? All these thoughts were foreign in her mind, she said. This came out of nowhere, it felt like, and it took agency. Said now she had a plan to expose every single roommate, and nowhere to put it. They talked about how they would eventually find out, and they would have the advantage. Advantage of what, though? who would be the first to pull the gun? 'They will have an advantage over me'. This has got me stuck for a good minute. It just sounds bizarre to me. We do live in one symbiotic world of language and definition as well.

My movements are slowing down. I must be coming down with something. What was I thinking about again? Right the killer that got turned by watching a youtube video. Wait for a second. this feels like a fever dream.

The room, the atmosphere. I feel very wise and calm.

So Beka answered that question. 'because it was funny '. I don't understand it. But it worked. She is off the streets. If I were going to format the experience, it would go something like this: Brought to a spooky location, met with a figure in the dark by turning on the lights in the room, recognising that it is half working, I sit down. I set up the camera and danced around the doll in the space under observation. I make small talk about building vapour. I do my thing. We eat food afterwards, and I spend the night in the room. Creepiest experience, having a serial killer watch over your sleep. I am laughing at loud.

I did my best in trying to understand the situation, understand the person. Not the person I am looking for, that's for sure. I am glad that is the case, but sometimes I don'. Recognise generosity as misfortune. The video evades me. It has become something more than me. It is crazy that there are people like this, almost a habit and line that everyone says when something like this happens. I don't get it. Predetermined.

My hands start to slip from the tips of the instruments. I can see the machine now from the bottom angle. Beka killed her roommates and not herself. She kept pacing around the bodies. These people were draped over appliances, and some were still in bed. She was standing still atop her kingdom, observing her work for a final time. She killed, though, again. It makes no sense. I am hurting… From her? It can't be. Beka walked down a new path for a day because of some internet video. She stopped killing for a day. Beka then killed me. Killed me? No! I cannot die! Stop. I was face to face with a serial killer.

I've met those who push death. That is why I feel like it is me on the line. Videos done. It is ruined. I'm not getting paid. I didn't dictate or push any agenda. I looked down on her. It is my fault. I am to blame. I can't believe I didn't even finish my course. So frustrating. I need to leave. I need to let her go—an effigy for her death. Death of a person I will not see again. Doesn't exciting in my world anymore. Goodbye, Beka, you monstrous freak. I hope children adore you. I hope they come and see you. I hope they recognise the look on your face. I hope they become you. I hope that there is no more of you. I hope they burn your grave and become a piss hole. I hope they come down and meet you. I hope they never escape you again. I hope it was coming to get you, the world, the moms, the daughters. I hope you have it in you to look in their faces. I beg your father to meet you. I sat front first in their faces. She gets to see her mother at last. She will visit your grave often.

How childish. I have lost it, destroyed the footage, burned it all. I don't understand, so I die mentally—what a sweet treat.