Gimme a reason

So you killed your first person, human being, son of god. So you feel awkward, to say the least. The feeling, to be honest, is sort of… You feel relieved.
One shithead less upon the planet. Maybe two people are gonna miss this son of a whore for more than a week. In fact, that low-life scum shoulda been put out of his misery a year or so ago.
So you did it, and you're not at all proud of it.
And it downs on you that all the implications are going to get you sooner or later. Prision. Remorse. The disgust in everyone's look. The angst. Fear. Guilt. Oh, they come in band.
Then again, it's all-too-good that no one has to smell that bastard around. That tiny little self-immersed heart. That humongous mediocrity. That puke-inducing self commiseration. That sheer beigeness.
Probably for the best. But, in the end, you feel you can do it again. Kill someone. Killing seems already a cure. Some sort of ointment for the world blisters. Purulent like the one you just excised.
And the consequences? Well, you killed your first ghost of a chance to be happy. Now you face yourself in the mirror, if you can.