[WP] Whenever someone commits a murder, the victim's life flashes before his eyes, instead of the victim's eyes.

Hi. You're a story hunter too aren't you? If you're seeing this you are. I'm a story hunter. One of many. In fact I believe everyone is. I think it's the meaning of life. But they call me THE story hunter. For a very specific reason.

I learned multiple languages as a child. I started to read a lot of books really young too. This gave me access to a large selection of stories. Later I'd stay late in libraries, my haven. I'd raid them. Devouring everything. Drinking books to the brim. I grew hungry. I hunted for books. And movies. Plays. Videogames. TV shows. You name it. Everything with a plot I ate. Everything was fair game. Then I developed a taste for choicer stories. I'd hunt the rare ones. Too many similar plots. You know how that makes you crave the original. But those are few and far between. And after hunting them down, I was feeling very frustrated.

The hunger made me kill someone. It doesn't matter who that random person was. I killed them. Then it mattered. I discovered I have a gift. You know that life flashing before your eyes stuff? Well it's true. For me. I see the other person's life. It was the best story one could find. For an art that wants realism within escapism, this was the best meal of my life. It made me realize how precious life is. I killed this person. His existence, his hopes, his dreams, everything. And it made me regret. So I wanted to escape more.

I said it was the meaning of life. It makes so much sense. Stories and killing. The meaning of life. Things humans have always strived for. All in one. So I did what I did best. I hunted. With the experience I accumulate in my line of work, I became an unstoppable killer.

I killed bacteria and insects. I felt nothing. I killed small animals. I felt...something. I killed bigger animals. It was juicer. I killed  intelligent animals. Very insightful. But humans were by far the best game. And as you know, I hunted for the best. But they were so...alike. Very different and unique at first. But after a while, even as I traveled the world, the patterns were glaringly apparent. I became a hitman of unprecedented skills. This lead me to kill the most interesting people. But then it got boring again. I did discover that not being in the immediate surroundings, while it tarnished the story, still gave me the story. I sought out my employers and killed them just for the thrill. I later discovered consuming the flesh while it's...fresh, literally eating people alive, gave a more vivid rendition of the story. You know how when a collection gets too big it overshadows what is unique about the works of art, so you keep adding, leading to a vicious circle? Yeah, that's it.

But then all the original was gone. Quality was no more. So I searched for quantity. I will never forget the feeling. A nuclear bomb on a city. Gaining access was fun but when the bomb detonated. All life that perished was given to me. The meaning of life and death danced with me. I was flirting with them. It was all so sensual. Almost too much, to the point of spoiling it. Each life twirling around, brushing against me in a vortex before all simultaneously exploding inside me... Those stories filled me. I felt the initial thrill. But when it died down...too soon...it felt all so cheap. The anticipation was great but with so many dead, each one felt more and more like the other. They were still all so innocent. It was like stealing a cookie, it's good but it's bad. Does the end justify the means? I don't care. Those lives together were what felt great. The quantity. It's the stew mix that makes the stew. And those beautiful lives, gone forever...I was a living paradox, killing to cherish life. Regretting forever that day. Yet, I'd do it again.

So...a 6 billion USD bounty was put on my head. I was offended. THE story hunter? Am I not worth 600 trillion at least? Not even close. It's priceless. My life and all those I killed that I now carry with me are worth 6 billion? Only? Cheap bastards. My inner museum! My priceless collection! How dare they. I am not one life. I am many.

So there you have it. My story. Now you know your gift. Now you know your curse. But you only have mine. You've robbed all these people from their existence. What was left of their lives. Lives I took. You filthy thief. You monster.
/r/WritingPrompts Thread