People crave randomness. Look at the Labubu craze—paying big money for something they haven’t seen, hoping it’s the rare one. It’s gambling dressed up as collecting. A thrill. A pulse. That moment of possibility.
Love’s the same. Random glances on trains, chance collisions in cafés—those are the stories people hold onto. The unexpected makes it sweeter, more real. Poets and songwriters live off that chaos.
But not everyone likes random. Especially not the police. They rely on patterns—motive, means, routine. Randomness throws them off. It’s slippery. Unpredictable. A crime with no rhythm, no reason? That’s a nightmare for them.
Which is why I use it. No habits. No calendar. No emotional ties to places or people. I don’t even pick targets. They happen. That’s the beauty. One moment, someone’s walking their dog. The next, they’re a memory with no pattern behind them.
It’s not personal. It’s not even emotional. It’s art. And like any good artist, I avoid repetition.
They want to draw circles around me. But there are no circles. No arcs. No themes. Just moments. Unlinked, unspoken, untraceable.
People love randomness. It excites them. It terrifies them.
Me? I thrive in it.
The world’s too neat. I just mess it up a little.
-Kurdaitcha
SEETHINGS promises a gripping psychological thriller that blends murder, passion, and secrets of a sexless marriage. Forman’s vivid prose draws readers into a world where lightning illuminates the skies and hidden truths. As the storm clouds gather, Mitchell’s journey promises to unravel more than just the mystery of the murders.
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