Instinct vs. Civility: The Thin Line That Breaks Us (or makes us)

We like to think of ourselves as civilised beings. We dress well, shake hands, drive cars in orderly lanes, and follow the rules that make society tick. But beneath the pressed shirts and polite smiles lies something older—instinct.

It waits, crouched in the shadows of our minds, reminding us that civilisation is not a natural state, but a fragile overlay. When instinct collides with civility, one of them eventually gives way. SEETHINGS II lives in that collision.

Civility is performance. We learn it as children—say “please,” don’t hit, wait your turn. These rules are essential for coexistence, but they don’t erase the primal urges. They only restrain them. Anger, lust, jealousy, fear—they don’t vanish because we’ve learned to sit in boardrooms or bow at the right time. They simmer. And when the mask slips, instinct floods back in.

In my novel, this erosion of restraint is central. A killer thrives not because he defies civility openly, but because he hides behind it. To the outside world, he’s ordinary. Inside, he’s something else entirely. That duplicity is more terrifying than blood or gore—it’s the realisation that instinct needs only the smallest crack to break free.

Consider how fragile civility truly is. A traffic jam, and suddenly, horns blare, fists shake, tempers explode. A marriage without intimacy and civility erodes into silence, bitterness, or betrayal. We are never far from reverting to something more primal.

In SEETHINGS II, characters cling to civility even as it crumbles around them. They uphold appearances—smiling at neighbours, making small talk at work—while inside they rot. The predator, however, sees civility not as a code to follow but a weakness to exploit. He thrives in the gap between what people show and what they feel.

If civility is performance, then instinct is honesty. The things we dare not say are the most revealing. We suppress them because society deems them unacceptable, but they’re still there. Envy doesn’t vanish because we smile politely. Lust doesn’t dissolve because we say “good morning.” Hatred doesn’t fade because we choose silence. These instincts shape us more than the rules we pretend to obey.

That’s the paradox: civility protects us, but it also suffocates us. Without it, chaos reigns. With too much of it, we drown in repression. Somewhere in the middle is balance—but balance is delicate, and in thrillers like mine, it’s always tipping.

The killer in SEETHINGS II isn’t bound by civility. He uses it. He leverages people’s desperate need to appear normal, exploiting the fact that most will ignore instinct in favour of maintaining face. Victims silence themselves when they should scream. They obey politeness when they should run. They defer, delay, and deny—handing him opportunities. He’s patient, waiting for civility to betray them.

This is the lesson of predators everywhere, fictional or real: they don’t overpower us with strength. They wait until we’re tangled in our own social restraints.

Marriages are battlegrounds for instinct and civility. Passion burns at the start, raw and impulsive. Over time, civility takes its place—shared schedules, domestic routines, polite silences. But passion doesn’t vanish; it shifts, sometimes into darker corners. In SEETHINGS II, intimacy isn’t just absent, it’s weaponised. Civility becomes a prison of smiles and courtesies, while instinct gnaws at the bars. And when instinct wins, it doesn’t do so kindly.

Too often in fiction, villains are explained away—tragic childhoods, head injuries, bad parenting. I’m not interested in excuses. Evil doesn’t need a backstory. Sometimes instinct alone is enough. By stripping away the safety net of explanation, I leave readers face-to-face with a predator who could be anyone. That’s the ultimate fear: not a monster from the shadows, but the ordinary man who’s shed his civility when no one’s looking.

Civilisation is a thin veneer. Instinct waits beneath, eager and patient. SEETHINGS II doesn’t just tell a story—it peels back the mask, showing what happens when civility falters. And it asks a simple question: when pushed far enough, which part of you will win—the rule follower or the animal?

–Michael (Dark fiction. Author of SEETHINGS (the first book), free for a limited time)