My Twisted World: The Story of Elliot Rodger (Part 6-4) lyrics

22 Years Old

The highly unjust experience of being beaten and humiliated in front of everyone in Isla Vista, and their subsequent lack of concern for my well-being, was the last and final straw. I actually gave them all one last chance to accept me, to give me a reason not to hate them, and they devastatingly blew it back in my face. I gave the world too many chances. It was time for Retribution.

I went into surgery in the beginning of August. After visiting the local orthopedist, he recommended that I have my broken ankle surgically screwed in place instead of waiting for it to heal by itself. I decided to go through with it, just so I could be out of crutches sooner. My mother drove me to the hospital early in the morning, and I was wrought with fear. I had never been through such a thing in my life. They put me to sleep with anesthesia, and when I woke up my leg burned with pain, though the pain medication they injected in me afterward helped ease this. A new cast was placed on my leg. I didn’t even want to think about what it looked like underneath. I was told that they screwed in a titanium plate to hold the fractured bone in place, and it required six screws. I rested in the hospital for a few hours before I was allowed to go home, under the instructions that I would have to keep my leg raised at all times for the next week.

Shortly after my surgery, my mother and sister went on a vacation to Hawaii. They had been planning this for a long time, and of course I refused to go with them when they initially asked me months before. My mother didn’t want me to stay in her house all alone in the crippled state that I was in. Taking care of the house in such a condition would be too difficult, and there would be no one there to provide immediate assistance in case of an emergency. I asked father if I could stay at his house, but Soumaya was having some of her relatives staying for the summer, so she refused to let me stay there because it would be “too much for her to handle”, despite the fact that father’s house had six bedrooms and plenty of space for me to occupy. Father, of course, gave in to Soumaya’s rules as he always had. My respect for him was already so low that it couldn’t get any lower because of this.

Due to this little difficulty, my mother booked me a hotel room at Extended Stay America in Woodland Hills. I was content with this. The hotel was comfortable enough, and my mother stocked me with a lot of food for the week that I would be there. It provided a nice atmosphere to recover from the horrific experiences I had just recently endured. The only thing I disliked about this hotel was that it was located right across the street from Taft High School, so whenever I looked out the window I saw a place that had caused me great suffering in the distant past. I thought about the bullying I received at Taft, and in a way my experience there was quite similar to what had just happened to me on that fateful night in Isla Vista. I was bullied by thugs, and the girls adored the bullies instead of me. Indeed, a very similar scenario.

Only now, I was ready and capable of fighting back against the cruelty of women. Back when I was a weak and timid boy at Taft High School, I was powerless and frightened, having to resort to hiding in a life of playing video games. All of the suffering, loneliness, rejection, and humiliation I had to experience since then had strengthened me. The hatred that festered inside me in all of those years leading up to this point had empowered me in a dark, twisted way. I was now armed with weapons, possessed great intelligence and philosophical insight, with the willpower to exact the most catastrophic act of vengeance the world will ever see.

I spent the next week in that hotel room brooding about the injustices of life and my place in the world. It fully dawned on me that I would now have to bring about the Day of Retribution. There was no other hope. I mused that once I descend upon Isla Vista, armed with my weapons and my burning hatred, I would definitely make sure to target the people who lived in that house I was attacked in. The plan was to destroy the entirety of Isla Vista, and kill every single person in it, or at least kill as many popular young people I could before the police arrive and I’d have to kill myself.

I felt so shocked and overwhelmed upon realizing that it was definitely going to resort to this. I was going to die soon, and that in itself was hard to accept. I didn’t want to die, but I would have no choice. Vengeance is the only path; all other paths had been closed shut. I thought it to be such a tragedy that I was actually going to wage war against women and all of humanity. But then again, women’s rejection of me was a declaration of war. They insulted me by deeming me inferior of their love and sex. They hate me, and I will return that hatred one-thousand fold. I will inflict suffering on everyone in Isla Vista, just like they have made me suffer. In the past, I have always been at their mercy, and I was given none. On the Day of Retribution, everyone will be at my mercy, and in turn I will show them no mercy at all. My Retribution will be so devastating that it will shake the very foundations of the world.

My broken leg was a setback, of course. Even with surgery, I’d have to be in crutches for six weeks, and even after that it would take a while to be able to walk normally again. I figured I won’t be walking normally until October. There was no way I’d be well enough to prepare for the Day of Retribution by November. There was too little time. I made a new plan to set the ultimate and final date for the Day of Retribution to be at the end of the Spring of 2014. This would give me plenty of time to prepare. The Day of Retribution was now my whole reason for living. It’s all I have to live for. This act of deadly vengeance against the people who have wronged me is my sole purpose on this world. I needed as much time as possible in order to plan it efficiently.

Postponing the Day of Retribution also gave me a few more months of life. Perhaps I would also use that time to look for a way out. I have always been itching for a way out of this, and even with the recent events that had occurred, a small part of me still clung to that inkling of hope.

Gavin came to visit me at the hotel, and he was welcome company. It was really getting lonely there, though it was definitely better than being lonely in Isla Vista. The two of us sat down for three hours in my hotel room to have an important conversation. I explained to him my finely altered version of everything that happened on that night in Isla Vista. He didn’t seem surprised. When he was my age, he
used to go up to Isla Vista quite often. He told me that the kind of brutal, rowdy atmosphere I’ve witnessed was part of the culture there. The boisterous, wild frat boys get all of the beautiful girls, and everyone is looking for a fight, like the vicious animals they are. He said it was a truth I had to accept, advising me to move out of there. I couldn’t accept this truth, because it was unjust. I couldn’t let such evil exist, and I will not run away from it by moving out of there. I will either thrive there, or destroy the place utterly. Since I failed to thrive there, I had no choice but to plan my Retribution.

When my mother came back from Hawaii, I went to stay at her house for the next month, until my leg healed enough for me to lose the crutches. I didn’t want to go back to Santa Barbara while still in crutches, it would be too humiliating, and I had felt humiliated enough there already.

For the first week after surgery, my leg suffered intense searing pain, though that searing pain was nothing compared to the hatred that burned in my heart. During that time, I could barely leave my bed, because whenever I did, the blood rushed to my leg and triggered the pain. For the entire time that I was in the hotel, I stayed in my bed like a vegetable. After that initial week, the pain subsided, and I was able to move about on my crutches with greater ease. I often did laps around my mother’s backyard as a way of venting my anger, sometimes swinging my crutches around as if they were swords, slashing at all of the enemies who had wronged me in life.