Chapter 1 : The Inception
As my head slips into the blue clear, I open my eyes upon salty stabs. The murky bottom clears to reveal green stones swallowed by black sand. Completely still, the ocean tugs my body into motion. Seconds tick by while my lungs lay, waiting for a new supply. Fifteen seconds gone by and yet I float lifelessly. Five more splash by, but . . . I wonder, how does death feel. What is it like to die? My chest now suffers unsatisfied desires that must be met. I arch my neck back and gasp in the living gas, much welcomed. Again I founder. Eyes closed and weightless, thoughts journey to scenes from the television screen. I wonder how it feels to kill — to watch as another draws their terminal breath. I wonder.
Home now, thoughts swirl like stars about my head. And as I lay my head against my bitter pillow I stare blankly to the ceiling. It seems to murmur to me to do what I feel, feel what I think I want to do. I turn my head into the sheets and think deeply about my duty. Finally, I must feel this and know what it is. I must gain this power. Decided, investigate my wallet. Even a executioner needs his tools.
Friday already, but time has allowed the completing of my planning. As I squeeze of cologne onto my chest and neck, I close my eyes and stand motionless momentarily. I think I’m ready. Maybe I should leave the watch tonight.? I inspect my black one strap bag for my instruments; all finely tuned.
As I step through the gates of Fort Young Hotel, the happy-hour mood lifts my nostrils, the music lightens my mental. Quickly, I retrieve my free drink and spot my buddies. The scene is overwhelmed with potential game: at one table, a group of fresh college ladies wave to me. As I study them I nod back their welcome. I do not want to extinguish any light which is known to me, at least not yet!
Seems late, but my bare wrist refuses confirmation. So I query the nearest ticking or display for my clarification. A voice replies 9:58 pm. Good! I bid good bye with the touch of knuckles. Stepping out the premises, I scour the front. Nothing? I hadn’t considered there being no waiting targets for the choosing. Defeated, I tread towards a wooden bench and eye along the boulevard. Time seems to crawl, but no matter, my mind waters for the quenching of urges.
Finally, I espy the perfect subject: thin black hair trails her frail body along the breeze as she walks past the roundabout. Her hands hug her figure in a futile plea for warmth. Cold now, my body ostensibly numbs with the realization that the cadence of purification has begun. A four bar rhythm, four over four, allegro moderato, with a vigorous crescendo. I wait in silence for her to turn the corner up to Turkey Lane, and as she does I leap out of my seat anxiously. But, stop! I must be harmonious. I must not be noticed; I must be normal. So I pocket my hands and pace after her. I hunt her shadow past Saint Mary’s Academy just as Brutus and Girlie patrol along the compound tails wagging as if they are radar. I slow slightly as she approaches the corner. I hope she takes a right. She fails to disappoint me, quickening her tempo yet. Her frown signals slight apprehension of the cemetery. Inevitability paints me a smile as I hurry toward the curb and swing my hand to feel for my bag. Still there; very good. But wait! I watch down both roads for signs of life. None at all. I almost laugh with the approach of fulfillment.
She is almost to the ball court now and I focus my energy towards the objective. Arriving at the junction, indecision raises her right index towards her mouth for manicure. Her eyes dart down the dark north road and then down the even darker south road. Seems like fate had come turned off the street lights.
This is my chance. I search the ground for a stone. I palm the gray tool and dart towards her: eyes wide, lips parted, heart pumping. The shuffles of my approach arouse her awareness, and she turns around stilled by shock. My mind drains of logic as I race the closing feet, weapon in hand, hand in air. I lash out at her forehead with impressive efficiency. Her limp figure crumbles to the ground. I pause just a moment, thrown of guard by the silence which saturates the night. No time to waste, I scoop up the weight and seek the darkness of the court, then duck through and into the Gardens and release her onto the soft grass. Sweat seeps into my eyes, blurring my vision while I swing of my bag and fetch the duct tape.
I secure her soft hands, slender legs and glossed lips, and then call for my tool. As I remove it, virgin, sliding back its sheath, I stop for a while and eye its glimmers in the essence of the full moon. I turn it over and slide my thumb along the blade, and squeeze my eye lids shut, savoring the feel. But then I open my eyes to the sound of futile struggle and muffled pleas. For the first time I study this young female. Up close, in true color and surround sound. Her small top hugged her fresh body barren of straps.; the smooth shoulders shimmering. Brushing away soil from her permed hair, I stand to take a complete look of my catch. Baby blue top, low-rider jeans and Champion white sneakers.
Still standing, now with the handle clenched within my right grip. Her eyes strain wider. Her pupils are constricted and veins swollen, while her feet flay hopelessly along the grass. I lower the dagger towards her chest and trace the right breast with the dagger's tip; the cold steel impressing upon her. She looked seventeen or eighteen, but I can’t remember ever seeing her at college. No matter. I was now cold with buoyancy, pondering exactly how I would bring my wish to cessation. It took only another look at her soft body and fair skin to come to a conclusion. I held the dagger even tighter and placed it to the center of her chest. Tears soak the collar of her blouse. Interesting.
Serenity sweeps across me and I arch back my head, breathe, then return my head. I slowly apply pressure. The longer I detain the end the more the power overwhelms my being. As soon as the blade breaks her bare skin, the muffled sounds climb, and her neck muscles strain with silenced screams flushing her cheeks red. I ease the six-inches in slowly, watching as blue was stained red, and muscles tense, further fueled by adrenaline. When the hilt finally reaches her chest, I lift my leers to her head, it was turned to one side. All the muscles were at easy in a peaceful nap. I dispatch two fingers to her neck and then to her wrist and admit the end.
That was it. That was what it felt like. Amazing! But reality cleaves, and I know I must conceal the body. So I skulk to the Bamboo House to get the shovel which I had hidden yesterday. And return to the scene and drag the warm mass further into the bush for burial. As soon as I heave the last shovel of dirt, I backtrack to where she had fallen. I found the stone and for the first time noticed a cellular phone. Must have been hers. Well I did not plan on making any storyline mistakes by keeping anything to remember the occasion by, so I dispose of both items along the coast as I find my way home. Accomplished!
Chapter 2 : Fervent Amusement
Who is greater? The Most Wanted suspect whose coarse palms have thirteen times hugged throats, of now buried beings, while crusty fingernails, laden with soil, dig into soft tissue as color drains from once well toned cheeks to eyeballs swelling red then purple, and cerebral cells crying for oxygen as it is kept away; even as frail hands flay helplessly till no more remains even for thought? Or the calm unknown soul whose reputation is to little to afford him an uttered name; whose mind has failed to find greater pleasure than the piercing of tender skin with a glistening blade, so carefully even poetry’s beauty nay compare, bringing joy untouchable?
Well, the gray table top tiles battered by stolen chalk, borrowed pens and mattered pencils, seems to have no answer to my debate. Even the learned lecturer at the front of his Tuesday class in the Physics lab, is left so inept to the challenge, even the question he is ignorant of.
As I dodge the grasp of boredom once more, I flip to the next page of my home work. I arc my head back once again and stare at the motionless device, defiantly keeping its cooling breezes away from me.
”Well what is there to do?“ I ponder as I return my head to a horizontal position. But joy. How could I have missed this before: a sea of potential victims, any of whom could easily quench my thirst lay in front me.
I gaze upon the backs of many heads: some permed, some straight, some curly, some cut short, even some drawn back with dreads. I hasten to lock away the smile as it crosses my face, healed of it lethargic scars. Close to laughter at the sudden irony, I watch out the windows to my right and oscillate my pen between my third and second fingers. Through the dirty panes my eyes glimpse that which clears my muted beam. A girl, nay a woman; cloaked with blue above the waist and black below, down to three inches above the knees giving way to heavenly stilts. A black shoulder bag hangs from the base that supported brown eyes and glossy lips. No! Why? The hellish public transport breaks to a stop and she simply walks away and onto a bus.
All projects must be put on hold. I must know her. And soon. Exhilarated, I swing my voice to the front of the class with replies to all the professor's queries hoping that time will hasten. And indeed it does, cause the chime of a watch beckons the end. With that, I pack out of the class and proceed to questioning all my eyes and ears around the campus.
Wednesday mid-morning now, and my campaign has led to a name, past locale and present general locale. She was not from one of the city high schools or even the country, but an import from another Caribbean island. I have been told that she currently resides in the community of Newtown. Just on time she prances out of her class as others break away from their classes. I lean against the wall, bag in hand, and wait patiently as just enough distance parts us, then board the bus right behind her, and take up seat next to her.
As I position my bag appropriately on my laps, her eyes touch upon me, then away. The bus rattles down the hill, my mind in silence pondering what next. Well what then? Heck!
”Hello. What class did you just come from?“
”Sociology,“ she replies. ”Do I know you?“
”Umm. I don’t think so. What’s your name?“
The conversation continues comfortably. By the time we reach Pottersville, I’ve already learnt her name and where she lives, and exactly which island she had departed from. And, as if by God’s own intent, this massive traffic jam affords me even more time. Unfortunately, the pace slows and I fail for words which add up. Desperate, I ask whether she was busy Friday night. She replied positively, so I braved a discussion on whether the Lord of the Rings should be a good movie. Great! Words appealing to her to go with me to the cinema to watch the movie, which we had so avidly talked about, spill out my mouth and all my thoughts screech to a halt awaiting her lips’ response.
I see the forming of an 'O' and I pray the following sound in no way resembles that of sorry. But my prayers go unheeded and she proceeds to explain that she had already downloaded the movie and didn’t wish to go out this Friday. Broken, I fumble for my wallet and withdraw two coins. The bus stop now nearing, and with nothing to loose, I request her number. She replies that her phone wasn’t working. I exit.
Thursday having passed by like a millipede, slow yet unnoticed, and desperate to regain my self esteem and happiness, I had decided to hit the town tonight. So now hands in the pockets of my blue jeans, I walk around the town. My head down. The chilly air beats my unshaven cheeks. My shoes kick through crushed soda cans and ice-pop bags. After several minutes of walking and having successfully forgotten most of whatever it was, I lift my head and in dismay all the memories are restored as if they had only been sent to the Recycle Bin. The cinema's door is now directly ahead.
Again heavy, I take steps across the street and lean against the supermarket, staring blankly at the door. It’s amazing how quiet inside your head can be. But is even more amazing how many thoughts can come by and through at one time. So many I don’t even notice as the first of the 6:30 viewers exit the building. This doesn’t fail to lift my attentions some. But then I continue watching in silence in the same manner as she walks out the cinema doors, accompanied by some curly haired guy, slightly over her height. Apathetically, my face remains constant, as I feel for my glistening friend on my right side. As they watch for approaching vehicles and cross the road, my mind instructs my hand back into my pockets. I already know what it is to kill. So why not use this unfortunate happening as a learning experience. With that I head home and brood over Monday.
It’s Monday morning. The first period has already started and according to my sources she’s supposed to be in the 8:15 English class. But it’s 8:30, raining and I’m getting impatient. But wait, a sliver Nissan mini bus is turning the roundabout. She’d better be on board. Good! Here she comes. I watch her pass by and up the steps from inside the lab; perfect. I grab my bag and flag down the bus just as it pulls away from the curb.
Finally, the door opens and I get out, toss a coin to the driver and await my change. As I lift my foot to take a step, I pause, and peak into my bag to ensure that all is in place. Good! Now I may proceed. I navigate through the city: past Al’s Ice Cream then past Photo World and Shillingfords, then Jolly's pharmacy, finally arriving at the bus stop, where I am afforded a selection. Ini-min-mina mo. . . I’ll take this dust blanketed dark green bus.
As the bus forges through Newtown, now past a tire shop, I near my destination and alert the chauffeur of my stop. A little more walking and I pull out the paper from my pocket. I glance at the wording and I’m satisfied that the description matches. So I retreat to the nearby brush and put on the white formal short sleeve which I had packed and then go up and knock the door.
”Hello! Good morning! Anyone home?“ I shout, as I take note of two articles of clothing, a green skirt or apron or something, hanging out to dry.
”Yes, good morning,“ answered a middle-aged woman. Maybe the cloths is hers. Seems her size.
”Yes, I from the telephone company. I came to check the phone.“
”Oh, alright. Who called you?“
I fumble out a piece of paper from my left pant pocket and sound of the name of the seductive liar. Convinced, the woman beckons me inside and shows me to the phone near a computer in a room. Wow! How lucky am I. A cable modem. This makes it all so much easier. I promptly replace the old phone with a new phone which I had already taken the pleasure of fitting some extra wiring onto. After I had made quick work of hookup, I boot up the computer and load software from my stash, constantly listening for footsteps. Now sweat’s forming at the forehead and it seems awfully hot in here. But I am finished. It seems that the woman, who had had the daring to take a shower while I worked, is finished dressing and on her way to check on me. She asks why I had taken so long , but I dismiss her query calmly, saying that I had attempted to fix the old phone but couldn’t. Mission accomplished. This is going to be fun!
Chapter 3 : The Zing of Mortality
What is the recipe for a lady, a woman, a girl. A touch of coco butter with a gentle helping of pepper? Should ten heaping spoons of sugar and a bowl of attitude be mixed in? Remember to knead in a timer to determine mood, and coat with spice. Now do you have what you set of to? Or does it so seem so real that you rub your hands together in wonder. They are blessed with the curse of their own facts, amid pretty smiles, stringy tops and open shoes, failure lurks. Failure to foil the hands of death, or even the hands of mine if there be a difference.
It is Thursday, and the past days of listening to the antics of my headphone has given nothing but a thorough course in female. I have been well lectured and brought up to date on the latest in gossip, and now have a collection of phone numbers and email addresses. However, currently thirty-seven calls in and out and still this girl has neglected to satisfy my needs.
As my left index and middle finger proceed to rub my expediting frown back into my sloping forehead, lubricated with the sweat of stubborn will, my right eye stares bleakly at the computer screen awaiting the lifting of the receiver. You would think that someone in their final days on this orb would have the decency to appease me.
Ah, day three, call four. Ring, ring.
”Hello“
”Hi, what’s up?“ she answers in a perky voice, ”Know who this?“
”Of course. My girl.“
”Ha ha ha. So what you doing Saturday? You going talent show?“
”Yeah. You coming with me right?“
”Love to. I will meet you there, though I might not be able to go any where with you afterwards. I have to go by my cousin and sleep so I have to go early.“
”Shh. So nothing for me. Okay . . .“
A smile berths beneath my palms, as I shade my delight as though the computer would tell tale of my joy. `Tis a good things this. It be a pleasant end of week, this.
Like a lily waking with the sunrise, clothed in silky debonair yellow, caressed by the waters of the night and scented by breezes that would make you shut your eyes and breathe, I rise from my bed. The Saturday 10am heat plays me no bid. The idea of quelling the forces, which have dared rally against my will, lightens my step to the bathroom. I switch on the mirror light to no avail, for light conquers even light. I quickly lash away the nights toll from my face with chlorinated tap liquor. As my head returns to vertical, I glimpse myself. I am, am I not? The liquid crystal in all it class, falls from my eyelids on to my cheeks. From there, it embraces my cheeks as it cleaves to my contours till the fateful drop to the ever more, the white sink. My face is near flush with euphoria. All this because hunting season is open, and the game is in range. Maybe I need abstain. No. I think I am okay. So I wash my face and hurry to make ready my one-strap bag. No tradesman goes to work without his tools.
Now that I walk into the all girl high school, packed with cheering youth and already darkening, I reflect upon infinity. There are infinite paths that I can take from the gate to the steps which lead to the balcony. Infinite ways this venture may conclude. Infinite ways it could be foiled. Well good thing there isn’t an infinite number of potential marks here cause I just don’t think it’s healthy to be spending this much time on this whole stage exit.
Really, life is a stage. As I walk, I pass life’s many actors. my focus heeds two particular actors, a boy and a girl. The boy is acting the role of a guy who goes out with the girl next to him, but saves for another not in this scene. The girl acts the role of a girl who is showing manufactured affection for the guy. If only she would act the part adequately.
Well, the show goes on with or without me. And there goes my supporting cast across the courtyard. My petite mark, her walk appears a strut, in slow motion. How quaint. Having considered my options, I cross the crowd to the other side of the courtyard. Now she’s closer to the stage, and the crowd is all excited over the dance and song of some seniors doing the Fubu song, Fatty Girl, my view of the target is obscured. As I make my way along, a girl reaches from near a class door and grasps my right forearm, so of course I stop and attend to my attendee. Oh her. A pretty enough dark-skinned teen so attired. Oh well business before pleasure. So I stay and chat for a bit with this young girl. Seems prettier than I last remember. Her youthful curves are hugged by her blue jeans and her top seemed to complement her face and curly back hair to the point where I was rather taken aback. Interesting.
Having been told that she had to find her friends before she lost them completely, we bid goodbye and I reacquaint my mind with what I was about to do. I forget . . . umm? Okay the petite one. Darn it! Her escort seems to have arrived while I was enjoying my conversation. All things come to those who wait. I intend to have her, or the joy of her at least, so I stroll to the left corner of the stage and tuck myself behind the wall near there. I’ll just have to take in the remainder of my seven-dollar ticket.
As the last performance falls, I find her again, still with the fella. So I strike a pose against a wall and wait for them to be swept up by the wave of departing bodies. And within moments, so said so done. As they go through the gate, I stumble upon the possibility that she might not head to wherever immediately. This thought is pleasantly disappointed as they nod goodbyes, and she walks away from him up the hill. Now a new problem. How in the world am I going to get her with all these people around? The answer: hope that everybody either stays on the roadside near the school or heads into town. Must be my day, because by the time she goes past the Dominica Conservation Association head office, we are the only ones on the road. Next problem. How do I get her? Wow, what the hell was the point of all my planning anyway? I’ll have to iron out that wrinkle when I come to it. I drastically quicken my pace and come within a foot of her and I tap her on the shoulder. Slightly startled, she turns slowly, and breathes a big sign of relief when she sees that it is just me. Ironic is not it? Just me: a teddy bear of sorts I guess, dilated pupils, dimpled cheeks, light-hearted persona. I’m just not intimidating.
Determined to keep her here until I figure something out, I step into some lame conversation, basing my first topic on where she was heading. In the meantime we cross the road and stand just in front of the same basketball court. The Garden gates are already shut. Her breathing now easier, and the anxiety in her neck is now drained away. She accepts the challenge to converse and breaks into a short speech explaining where she was going. I drown my lips with saliva, as I anxiously scan the area. Still, desperation always seems to provide for a solution.
A van drives by, then I take a last quick look around. And wham. I detonate my subdued passion into her right cheek with the generous aid of a baton, which I had quietly fetched from my bag. Her legs crumble beneath her as she falls to the ground like a leaf plucked from the tip of a branch, mid spring, glistening green with youthful vibrance. A leaf which strains for lack of tears as it bids its family tree goodbye, as it floats down, memories of perfect sunsets and invigorating rain drops, knowing that the end of it’s fall is the end of it’s last day.
I quickly grip her size six waist and heave her over my shoulders and dash for the courtyard. Ducking behind a wall, I peek around it to see if any witnesses have been made. None to be found. The hole in the wall is still there, from when last I played here in my high school days, and it is a healthy dash away. I sprint across, the body on my shoulder already seems restless.
I drop her short figure to the hard, stony ground, well away form even the Garden road. Her eyes blink open as consciousness returns to her, probably jerked from it’s hiding crevasse by the landing. I fall upon her, a knee on either side of her hips. I sense the spoiling of a scream in her throat so I stick my handkerchief in her mouth. She now launches her fight: hands flaying, feet swinging, body attempting to rise. I revel in her futile exertion for life. After near five minutes of her wrestling, I am mildly surprised by her stamina, I grow jaded of this game so I fetch my glimmering silencer. The effect, so predictable. I stretch my right thumb out to her purple, swollen cheek. I feel the quivering of her body aided by the throbbing of her racing pulse. The blow she had been dealt had allowed the right side of her face to swell to horrific proportions. I didn’t care much to see this ugly side of her, so I directed my attention to the other. Her left cheek remained still in its perfection but for a streak of make-up blurred by the only tear her pitiful brain could muster thus far.
As I stare at her shaped eye brows and powdered cheeks, I think back to the mirror I face every morning, and the imperfection it shows. She was just some thing. She did not deserve to die so beautiful. I brought the knife into my right hand. The blade lusted for her red juices that she so selfishly hid beneath her skin. Placing the tip an inch below her left eye, tears broke through, and again retaliation surged from her being. But I didn’t want to play anymore so I roped her hands and legs and stretched them away. The subject now properly restrained, I returned to the examination; replacing my instrument below her eye. I applied firm pressure and drew a curve to the tip of her pretty mouth. She was now whimpering profusely, her muscles tight, but she was thankfully out of tears. The red rose from the fine slit. So graceful. So right. It started its journey down to the ground. What a waste to have this. It paralleled rich wine, glistening in the light of the moon. I wonder what it tastes like. I leaned in for a closer inspection, and with this sudden movement her wailing ceased. This close, I was now mad with curiosity. I could not pass up this opportunity. I extended the tip of my tongue and tasted her vitality as she fastened her shuddering eyes. I savor the entire streak. The taste so intense, like a flood of mango juices stirred by something like . . . like copper.
Suddenly my smiling jaw is greeted by a smashing right. Somehow she had got one hand free from my handy work. Outrageous; how dare she? I mean, didn’t she know that I hold the thread she called life and the scissors to trim it? I stare into her dark brown eyes while her muscles strain against my grip. Inside me somewhere an intense burning stirred and grew and stormed and then it erupts. My normal stream of thoughts was broken as a wave of something else broke its banks. I lashed at her face with my fist, knife still clutched. So deep was this new found fury that the each stab went in to the hilt so that my fist still made a stirring contact. As I dealt the eleventh blow, I regained control of my left hand and restrain my right.
Calm again, I survey the damage. Somehow, her resilience musters two last fluttering breaths, through lips that are now four instead of two, because her nose, unrecognizable now, cannot accept the chore. A tortured plate of flesh hangs by to the side of her left ear. Though her face, well what was, is soaked red, blood still gushed from a stray puncture. A chill runs down my index finger as I shut her right eye, spared of the activities. No need to do the same on the other side cause there was no more eye. Just a mysterious depression. I stick my finger in to measure its depth: surprisingly deep.
”Well,“ I think to myself as my watch chimes an alarm, ”it was an interesting night.“ I bury the body, taking quite some time, and then gather my things and leave, brushing the soil from my pants and hands. I hope I get a ride home. It is kinda late.
Chapter 4 : The dark side of the moon
It is eight o’clock, another warm summer night. The sliced moon glimpses its glory upon the warm earth, as I gaze out my light-less room. Dam. Another itch. I humor this itch, grazing my freshly cut nails against my hair covered flesh, its keen edge producing a dry sound upon my sweat dried skin. I close my eyes, relishing the sound, relishing its origin, relishing now why I have this itch. My inner self, my veins yearn for yet another adventure of blood as it carefully curls its way down a soft neck, leisurely dripping to the ground, drop by drop by savory drop, the cracked clay devouring the moisture, which it so thirsts for. I smile as I reminisce of romances when the lush red caresses the twin mounds impressed against pink, sleeveless, v-neck, cotton. As its hurry slows to take in every wayward strand and thread and fondle the coolness of night breezed fabric. Ever since my last, I have had not the privilege. And so, like a deprived soul addicted to the high, I distress to find myself a fix.
I grab my bag, check for its contents and head outside. My eyes warm to the darkness. Its cozy fullness and nearness hugs me in itself as I stroll the streets of my neighborhood, in search of an unnecessary life to take for myself. For sure, I need it more. Even as I embrace the shadows and my eyes dart about for satisfaction to ease my suffering, I wonder forward to the wealth of bodies to be soon found upon the hill when college returns. Hands tender with youth, bodies teeming with fragrant vitality, and faces soft with the inexperience afforded by peaceful youth.
Surprising really: not a single worm motel in my growing chain has been discovered yet, and none of the missing person stories has endured in the media for over a week. I simper as I fantasize on how the decayed bodies may now pose. Most now devoid of over eighty percent of all soft tissue, the pungent fragrance gone adrift, but thriving colonies of earthworms well settled in the nutrient rich, soon to be aerated, soil. I laugh. The ground near the bodies should yield some rich blooms this year.
Ah! What was that through the roadside brush? Good. This shall suffice. I search around successfully for a sizable rock. I arc my right hand back, in sight the target, and release. Bam! target hit. The prey barks wildly in response, as it attempts to stumble away, hobbling for a few yards as I accompany it to its resting spot. I watch as it reluctantly collapses to the crisp grass. I crouch over and am blasted by rapid breaths as the battle rages on for oxygen. Retrieving my instrument from my bag, I leer at the glimmering image it shows.
My grip around the snug, compassionate handle is firm, as I kneel to the grass, place my left hand below the dog’s fur covered throat, laying on its back. Its light-brown, weathered fur is damp with the moisture from the past drizzle which coated the blades, but warm with the beating of its tenacious heart muscle.
Oh well. Shhoowpp. I plunge the steel cold into its side and savor its final howl, and listen intently to the sounds of a lung as pleural fluid drain in and collapses, releasing a barely audible grunt. And then as its cardiovascular throbbing stalls to a stop. This music dispatches chills of satisfaction to my extremities. My eyes roll up, deeply submerged in peace, not thoroughly satisfying but sufficient for the time. Suddenly, I sight the glow of oncoming headlamps racing up the hill. I crouch into the brush and stay still peering past green blades of dancing grass. As the vehicle rolls by, I catch a glimpse of the dark-skinned, high cheek boned female driver, painfully unaware of how close she has come to me in that still moment. Hmm, I need go to town tomorrow.
Mid-morning rays pierce the flower patterns of my curtains and silent eyelids, shining upon my dreams, lifting me away from my minds concocted bliss to drop me of at reality. The landing is bitter and I wake dazed from the trip. The digital clock reads 11:03 am, well into today. I did say I would go to town. So I stagger up, tuck away a lukewarm breakfast, bathe away the slumber and dress. Hmm. Looks like a good day today.
Disembarking a dusty green Toyota, I notice the rims, who alone have retained their virginity along the bus' life. I scan the roadway for any recognizable faces. None. Good. Solitude for but a moment. I expand my lungs and swallow the musty perfume of dusty city streets, scarred by littering feet. Oh well, on to check the cinema schedule. Many a pretty neck visits a movie past sun-time. My time of day you know.
Dodging low signs, skipping across uncovered gutters and maneuvering past unwary bodies; I trek my way to the cinema doors. The schedule promises very good figures. I take a step back so as to congest my mind with images of the swarm. It is in fact a premier, so I do the scene no justice to keep so close. I take a step back, then another, then oops . . . I collide into an incoming pedestrian. I swing around to catch the person just as they take sight of the ground's proximity. Doing so, I return the person to an upright position, flooding them with apologies as I hurry to pick up the fallen jewel cases. I spot a fresh crack in one, one which protected a shimmering Reanimation compact disk.
”Yes. Do like you didn't see me!“ she complained. Hearing this voice, I slowly raise my head to consume the sight. This person is a girl and not any girl. A girl I know. My how she has umm . . . matured.
”Hi! I’m so sorry. I really didn’t see you. That’s not normal.“
”No it’ is actually. But forget.“ She calmly walks away as I stand in minor awe, my brain retrieving records of a past. Strands of her dark hair wave to me in the air. Bidding goodbye, whilst still bidding my pursuit.
”Wait awhile!“ I shout, now in brisk pursuit, catching up to her easily. I proceed to lighten the tone and offer to walk with her for a bit. One never knows what predators lurk the streets, a woman could do with some, protection.
Just thirty minutes into our awkward convergence, we conclude that we are hungry. Well actually I had a hearty breakfast, but she doesn’t know that, now does she. Over oily chicken thighs and over crisp chips, we recall vague memories of years back when we, or as she so often pointed out, I had been friendlier. After lunch, we part for our separate ways. But before we do, she lets me know that she would be in town about the same time tomorrow. Quite interesting, if I do say so myself. Where might this newly cut path take me I wonder.
The other rewards of the day paled in comparison to my little, ironic rendezvous. But I succeeded in my research: the shadowy areas, the sound dampening areas, the shortcuts, isolated areas, the dangerous areas, et cet era. I was very proud of the productivity of the day actually. If only the better part of my summer break was at least comparable to today’s enterprise.
Nevertheless, my story seeks an end which it cannot have; for mine own has not yet arrived. I can only hope for further sustenance; future dark adventures into the still uncertain. I believe that there is still so much more to experience in my secret pleasures of the night. Yet, this new ray of the sun's shine, has pierced my interests. And like a vampire of the highest breed, I seem unaffected by the sun's normally deadly assault. Oh well, lest I thirst again on to the bittersweet pastures of my dreams.
