Surprisingly the blood didn’t spurt. There was where it happened – In the corner of a dimly lit alleyway, by an old swimming pool. The smell of chlorine wafting through the warm summer air.
I stood, she lay. And in my head I did a quick replay – of all that had commenced since the death of my wife had sliced though the jugular of Miss Janice Mellar.
Everything had gone according to plan – until the blood hadn’t chosen to spurt.
Awkwardly the moments stood before me – anti climatic. Although the measures these days to commit these crimes were less drastic.
The list of women whose flesh had tasted my blade isn’t much elaborate. Martha Swinston, Cassie Munro, 14-year-old Helen Swazniq, Isha Dunham, Michelle Mossburg and my dear ladies and gentlemen, Janice Mellar.
Although the last on there was the most stellar. In looks and victimology. Meh.
Yet surprisingly, oh-dear-god, the blood didn’t spurt!
Now don’t look at me miss with those accusing eyes. I completely understand, but it is this numbing remorselessness lately that has grabbed my senses. Neuroscientists say ‘haha’ that I have issues with my serotonin.
All I can say, Doctor, is that I just cannot take it in.
There are times when I have to hide and stay low. A ruthless man, by the name Detective Crossbow, is looking for the Jugular Killer. You see, he doesn’t enjoy the popularity of people like me.
It is this madness sometimes that dazzles my every bone, certified from the classic psychopathic tendencies that I have shown – where murder is my only sexual getaway and release, and the gap between my artistic acts is starting to decrease.
But don’t you take another breath, because what I felt…when the blood from her paling body did not spurt. It was a revelation; heavens were opening up to listen, while I stood by the swimming pool dirt.
My name is Alfred Kevins, and dear Janice, haven’t you figured out still? I am not the man with whom you will sleep tonight. For I am, ‘drum rolls’, a killer! A murderous victim to all theories of lust, paraphilia, distraught development and ill sociological conditions!
And even though the Scooby Doo and Gang would call me devilishly charming, sometimes the skin I live in…has me alarming.
I may have a soul, but I am never going to be a soldier, dear mother. I am in too deep in sin.
Surprisingly the blood didn’t spurt, as the blade ran one last time, cutting through my skin.
Trapped inside a smoky room, she tried calling out for help.
No response. She tried twice more, but in vain.
This is all it took for her to come to the conclusion that it was time for her to help herself. She wasn’t used to being stuck inside a cubical, hazy with dust, with very less light.
The girl, herself was small and petite. Although her expressions registered panic, her eyes shone some amount of defiant fighting spirit. She tucked on her white dress that managed to cover her blackened knees. The girl decided her plan of action, bravely.
Afraid of insanity.
She had to do something, however. She stood up in the dingy small space and hit her head to the roof above. Biting her lips to cease the pain, she tried to push the roof off the closure.
And to her fortune, it opened right away!
She smiled, relieved, saying a silent prayer to the only God she knew, her latent fate.
With some effort, she managed to climb out of the room, not remembering a bit about how she got there. The last thing she remembered was watching her loved ones drowning in a flood, rushing away like withering clouds, silent screams piercing her conscience.
Before that, it was an earthquake, destroying everything, a plummeting sand castle, period.
And now, here she was, escaping the tiny box, out to freedom. The girl found herself on the top of a very tall building. So tall that she couldn’t see the ground, not one bit.
A cool breeze ran through her dress, kissing her exposed skin lightly. She felt mesmerized yet, the daunting feeling of fear still shook her wildly, eating her from the inside.
She now stood on the edge of the building, creeping towards the corner, slowly. Her pulse quickened and the overpowering feeling of fear had taken control of her mind. The world around her was in ruins.
It was now or never.
Yes! She now could hold none of it anymore. The girl desperately wanted the end! What else could she do? Either be trapped in a pothole or fall to her death? Death felt better, she needed the peace. Needed the freedom. Due to impounding fear her body began to heave heavily.
And in one single gallop she fell, face forward, out in the cold, out in the wilderness. Her contorted expression bloomed into the one of joy and bliss.
Wind swept past her like a raging fire, calming her senses. She fell and fell and fell. A bottomless pit from hell. Yes, the girl was flying but it only took her moments to come to the next conclusion.
She asked what she got and now, she was trapped again. Trapped inside freedom.
– Shaun D’souza
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