It was a chilly January night. I was right outside his house. I always liked that villa. It was huge; two stories, a big-ass garden in the front and a huge backyard with a pool. The main gate was automatic; it had two switches inside the house: one near the main door and another in the master bedroom. The path from the main gate to the porch was made of black marbles; it was somehow always shiny. The boundary walls that surrounded the house were pretty high; I couldn’t touch the top of the wall and I am about 6 ft tall.
Right below the boundary walls were flowering plants, they covered the bottom of the wall. I used to always admire them on my way into the house. There were these two beautiful lamps that used to light up the porch through the night. I think it was for the security camera right above the door.
I climbed the boundary wall from the right side of the house by standing on two cinder blocks, one put on top of the other. They were large enough to get my fingers on the top of the wall and I just pulled myself up after that. I stopped at the top of the wall and looked below to measure how far I had to jump so that I don’t ruin the flowers. I jumped as far as I could just to be sure and almost toppled on the soft grass. I fucked up the landing and that didn’t do well for my right ankle. A jolt of pain ran through my ankle to my knee; nothing too bad, I shook it off.
The grass, it felt like a soft bed. I removed my rubber gloves to feel the fresh grass which was shining in the moonlight. I decided to lay on the grass for a while. It was so soothing… I could just fall asleep right there. I laid on the grass on my back with my limbs stretched out. I looked straight up and admired the stars as I felt the grass under my palms. The sky was unusually clear that night. With a full moon and all the stars complimenting it, the sky looked like a light show.
I like stargazing; it made me realize how insignificant we are in the universe… living on just another speck of dust, nothing we do has any impact at all in the grand scheme of the universe. It was peaceful… peaceful to know I don’t have any responsibility to “make a change in the world”; takes a lot of weight off you. Also, looking into the night sky gave me a sense of roundness of the Earth, you know what I mean? Like you’re clearly looking up to the inside of a semi-sphere, right? I’ll never understand what the fuck the “flat-earthers” go on about.
Anyway, it was quiet and peaceful; I loved lying on the grass there that night, looking at the clear sparkling sky, feeling the slightly wet grass between my fingers and the cool breeze through my hair (or whatever were left of them).
My digital watch beeped and I snapped out of it. It was 2 am; it was time. I got up, put my rubber gloves back on and I was ready. It was dark enough in the garden. I got on the side of the house and opened the window; I had undone the lock of that window from the inside of the house the previous day. There was a security camera right above that window, but I wasn’t too worried about the cameras; I just had to pick up the hard disk, which was connected to the cameras, on my way out. I looked at the flowers for the last time as I knew I won’t be getting a chance to do that again. Especially the huge bunch of marigolds, they looked so full of life together. It always felt like they all were smiling at me collectively. I smiled at the flowers as they swayed with the soft wind. I nodded at them as if I am saying my final goodbyes and climbed into the house through the window.
The house from the inside was always neat and tidy (what can I say, I like cleaning). There was a huge kitchen on my right and the living room in front of me. I looked on my left and saw the small glass designs on the front door that were lit up by the lamps on the porch. The scattered light through the door made the hall and the staircase fairly visible. Just beside the living room was the staircase to his room. I slowly walked towards the stairs and very lightly kept my right foot on the second stair. The first stair always creaked so loudly.
I hated that step. I always felt a personal hatred towards that single first step; it felt like, when the time comes, it’ll tell on me.
I knew each and every step that creaked and climbed over all of them. Without making a single sound I was right outside his bedroom.
It gives a weird satisfaction, being so close to someone without them having a single idea of your presence.
I made my way elegantly towards the room. I slowly opened the door and there he was, sleeping in a king size bed. I always wondered why he had such a big house but had no one to share it with. Whatever; his life, his choice.
I stepped inside the room; it was colder than outside.
“Why the fuck does he has the AC on? It’s January, for God’s sake.” I thought to myself.
I stood in the dark corner beside the door. Under heavy blankets, having no idea what was about to happen, he was sleeping like a baby. I stood there for some time as I looked at him.
His face was lit by the light from the street lamp that found its way into the bedroom. He had this bliss on his face that I could never understand. It was just annoying to see him like that.
The light couldn’t brighten the whole room so where I was standing, I was not fully visible.
“Well, fuck it, your time’s over.” I thought and pulled out my kitchen knife tucked in the back of my pants and stepped towards him. Now I was right beside the bed. I wanted to enjoy the last few seconds of me being there and him being unaware of my presence. He was sleeping lying straight, like someone in their grave. His hands were on his chest with the fingers locked. It was gonna be so easy.
I carefully placed my knife right on one side of his neck and slid it as fast as I could. As soon as I did that, I hopped a few quick steps back. I didn’t want my cloths to get stained by the blood. It was pretty quick, I realized. I was already where I was previously standing when the blood started spewing out of his neck.
He sprang up to life. He sat up with his eyes wide open in horror and confusion with his hands on his neck. It was funny how he was trying to stop the bleeding because there was no way the blood was going anywhere but out. He searched the room in panic as he struggled to breathe and finally saw me.
I knew he couldn’t recognize me.
His horror shot higher when he saw the human shape in the corner of his room. He tried to get away.
I guess he was trying to escape…? I don’t know what he thought he could escape at that point, me or the slit throat. He made his way on the other side of the bed trying to move as fast as he could by pulling himself with one hand while the other hand still on his profusely bleeding neck. It was just red all around him, his cloths, the blanket, the pillow, everything. He fell off the other side of the bed.
“Urghh” I said and stepped towards the other side of the room. I wanted to see him bleed dry. After all, that was the whole point.
He was now lying on the floor with his hand still on his neck. His hands, sleeves and the front of his shirt: red. He could clearly see me now; as if the street lamp wanted him to know his killer.
He recognized me, but I bet he didn’t even know my name. He stretched his arm towards me. I could see in his eyes that he was hoping that I help him. Tears fell down his face as he tried to reach me with his blood-stained, trembling hand. His legs were doing their own thing, jerking and tangling.
Their legs make me chuckle. It’s almost like they are trying to run away from the body.
I gave a slight smirk as I looked straight into his eyes. I didn’t have to smile; I just wanted to scare the shit out of him, even more than he already was.
I find it funny how they try to get me to help them when they know that I was the one who did that to them. They can see the weapon in my hand. Still, stupidly enough, they want me to save them. I guess that’s what the final times of your life do to you. You look for anything and everything to hang on to just so your soul doesn’t escape your body. Everyone spends their whole life trying to accept death as their inevitable end but no one wants it when it actually happens. Till their last breath they try to escape their end. It’s fascinating to see how bad they so want to live. I could never relate to that. Well, not until recently.
He was on the floor and, obviously, out of his last few breaths that he had in him. His movements were less aggressive now, his eyes trying hard not to close.
He finally stopped moving. He had stopped the struggle of gasping for air now. But he, still, was alive. I wanted to see the life leave his body. That’s the best part. I looked at the floor and saw the blood slithering towards me. I like to think his blood, too, was trying to reach for me, I don’t know to avenge or to surrender. I carefully stepped over the blood and scan a spot on the floor near his face where there was no red demon trying to grab my feet. I leaned over him.
There he was, on the floor, lying on his side with one lifeless hand dropped near his neck and the other still stretched out. His legs were under the bed, they had stopped the struggle of escape. His eyes half closed, his fingers twitching like they’re trying to use the last bit of life in the body. The blood was still slowly pouring out of the sliced neck. I saw his face muscles gradually relaxing; it was like he was in a peaceful place now, with no emotions, no miseries. It wasn’t the same peace he had on his face when he was just sleeping. It was different, it was deeper. Not that he had any problem when he was alive, but you’re not truly peaceful until you don’t have anything to lose or to gain, when you expect nothing from your life is when you’re truly peaceful. He, on the other hand, didn’t even have his own life anymore; he was as peaceful as he could ever be.
Finally, his fingers, too, stopped moving, his shoulder pushing his chest towards the floor. Both his hands bathed with red, so was his mouth. The last thing he ever tasted was his own blood. The life was gone. The thing lying before me, who was a person a minute ago, is now just a bag of muscles and organs.
I got back up and stepped back. All I felt was a sense of fulfilment of some kind of purpose when I saw him lying in a pool of his own blood, lifeless in his own bedroom; his last emotions being horror and confusion, but never acceptance.
Some nights, lying on my bed when all I have are my thoughts and nothing else, I feel kind of… scared of myself. The fact that I don’t feel terrified anymore when I look at a dead person is really scary. But I really enjoy the show that they put up for me and I love making them do that. So fuck it, who cares.
People are supposed to do what satisfies them. That’s the whole point of life, isn’t it? This… this is what satisfies me. I like to see the dread the in people’s eyes, I love the trembling hands and the frozen faces and, oh, how much I love this colour.