pompompururin
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- Posted: Thu, 22 May 2014 04:16:44 +0000
I'm not sure if I want to expand on this. It was a little of an impulsive thing, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
They found a body.
I wasn’t sure if it was male or a female, it was unrecognizable, simply a mess of muscle, the face beaten to a pulp. The thing lying broken before me had lost all humanity.
For now it was just a bloodstain upon the grass. I tilted my head up to look at the thing, my eyes raking over the mutilated flesh, ripped, the bones broken. It was gruesome, whoever had done this looked like he had been in a rush, and a small smile played upon my face as I turned on my heel, starting to walk back down the hill where the detectives had found it.
“A mess, isn’t it?” One spoke to me, a look on his face that showed he didn’t enjoy this job, like the dead were too much for him to handle, and I nodded.
“Yes, very, just horrible,” I responded, watching as the officer kept going, taking the arm of the thing in his hand. Very horrible indeed.
This wasn’t the first body they had found, in fact there had been several, all murdered in the same fashion.
No identity, no face, nothing to connect with. Perhaps he wanted to erase the victim, after he got the high he so craved. Or maybe he just liked to see a puddle of flesh and muscle, blood and intestines oozing on the floor.
It is always relaxing to get your frustration out; I have practiced relaxation techniques myself, of course, without a broken body.
I had been taking a walk that morning, the sky clouded over, with the bitter smell of rain on the wind, my hands in my pockets. That was where I found the police tape, the cop cars, and I saw as they brought down the horrid mess and what I saw did not frighten me.
It didn’t make my stomach turn or make me gasp. I didn’t even blink at the sight.
What a strange thing, seeing the police cover their noses at the vile stench, one of fear and rotting flesh, and a small chuckle would escape from my lips, airy, so no living soul would hear.
But now, at this moment, I walked back down that same road, loosening my tie and taking a deep breath. I felt a feeling in me, I couldn’t describe it, but I felt my hands shake, my breath hitch in my throat but not from fear, no, from anger.
A bubble of intense jealousy had risen up and exploded in my ribcage, splashing my intestines with the incessant feeling of rage. I stopped moving. Something had to be done about this.
Walking faster, I passed an elderly woman, not bothering to help her. I didn’t care at this moment, like I ever did. I hurried to my house, hurrying through the front door and through the living room, and hurrying towards the bathroom.
Breathing heavily, I searched through my medicine cabinet, scrambling for what I needed. Not medication, no, I didn’t need medication, I brought out a needle instead.
Oh, sweet needle. I slipped off my shoes, my breathing rugged at this point. But then, I stopped. I had evolved from this, I thought. I threw the needle in the toilet before flushing it; putting my dress shoes on and slicking my hair back, wiping the sweat from my forehead. I needed something more satisfying. I couldn’t be the pitiful bottom dweller anymore; I needed to be the apex predator. Yes, that was it.
The urge had grown over the next couple days. I sat alone in my car, a shining black Jaguar. Yet my ride wasn’t suspicious in the least. I had worked at a law firm and most of the lawyers here owned much fancier cars. I didn’t envy them, however. My interests didn’t lie in objects bought.
I gazed out the window outside my work, the sun catching off the windows, and I could faintly see those working inside. Busy little bees, running too and fro, mindless drones nothing more.
I gripped my steering wheel, counting the pedestrians as they walked, watching as they went about their daily lives, almost in a trance. My urge had blossomed in the pit of my stomach again in this moment but before I could act, there was a knocking on my window.
“Mr. Azreal?” A voice called, followed by a laugh. “You know what today is don’t you?” The voice added, as I wiped my forehead.
“It’s very hot,” I replied, laughing softly.
“Very true!” He said, and I finally looked up at this man from underneath my lashes. I didn’t bother to know his name, but he did work at my building.
It took me awhile before it registered. This man was the office clown; the one who horsed around and never got anything accomplished. He had a nasally voice, one that grated on my ears and made my teeth grate as well.
And in this second, as I looked upon him, I knew how to curve my urge.
“Yes, of course I know what day it is,” I finally said, laughing a little louder to show my cheerful spirit, the one I lacked, but for the sake of this escapade, I had to be willing to pretend.
“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” I asked, smiling widely. “How about you come along with me and I can treat you to something nice on your special day, hm?” I suggested, watching him intently. I was aware he had told everyone in the office it was his birthday, but only I was the one to act on it.
His face lit up almost immediately, nodding excitedly as he climbed into the passenger seat of my car, tapping my finger against the steering wheel as he got all buckled in. He nodded again and I took this as my signal to drive.
Driving along the road, my grip on the wheel was still tight, my body was coiled, my heart pumped, my breathing labored. I could almost feel the high. I couldn’t be too reckless with my driving now, and although the man next to me tried to strike up a conversation, I stayed completely silent, eyes on the road. My thought was on one thing and I could not get distracted.
“Where are you taking me?” John Doe asked besides me, making me lick my bottom lip in some anticipation.
“Somewhere special, trust me, you will enjoy it, it is my treat after all,” I responded, my voice a little hoarse as I could barely contain my excitement. I was almost buzzing, and it intensified as we turned left off the highway and down a modest road. The same road I had walked upon days before.
We pulled in and I took this second. I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door, rubbing my hands over my blazer, wiping off any unwanted sweat. My passenger was out after I was, and I led him towards my front door, opening it for him like a gentlemen.
“Wow, nice place, Azrael,” he said, looking around, almost as if he was in awe. The truth was, it was modest, compared to other places of course, but I didn’t pride myself on expensive. I had to admit; the lack of color was appealing to me.
“Have a seat,” I ordered, walking into the bathroom, fixing my tie, smoothing my hair, fixing my glasses, flashing a nice smile, preparing myself. I took something, swallowing it with a swish of water and I sighed contently. I was ready.
I made my way back into the main room, my hands behind my back, and I walked closer to my guest. I did not sit, however.
“So, what’s my special gift?” He asked me.
I smiled widely, chuckling, moving one hand from behind my back to grip him, hard. I made sure he didn’t let go, as he struggled. He struggled like a wounded animal.
“It will come,” I spoke softly.
Running my hand down my side, I lifted the baseball bat I had hidden behind my leg, the cracks stained crimson.
I wouldn’t call myself a cliché killer, or even a serial killer, but that of an artist. I put the bat to the side of his head, which was beaded with fearful sweat. I didn’t know him, I didn’t need to.
No identity, no face, nothing to connect with. Perhaps I wanted to erase the victim, after I got the high I so craved. Or maybe I just liked to see a puddle of flesh and muscle, blood and intestines oozing on the floor.
They found a body.
I wasn’t sure if it was male or a female, it was unrecognizable, simply a mess of muscle, the face beaten to a pulp. The thing lying broken before me had lost all humanity.
For now it was just a bloodstain upon the grass. I tilted my head up to look at the thing, my eyes raking over the mutilated flesh, ripped, the bones broken. It was gruesome, whoever had done this looked like he had been in a rush, and a small smile played upon my face as I turned on my heel, starting to walk back down the hill where the detectives had found it.
“A mess, isn’t it?” One spoke to me, a look on his face that showed he didn’t enjoy this job, like the dead were too much for him to handle, and I nodded.
“Yes, very, just horrible,” I responded, watching as the officer kept going, taking the arm of the thing in his hand. Very horrible indeed.
This wasn’t the first body they had found, in fact there had been several, all murdered in the same fashion.
No identity, no face, nothing to connect with. Perhaps he wanted to erase the victim, after he got the high he so craved. Or maybe he just liked to see a puddle of flesh and muscle, blood and intestines oozing on the floor.
It is always relaxing to get your frustration out; I have practiced relaxation techniques myself, of course, without a broken body.
I had been taking a walk that morning, the sky clouded over, with the bitter smell of rain on the wind, my hands in my pockets. That was where I found the police tape, the cop cars, and I saw as they brought down the horrid mess and what I saw did not frighten me.
It didn’t make my stomach turn or make me gasp. I didn’t even blink at the sight.
What a strange thing, seeing the police cover their noses at the vile stench, one of fear and rotting flesh, and a small chuckle would escape from my lips, airy, so no living soul would hear.
But now, at this moment, I walked back down that same road, loosening my tie and taking a deep breath. I felt a feeling in me, I couldn’t describe it, but I felt my hands shake, my breath hitch in my throat but not from fear, no, from anger.
A bubble of intense jealousy had risen up and exploded in my ribcage, splashing my intestines with the incessant feeling of rage. I stopped moving. Something had to be done about this.
Walking faster, I passed an elderly woman, not bothering to help her. I didn’t care at this moment, like I ever did. I hurried to my house, hurrying through the front door and through the living room, and hurrying towards the bathroom.
Breathing heavily, I searched through my medicine cabinet, scrambling for what I needed. Not medication, no, I didn’t need medication, I brought out a needle instead.
Oh, sweet needle. I slipped off my shoes, my breathing rugged at this point. But then, I stopped. I had evolved from this, I thought. I threw the needle in the toilet before flushing it; putting my dress shoes on and slicking my hair back, wiping the sweat from my forehead. I needed something more satisfying. I couldn’t be the pitiful bottom dweller anymore; I needed to be the apex predator. Yes, that was it.
The urge had grown over the next couple days. I sat alone in my car, a shining black Jaguar. Yet my ride wasn’t suspicious in the least. I had worked at a law firm and most of the lawyers here owned much fancier cars. I didn’t envy them, however. My interests didn’t lie in objects bought.
I gazed out the window outside my work, the sun catching off the windows, and I could faintly see those working inside. Busy little bees, running too and fro, mindless drones nothing more.
I gripped my steering wheel, counting the pedestrians as they walked, watching as they went about their daily lives, almost in a trance. My urge had blossomed in the pit of my stomach again in this moment but before I could act, there was a knocking on my window.
“Mr. Azreal?” A voice called, followed by a laugh. “You know what today is don’t you?” The voice added, as I wiped my forehead.
“It’s very hot,” I replied, laughing softly.
“Very true!” He said, and I finally looked up at this man from underneath my lashes. I didn’t bother to know his name, but he did work at my building.
It took me awhile before it registered. This man was the office clown; the one who horsed around and never got anything accomplished. He had a nasally voice, one that grated on my ears and made my teeth grate as well.
And in this second, as I looked upon him, I knew how to curve my urge.
“Yes, of course I know what day it is,” I finally said, laughing a little louder to show my cheerful spirit, the one I lacked, but for the sake of this escapade, I had to be willing to pretend.
“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” I asked, smiling widely. “How about you come along with me and I can treat you to something nice on your special day, hm?” I suggested, watching him intently. I was aware he had told everyone in the office it was his birthday, but only I was the one to act on it.
His face lit up almost immediately, nodding excitedly as he climbed into the passenger seat of my car, tapping my finger against the steering wheel as he got all buckled in. He nodded again and I took this as my signal to drive.
Driving along the road, my grip on the wheel was still tight, my body was coiled, my heart pumped, my breathing labored. I could almost feel the high. I couldn’t be too reckless with my driving now, and although the man next to me tried to strike up a conversation, I stayed completely silent, eyes on the road. My thought was on one thing and I could not get distracted.
“Where are you taking me?” John Doe asked besides me, making me lick my bottom lip in some anticipation.
“Somewhere special, trust me, you will enjoy it, it is my treat after all,” I responded, my voice a little hoarse as I could barely contain my excitement. I was almost buzzing, and it intensified as we turned left off the highway and down a modest road. The same road I had walked upon days before.
We pulled in and I took this second. I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door, rubbing my hands over my blazer, wiping off any unwanted sweat. My passenger was out after I was, and I led him towards my front door, opening it for him like a gentlemen.
“Wow, nice place, Azrael,” he said, looking around, almost as if he was in awe. The truth was, it was modest, compared to other places of course, but I didn’t pride myself on expensive. I had to admit; the lack of color was appealing to me.
“Have a seat,” I ordered, walking into the bathroom, fixing my tie, smoothing my hair, fixing my glasses, flashing a nice smile, preparing myself. I took something, swallowing it with a swish of water and I sighed contently. I was ready.
I made my way back into the main room, my hands behind my back, and I walked closer to my guest. I did not sit, however.
“So, what’s my special gift?” He asked me.
I smiled widely, chuckling, moving one hand from behind my back to grip him, hard. I made sure he didn’t let go, as he struggled. He struggled like a wounded animal.
“It will come,” I spoke softly.
Running my hand down my side, I lifted the baseball bat I had hidden behind my leg, the cracks stained crimson.
I wouldn’t call myself a cliché killer, or even a serial killer, but that of an artist. I put the bat to the side of his head, which was beaded with fearful sweat. I didn’t know him, I didn’t need to.
No identity, no face, nothing to connect with. Perhaps I wanted to erase the victim, after I got the high I so craved. Or maybe I just liked to see a puddle of flesh and muscle, blood and intestines oozing on the floor.
