I murdered a bird today. Feathers and blood are enough to temporarily quench the thirst. Its death holds back a deeper urge, and treats but one symptom of my unwell mind. Slaughtering a person – that would be the grand finale in this show of insanity. Alas my conscience (bothersome thing that it is) stands in the way of fulfilling my need. I’m enslaved by morality (damn you Sunday school).
“Good morning, Elliot,” you say.
My disguise is elaborate – mild mannered neighbor. After returning the greeting, you drive away. Your daughter is the reason I moved here. For three hours every day you leave her alone and vulnerable. Predictability is my addiction’s ally. She’ll be my canvas, and I’ll paint my bloody masterpiece. Everything is in place. I need only act upon my evil concupiscence. Guilt, why do you shackle my hands?
My pacing wears trenches in the carpet. One thin string of humanity is all I have left. It chases away the illness in my head like a pit bull pursues a cat. But, like cats my lusts are persistent. Imagine my thumbs plunging deep into her eyes and releasing thick red tears. How orgasmic would the symphony of screams be? There’s a knife in my hand, and how it arrived there escapes me. I feel myself losing control. Only one remedy remains. It’s bloody and final.
Blood is beautiful. Rhythmic geysers from deep wounds spurt out and pool. The hearts tempo gradually slows. There’s a release. Semen and blood mingle. Consummation of lust, and absolution of guilt, are the origins of my smile. Cleansed in death, I’ve been reborn.
Words of damnation and lines of scripture attempt to surface from the depths of my psyche. They roam the passageways and cisterns of my mind seeking an entrance to my soul. Thick is the darkness that now dwells within me. No light can shine here.
“Murder, defiler, sinner,” the voice of reason attempts to speak to me. My illness strikes fast and snuffs it out. There is no redemption here.
Fingers twitch as the last drops of life drain. The climax is upon me now. As darkness falls upon my countenance, I examine the lesion on my wrist. My breathing slows. I killed a bird today, but it wasn’t enough.