flies to catch

Some might say I’d been in the dating game for a few years. I had met a handful of men from time to time, but none of those encounters ever moved beyond a first date. I suppose it should have puzzled me, should have made me wonder what went wrong. But where others might feel the sting of rejection, I felt nothing, just a calm indifference, as if the absence of connection was expected.

There is a certain richness in the quieter moments of life. Meeting new people, sharing fleeting conversations, glimpsing into lives so different from my own. In those small, unspoken exchanges, I found a subtle beauty. It almost made up for the absence of companionship, as if these fleeting connections filled a space I hadn’t realised was empty.

Tonight was one of those nights. A few evenings ago, I had gone to a bar alone, seeking a little lighthearted fun when I bumped into a brooding man named Levi, or at least, I think that was his name.

That night he had asked me what my ideal date was, I had said I didn’t mind, as long as it ended in some sort of fun.

I glanced at myself in the mirror, smoothing out my long skirt and adjusting the neckline of my t-shirt, making sure the shoulders sat just right. Satisfied enough, I grabbed my oversized shoulder bag and headed out the door.

Levi had suggested a picnic, promising to take care of all the food. I found the gesture surprisingly chivalrous. Little did he know, I had a quiet distaste for cooking and baking. To me, it was always more of a tedious chore, a waste of precious time that could be spent elsewhere.

As I stepped out of my apartment, the warm sun kissed my cheeks, a gentle caress that brought a smile to my lips. It was the kind of day that felt perfect for a date, bright and full of possibility.

There was almost a lightness in my step as I walked towards the park, just five minutes away from where I lived. It felt easy, effortless, like the day itself was aligning in my favour.

When I reached the park, my eyes landed on him. He was seated on the grass, bathed in the golden glow of the sun, which caught every stray hair in his tousled brown locks, making them glisten like threads of light. The sunlight sculpted his features, the sharp planes of his face, the lean strength in his arms, until he seemed almost unreal, like a figure carved out of the very warmth surrounding him. He was, in that moment, undeniably beautiful.

I smiled as I approached, the soft rustling of leaves beneath my feet catching his attention. He turned to face me, his eyes meeting mine with an easy, relaxed confidence.

Spread across the picnic blanket before him was a thoughtful array: a selection of delicate pastries, a few ripe fruits gleaming in the sunlight, and a bottle of wine resting beside two elegantly stemmed glasses. It was simple but inviting.

“This is wonderful,” I said, my grin widening as I settled down beside him, the warmth of the moment sinking in.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replied smoothly, his voice low, “a beautiful setup for a beautiful woman.” His words, though simple, sent a flush of heat to my cheeks, making me blush in spite of myself.

The setting couldn’t have been more ideal, quiet, with just the right amount of solitude. Hardly anyone else was around, giving us the perfect sense of privacy. Levi’s demeanour was easygoing, relaxed, but not overly confident, which I found endearing. In a way, he was just what I had been looking for. The golden sunlight bathed the scene, casting everything in a soft, warm glow as we exchanged small talk, learning more about each other.

I discovered that he had only recently moved to town a few months ago. He hadn’t made many friends yet, and he had no family nearby. His life here was as untethered as mine. We bonded over the fact that neither of us stayed rooted in one place for long, both drifting from city to city, as if we were always searching for something, or perhaps running from it. The more we talked, the more perfect he seemed. Detached, isolated, with no real ties. Just the way I liked it.

As we talked, I observed him closely, analysing every subtle movement. The way his reflexes kicked in as flies buzzed past his face, not too quick, but not sluggish either. His nervous habit of scratching his nose whenever the conversation hit a lull was almost endearing, as though a trace of boyish insecurity still lingered beneath the surface. It made him feel innocent, unguarded.

I kept up the act, laughing at his silly jokes, complimenting him on his wit, even when it fell flat. Occasionally, I’d reach out during a laugh, letting my hand brush against his arm, watching the way goosebumps rose beneath my touch. It was amusing to see how easily his body responded. His skin was unexpectedly smooth. He must moisturise, I thought absently, filing the detail away like I did with every other part of him, cataloguing him, piece by piece.

Though Levi was charming in his own way, handsome, kind, and pleasant company, I could feel my patience thinning. The date had begun to drag, the conversation losing its novelty. It was time to move things forward.

He had just finished telling me how he’d thought about joining a gym but never stayed in one place long enough to commit. That caught my attention, he didn’t work out. Another useful tidbit to tuck away for later. It painted a clearer picture of him, one that made everything seem that much easier.

As he wrapped up his story, I softened my expression, letting my gaze linger on him, and offered a gentle, inviting smile. My eyes locked with his, subtly guiding the moment, coaxing him into a sense of comfort and trust.

“Should we take this back to my place?” I asked, watching the brief flicker of confusion cross his face as I sidestepped his conversation. But then, his eyebrows shot up in giddy excitement. “It’s just a five-minute walk from here.”

He didn’t hesitate. No questions, no second thoughts. We quickly packed up the remaining food and began our walk. As we strolled, I felt something building inside me. Not nerves, no, that wasn’t it. Excitement. Anticipation. A slow, almost uncontrollable smile spread across my lips.

Levi, oblivious, continued talking, launching into another story about how he wanted to study but couldn’t find the motivation to pursue it online. He wished he could find somewhere to settle down, a place that felt right. I looked at him, listening but not really hearing.

This man had so much ambition yet lacked the drive to pursue it. Pathetic. The thought nearly made me want to turn back, to abandon this charade altogether. But I couldn’t. I had my hopes up, and there was no turning back now.

As we reached the front door of my apartment, I took his hand, guiding him inside with a firm grip. I shut the door quickly behind us, locking it with an air of finality. My heart raced with excitement as I led him toward the kitchen.

Without making any sudden movements to avoid alarming him, I gently guided Levi to the kitchen table. He started to talk again, his words tumbling out in a nervous stream, but this time I wasn’t really listening. I simply nodded along, flashing a smile that felt more like a mask than a genuine expression.

“Alexa,” I interjected, cutting through his rambling, “play ‘I Will Survive.’”

The song began to fill the room, its empowering beat contrasting sharply with the tension hanging in the air. I watched as confusion flickered across his features, the lyrics dancing around us like a mocking refrain.

“I just really love this song,” I explained, forcing a sheepish smile onto my face. He returned my smile, his own eyes lighting up momentarily as he continued to talk about his music preferences. I couldn’t help but feel a surge of irritation, how I longed for him to simply quiet down, to let the music take over the space between us. It was almost unbearable, listening to him chatter on while I was drowning in my own thoughts,

“Would you like a drink of water?” I asked, interrupting his flow. He paused mid-sentence, surprise flickering in his eyes.

“Yes, please. That would be wonderful.” He was so polite, almost too nice for his own good.

I smiled sweetly as I retrieved two colourful plastic cups from the cupboard above me, filling them with refreshing cold water from the fridge. The chill radiated through the cups, a stark contrast to the heat of the moment.

As I opened another cupboard, I pulled out a small strip of tablets.

“What’s that?” he asked, curiosity breaking through his rambling.

“Oh,” I chuckled lightly, “I have a headache at the moment. Just taking some Panadol.” His expression softened, seemingly satisfied with my explanation, and he resumed his story, unaware of the true tension that lingered in the air.

While his attention was diverted, I seized the opportunity. I discreetly dropped the tablet into one of the cups, watching as it fizzed and dissolved in the cold water. With a casual flick of my wrist, I slid the cup over to him.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice warm with appreciation as he lifted the glass to his lips and began gulping down the water, oblivious to the change in its composition.

I took a sip from my own cup, savouring the coolness as I watched him. At first, he seemed completely at ease, his words flowing freely. But soon, a subtle shift occurred. His speech began to slur, and a furrow creased his brow as concern clouded his features.

“I don’t feel so well,” he admitted, his voice shaky. “I think I might throw up…”

A flicker of annoyance shot through me at the thought. I hoped he wouldn’t; that would only mean more mess for me to clean. The last thing I needed was to deal with a sickly man in my kitchen, especially not when I had other plans in mind. I maintained my smile, but inside, I couldn’t help but relish the unfolding drama, the way his body betrayed him under the weight of my intentions.

Finally, his words trailed off, and I could see him struggling to focus, summoning all his energy just to remain conscious. With a shaky effort, he pushed himself up from the chair, but the moment he stood, the reality of his condition hit him. He lost his balance, stumbling awkwardly into the edge of the dining table, the wood rattling under the impact.

“Alexa, volume up 100%,” I called out, my voice laced with a calmness that contrasted sharply with the chaos unfolding before me.

“What… did… you do?” he managed to croak out, confusion mingling with panic as his legs buckled beneath him. With a loud thud, he fell to the floor, the sound becoming drowned out with the music.

I walked over to him, watching as he struggled to push himself off the ground, his hands trembling as he fought against the weight of his own body, desperately trying to rise. But his limbs betrayed him, urging him to surrender to the inevitable.

He was a fighter, I’d give him that. Grit and determination flickered in his fading blue eyes. But as I looked down at him, I knew it wouldn’t be enough. The thrill of the moment pulsed through me, invigorating and intoxicating, as I prepared to take my final steps.

With one final, desperate attempt to rise from the floor, he fell flat on his back, the last remnants of his consciousness spilling away like sand through an hourglass. He lay there, utterly paralysed, his body surrendering to the inevitable. I stood over him, a silent sentinel, as his beautiful blue eyes followed mine, wide with fear and confusion. A tear began to well up in one of those striking eyes, glistening like a precious gem against his pale skin.

I revelled in the moment, watching as he watched me, the vulnerability etched across his face a stark contrast to the bravado he had worn just moments before.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I said, my voice rising with a giddy laughter that echoed off the walls, a manic cackle that felt almost liberating. I savoured the absurdity of it all, the twisted humour in the situation. I knew I would never get over that joke, it was a perfect punchline to a dark, unfolding story, one I would carry with me long after the last echo of his voice had faded.

For the next hour, I immersed myself in the meticulous task of severing his body parts, each slice of the knife precise and deliberate. I placed the pieces into sturdy bin bags, my movements practised and methodical, as I prepared to dispose of them in the building's dumpster later.

A familiar pang of sadness washed over me as I completed my work.

Each time I finished with one of my dates, I felt a fleeting emptiness. The thrill of the hunt, the intoxicating adrenaline that surged through me, would inevitably fade, leaving me alone once more in the silence of my apartment.

But the sadness was short-lived, for I knew there would always be more flies to catch.