Dear Diary, Today I Killed a Man

October 25th, 2024

The smell differed from I expected. When I go deer hunting, the smell is rancid and musty. Like old cheese. Sometimes it’s like burning rubber. Mr. Wilkins was pungent. It was strong, but had hints of rotting fruit. It’s still in my nostrils. I tried washing my clothes, but even after a second cycle, it was still there. I burned them in the forest.

For six weeks I have been talking to Mr. Wilkins about his past - check that…had been talking about his past. His broken family and the never-ending bottle that ruined it. Day by day, he grew closer to me. Somebody actually talking with him. I’d seen his normal good day - a dollar or two with the odd ‘Good Luck.’ A bad day - disgusted faces and that empty, crusty, Styrofoam cup. The spark of joy. The utter contempt. But days speaking with me were great days. There was color in his eyes.

Mr. Wilkins couldn’t get a job because of his arthritis - so he told me. I believe it’s because he fried his brain with alcohol. His speech was always fast and jittery and forgetful. He’d start blaring through a story eighty words a second, then stop. He’d purse his lips and think hard. Then shake his head in frustration. No, ‘where was I’ or ‘what was I saying?’ He'd just go quiet. I’ll never forget the frown. It was deep and forceful - the only truth he knew. That frown made me decide it was going to be Mr. Wilkins. It was easy.

Mr. Wilkins deserved to die. He ruined the one life he’d gotten on alcohol and bad choices. On the other hand, he deserved to die. Nobody should live a life like that. Not that I cared about his good fortune or not. I just knew the world didn’t care either. Another lost soul nobody would notice when I turned the metaphorical into the literal.  

It went as planned. I had promised him new boots and fresh clothes. His favorite meal - a double cheeseburger with fries from Bonky’s Burger Joint. It was his birthday. He was eager and I knew he wanted, no, needed, something good to happen. A change of fortune or merely just a reprieve. He got the latter.

I offered him my arm. Mr. Wilkins grabbed it with one and pushed off the bench with the other. Five seconds - that’s how long it took him to stand erect. Another ten seconds for him to complain about it. Then we started walking.

Bonky’s was only two blocks away, at the edge of town. While we walked, he asked how mom and dad were doing. He was very warm about it. He was always very warm was with his inquiries. Then he started speaking about his daughter’s twelfth birthday but stopped. That frown. I never understood how he could remember my brother’s name or vacations my family had been on, but not his own family. I believe his subconscious still worked. Trying to block the old memories; good and bad. Not that I cared.  

We got to Bonky’s, and he stopped. I told him we had to get his clothes in the woods. He questioned. I told him I didn’t want them to get stolen, so I hid them. He told me ok, and how nice I was.  

A hundred yards in and we stopped again. He asked me how much farther through ragged wheezes. I told him this was far enough. I pulled him off the path while telling him again and again that the clothes were just over there. He said ok and thanked me. We trudged in the brush and found a clearing. I looked back and couldn’t see the path. But really, the path couldn’t see us. I told him this was the place.

The anticipation was more than I expected. It started as a mothball in my throat. When we stopped and faced each other, it was a bowling ball of cold ice that painfully tickled me inside. My arms are tingling as I write this. He asked me why I was putting gloves on. I told him to make sure I didn’t get his gifts dirty. He thanked me.  

I expected to see two things in his eyes; shock, then fear. I did not expect the third and fourth. When I started, his eyes bulged. He asked me what I was doing, but there wasn’t any panic yet. Just a blank face. With the second go, his lips trembled and demanded I stop. On the third go, he asked why. He stopped pleading and I could feel the silence that had enveloped me. I couldn’t even hear my breath as I went and went. 

Then it was done. Mr. Wilkins was completely limp, but his eyes were still open. I didn’t expect it - those dead eyes. The wave that came over me was indescribable. My whole body inflamed with quivers. With every breath, the intensity rose and rose until I felt like I was going to explode. Then, in a sense, I did. The rage of tingles released with a rattle of euphoria. It took me two minutes to catch my breath.

I slowly took my backpack off and removed the nitric acid. As calmly as I could, I removed the wrapping and double seal. Then I put on my 3M 6100 mask and slowly undid the lid and stood over Mr. Wilkins’ body. His eyes were still open. Another jolt seared through me. I’ll never forget the breath I took after that. I had done it. I had killed a man.  

I poured the acid over his body. Steam drifted through the air, but evaporated before reaching the tree line. I carefully packed everything into my backpack and walked back to the path. I didn’t go back the way we’d entered. If anybody had seen us go in, they might have questions if they only saw me come out. 

When I finally made it to my car, I sat in it for two hours. My brain raced and raced as I replayed the scene. As I remembered those pale, dead eyes. Then a feeling I've never known came over me. Serenity. The constant frenzy and buzz of thoughts that haunt me with every moment, died. Calmness. I know the word, but didn't understand the meaning until then.

As I think back on it, I, I, I…

I have to go, journal. Mom is calling me for dinner, but I will finish that thought, if I can, next time. And thank you. Obviously, you are the only one I can tell.