Your friend is dead

You can’t hide for long and thus resolve to move casually. Washing your hands properly you leave the hotel. Outside in the cold, dangers, both mental and physical, await you. Looking at your almost-blue palms you precede in the cold black night as the sun had set exactly 2 hours 20 minutes 2 seconds ago, and this is something you might remember till death.

Crowds have gathered around the place you left just 2 hours ago and approaching them you ask “what is there?’’ with innocent eyes and voice. “Dead body,” they chorus and turn their attention back to the corpse.

Making your way in, you crouch down, close the lifeless eyes that delighted you just moments ago, and shed some tears over his open chest. Astonished by your own acting you smirk unseen by all bystanders.

The police cars push its way in and inquire all pedestrians thoroughly. No eye witnesses, no family and no identity. All sigh deeply at such a tragedy. Only you know it’s no tragedy, besides he had a friend a best friend.

You excuse yourself and move back to the hotel. Trudging past the 3 inch snow you make your way through the pedestrians who just discovered the body.

“Quite impressive,” you mutter and walk away, increasing your pace as you feel your heart pounding against your chest. You recall the bloodied hands, the lifeless heart fleshed out from the chest. Shaking your head you rub your hands on the trouser and push aside those haunting memories. You have an eerie feeling of somebody following you, stealing a quick glance backwards you find no one. Now you’re walking even faster almost jogging in this deep snow.

Somebody is breathing on your neck, and as you almost run you realize the hotel is going further away from you. “I am imagining things,” you say and try running faster as you feel the ice cold, wet and bloody grip on your wrist. “Hope you’re well buddy,” “who huuh,” gasping and backing away you force the “you,” out of your mouth.

This is r-rub-bish it can’t be-you can’t be’ IT had its chest torn open with those same lifeless eyes and its veins protruding from the chest where its heart should have been. Staring at the DEAD boy you muster all the courage but fail at your endeavor to standup as the bystanders of the dead body call at you. All their whispers invading were your disturbed mind. You try brandishing them away but they are still in their positions.

He is standing just in front of you and your thought on walking away from the deadly spot has vanished ages ago. Your soul is frightened; all spectators and the police are huddling around you. All are silent as the police put you in the spotlight. Wiping sweat from your temples you find your fingers reddened. All this time you’ve loved blood and now you’re troubled by its presence.

Your thoughts travel to that evening as you ask your friend to help you out. He left you with no choice as he chose to deny you though you gave it hundreds of thoughts so that you could spare him.

 However you had no other option than to…….. Execute. He has always been a loyal friend, never reported you to the police even after knowing your passion. One thing he did was, always trying to deter you from executing for pleasure and property.

Knowing all the people to have been attending the mass, leaving the road to the 2 friends, you wanted your execution to be made public and began hitting him, knocking his breath out. As he bled, cried out for help and questioned his fault, you picked up a shovel from the closest doorstep. You grimace at your friend, whimpering and praying for mercy and give an outburst of laughter.

You hoist the shovel up in the air and scream at the top of your lungs, “All hail to the murderer, all hail to the murderer. You should not have denied me. I don’t accept denial.” Suppressing your laughter you contort your face into a malevolent countenance and dig it deep into his chest. Your ears dance at the noise of bones crushing and the blood gushing out as if a tap had just been opened. As you twist the shovel deeper into his chest a smile appear at the corner of your contorted lips.

The shovel has been pulled out and you rummage in under his skin, muscles, and crushed bones for his precious heart. This will do you a huge profit. Pocketing the heart you grin at his lifeless eyes as delight fills your insides; your happiness knew no bounds at that moment. You had felt like dancing at the vision of such brutality.

You have been running this business of selling body parts and organs for long enough as it now felt more like a passion than a profession. It has great profits for you and your gang has been largely benefited by this work. Killing lonely, homeless, penniless people is an easy task for you expert killers and thus you earn your bread by murdering the weak and helpless.

Suddenly you are jerked back to reality as the police grasp your arms and make your face level to his. The police is far taller than you so you’re pulled into the air as he begins his harsh inquiry, “what do you know about this murder, your leaving the site was suspicious enough but your aberration proved my doubts to be true.”

Then you see him. Your friend is grinning at you the way you did standing over him. He is laughing even louder at the look of confusion on your face, your distress, your fright, and the way you were being handled. He is screaming now, clutching his stomach, banging his fist on his thigh, and aggravating you with his outburst of laughter.

‘’What are you looking at, why don’t you answer me? What is wrong with you_________?’’ the police shriek in indignation. You are losing control now, that calm appearance is long since gone, your eyes are bloodshot with your hands red. Tightening your fist you punch the officer in the face, breaking his nose. You scream at the top of your lungs, “you – make him stop – you stop laughing like a maniac ---- I’ll kill you.” “You bastard how dare you touch him?” All have pinned you to the nearest wall now, as you declare still in rage, “What? You don’t understand? If killing is so easy for me, why can’t I touch you fools?’’ and suddenly you regret this act of yours. There’s no blood on your hands, no laughter, no body, no___dead friend.