The hard dry blood on your fingers… my fingers, reeked of someone else’s life. I could feel the copper plasma create friction between my encased digits, scraping and chipping away the former existence of an innocent man. The emergency alarms screamed over and over like a wailing drunk begging for another whiskey; the commotion of people scrambling outside like a panicked bee hive filled the now lifeless office with a cacophony of mayhem. Yet, amongst this wretched scene of depravity, the one of my own making, I could still smell the soft, sweet smell of cinnamon lingering in the air.
It was my victim’s last meal, a small snack of cinnamon buns, while he burned the candle with copious amounts of work. It was at this point, when I stared at the freshly made carcass, I realized… I became someone I never wanted to be. I stood there lost in my own mind, observing small little details around the office. I saw various model airplanes hung from the ceilings, a custom built glossy wooden desk, blueprints framed on the walls, and designs for an aircraft I recalled being announced on the news. Was this really someone who deserved what I had given him; a gift that he never asked for?
The guards were nipping at the door, like dogs restrained on a leash. At any moment a group of heavily armed, well trained professionals, were going to burst through and put an end to me. I pondered on how I was going to escape the inevitable torrent of lethal firecrackers, and briefly mulled over the idea of surrendering completely. The fantasy of allowing myself to be filled with a hot slag of lead, and fragmented shells, made me feel at peace with myself. Not because I sought my own destruction, but rather, because the pains of having bullets embed themselves unto my skin, were less painful, than the invisible wound that would define the rest of my life. The branded scar upon my desecrated soul, is the realization that I was… am… capable of murder.
The door behind me became my clock; the entry burst open like a wake up alarm striking midnight, with six heavily armed security guards in black suits charging in like a lion to its prey. My time was up; one of the guards grabbed his shoulder radio and yelled,
“She killed Joe, get up here now!” they kept a tight bead on me with their pistols, never missing a beat.
Once they saw my victim stashed away beside my feet, I closed my eyes and felt the world’s tempo slow to a lethargic pace, as the first wave of gunfire began to quake in the air. Brief moments of my life began to flash before my eyes, as I began to embrace the ensuing hail of gunfire. My mistake has become my coffin, my life as I knew it, became a photo album full of glossy, picturesque memories, my mind, became disfigured by guilt and shame. The first bullet flew towards me like an angry bee. It sought revenge for the destruction of its hive and queen, selecting me as its victim. It impacted my body like a meteor crashing into the earth, followed by its asteroid brothers towed in its wake, so is my fate. This is what I have chosen; this is what I have become.
I am…
