Copyright © 2007 Gabriel Llanas
All rights reserved, Wild Child Publishing.
Finally, school is out. The young men and women stream out of the building. Some are so beautiful. I watch that woman there, the way her hair sways along with her hips. I think about gently removing a shoe from her corpse. I untie the laces and remove them. I gingerly put the lace in a box that I will give to someone devoid of joy. Hot blood rises to my cheeks, and I almost lose control.
I wrench my gaze away from her and spot some guy, fresh faced and full of energy, bound out of the gates. Girls probably line up to get with him. I just know he would make me sick if I made his acquaintance. But I can see him on the stainless steel table. His energy contained in a severed digit, but I am waiting for someone specific. I am waiting for my beautiful, joy-filled young woman.
There are others that would be worthy of my art, but none as perfect as my selected woman. Some just look so sullen, so depressed. They would never do. I'm glad I can see the difference. Glad I know just what the hell I want.
Stop thinking about it.
Hey! Here she comes now. I'll try this the easy way first. I get out of the Jeep and walk over to her. I know that no one will remember me later, they never do. I am truly faceless, blending into the background by some force of my consciousness.
"Your father sent me to give you a ride home," I say.
She looks at me, smiles, and replies, "Really?"
"Yes, he wanted you to have a ride today so he sent me over from the shop to give you that ride."
"Very cool," she says and swings her bag onto her back. I walk away, and she follows me over to the Jeep. I slow my pace so she's in front and I'm following her. Don't want her to bolt. Not that there's any reason for her to, but just in case, you know?
She walks around to the passenger side, and I get in on the driver's side. I'm all smiles, all youth and vibrancy. I watch her through the window as she tries the handle and finds it locked. I smile as I reach over, unlock it and say, "Hey, sorry about that."
"No problem," she says with a smile. Then she pauses. Is that indecision I see in her eyes? "What was your name again?"
"I don't think I said." Then I tell her my real name. It doesn't really matter that she knows; she'll have no one to tell it to in a few hours. She moves to get in the car, and I pick up my briefcase and sling it on the back seat. She slides in, buckles up, and I start the Jeep.
She smiles, talks, makes jokes. I have done an excellent job in picking out exactly whom I needed to. She is wonderful, alive and alert.
"Aren't we going the wrong way?" she says. Her brow knits together a little, and I imagine it smoothed in a death mask. I see her unmoving and pliant, relinquishing all that she has to me.
I reach next to my seat and grab the hammer. It is hard to make a good swing of a hammer while keeping my gaze on the road, but I manage to arc it sideways, landing a blow just above her ear. The solid sound of metal on skull erects me, and I turn to look at her. She slumps forward in her seat, appears asleep. Blood wells up in the cut on her head, but it isn't flowing too profusely. She will be fine like that until we get to my home.
* * *
Tied down to the table and gagged, she's just where I want her to be. Trussed up and unable to get away, know what I mean? She'll be frightened when she wakes up; I've prepared myself for that disappointment. No longer happy and full of life, her eyes will be brimming with fear and bewilderment. Though less buoyant, there will still be enough of her energy to spread throughout the world.
The bucket is heavy. The handle bites into my palm. I hold the base of the pail with my other hand and throw cold water on her face. She startles awake. Sputtering, eyes wide, she tries to scream through the gag. It saddens me, but she has to be awake for what I'm about to tell her.
"Please be quiet," I say.
Her gargled screams emit from behind the gag. Anger grips my guts, and I slap her in the face. "I said, be quiet."
She quietens. The exhalations from her nostrils sound snotty and loud.
I lean over her. "You are going to be a part of a wonderful art project. You have already given something to it. I know you remember that. Though you will die, you will live forever. Each part of you, each item you have with you, will be sent out to all four corners of the earth. There they will give the joy and life that you once had to so many more people. So many people who are sad and in need of joy. You, through your death, will be a martyr for happiness."
She screams again. It doesn't matter though, because now is the time to act. It is a very simple act for me, killing a person. And for this art it must be gentle. Nothing else must be damaged. I take the pillow and smother her face with it, hold it down tight.
Her screams become more muffled. I bet she'll scream until her lungs are empty. She thrashes around like a demented eel washed up out of the ocean. I shake my head. So sad that she's making such a spectacle of herself. She has defecated, and, though it disgusts me, it is a good sign that she is almost gone.
I press down harder with the pillow; the thrashing lightens, and lightens, and lightens...and stops. I look up at the clock on my wall and wait until fifteen minutes pass; I just have to ensure she is dead. I don't like to attempt to kill a person twice; it dispels all that joyful energy into nothing. By the time I remove the pillow my arms ache.
Now it is time to collect all of her things. Then the trip will begin, and the happiness I will spread through the world will be immense.