THe first time he saw her, he thought " Yes, she is the type of girl I would like to murder, kill her slowly, and then bury with my own hands and cry for her heartbroken at the end of it all." she had merely smiled politely at him, the way strangers do sometimes when they are in a good mood or trying to pretend to be in a good mood. He had liked the way she walked around the music store, picking things up at random and then absent-mindedly place them back on the shelf, throwing her critical glance over things with a kind of amusement and sacarsm. " Yes, life is a good joke, isn't it?" he spoke to her in his mind. As if sensing this, she looked up momentarily and then returned to her book again-something about global warming. " I think people are getting so careless about the nature" he imagined walking up to her and saying that to her in a warm friendly way.
She moved on again, flitting away from books' corner like a restless insect. " A bug" he decided but nothing as fanciful and fragile as a butterfly, something more terrible and beautiful, maybe a centipede, maybe some poisonous insect? HE wanted to get stung and then smash it relentlessly. He wandered away from her, his eyes still on her. Elusively, secretively. She, she. He had to keep reminding himself that she is a she, all the while SHE seemed to be morphing, into fire birds, phoenix, some wild plant, exotic, insects, ghastly visions he wanted to exorcise.
HE went to pick up the book she had touched, he saw her fingerprints on the shiny cover, he felt a wave of disgust sweeping over himself. Vertigo. HE wanted to throw up on that fingerprinted waxy red cover and on that ugly flower carpet floor. He took out a piece of tissue and wanted to clean up the fingerprint marks. Suddenly the smudged marks looked like lipstick stains on a wine glass. He imagined he would find on a hotel lounge table. SOmething he pictured he would find before finding out her infidelity with some greasy guy and he would then plot to murder her. He pictured himself purchasing ropes to strangle her with. HE would go from rope to rope feeling out the textures, even perhaps smelling them as if he was choosing her a special anniversary gift. SOmething special just for her. HE had chosen so that it fit her like a silky lingerie or a necklace he would place gently around her soft neck and then help her tighten it feel her spasms of excitement and her gasp and her fluttering heartbeat, and then her silence. The silence of such a fitting necklace around her throat.
He looked up to see her happily chatting up with the staff of the music store, he felt anger. Betrayed that she should forget his presence. HE had been standing around for the longest time and yet she chose to make polite conversationg with that pimply teenager. How Dare she. "Bitch" he wihspered hotly under his own breath. I really could kill her he thought. Today is a special day. He smiled to himself. How often do you get to meet your perfect victim. Teh person you could kill possibly only once in a life-time. Even more rare thatn the love of a life time. Not many people realize that could meet that person and then they would change, become unregconizable even to themselves--entertaining danerous, passionate thoughts. Yes, "we all could be murders" it doesn't take much to turn into that pyschotic murderer you see on news and verhermently condemn, happy that he is gonig ot hang for his dirty deeds. Yes you don't realize he is the exorcist, he did all that to ease your own guilts about the possibilities that you could turn into a murder if only the cirucmstance was right and you met your victim or you became one. Only one thing stopped you if that should ever happen--fear. But for now he did not feel afraid.
She is now planning on leaving the shop, the music shop guy has now turned away distracted by some other customers' demands. Before she could get clear out of his reach and before his mood can change. He walked towards her, he was going to speak to her when she turned around
"Pete, what are you doing there, sneaking around like that! It's just like you! You're really becoming one of those foolish beer-bellied middle aged man you once feared you'll become! What did I ever see in you! WE have to get on home. Jeanie is waiting for us."
He followed her in silence, his fantasy broken, a quick wake up call to his flabby-pear-shaped-wife reality, and his role as a middle age father, on his way home to help prepare dinner and then wash the dishes. He would stalk, and maybe murder, another day.
She moved on again, flitting away from books' corner like a restless insect. " A bug" he decided but nothing as fanciful and fragile as a butterfly, something more terrible and beautiful, maybe a centipede, maybe some poisonous insect? HE wanted to get stung and then smash it relentlessly. He wandered away from her, his eyes still on her. Elusively, secretively. She, she. He had to keep reminding himself that she is a she, all the while SHE seemed to be morphing, into fire birds, phoenix, some wild plant, exotic, insects, ghastly visions he wanted to exorcise.
HE went to pick up the book she had touched, he saw her fingerprints on the shiny cover, he felt a wave of disgust sweeping over himself. Vertigo. HE wanted to throw up on that fingerprinted waxy red cover and on that ugly flower carpet floor. He took out a piece of tissue and wanted to clean up the fingerprint marks. Suddenly the smudged marks looked like lipstick stains on a wine glass. He imagined he would find on a hotel lounge table. SOmething he pictured he would find before finding out her infidelity with some greasy guy and he would then plot to murder her. He pictured himself purchasing ropes to strangle her with. HE would go from rope to rope feeling out the textures, even perhaps smelling them as if he was choosing her a special anniversary gift. SOmething special just for her. HE had chosen so that it fit her like a silky lingerie or a necklace he would place gently around her soft neck and then help her tighten it feel her spasms of excitement and her gasp and her fluttering heartbeat, and then her silence. The silence of such a fitting necklace around her throat.
He looked up to see her happily chatting up with the staff of the music store, he felt anger. Betrayed that she should forget his presence. HE had been standing around for the longest time and yet she chose to make polite conversationg with that pimply teenager. How Dare she. "Bitch" he wihspered hotly under his own breath. I really could kill her he thought. Today is a special day. He smiled to himself. How often do you get to meet your perfect victim. Teh person you could kill possibly only once in a life-time. Even more rare thatn the love of a life time. Not many people realize that could meet that person and then they would change, become unregconizable even to themselves--entertaining danerous, passionate thoughts. Yes, "we all could be murders" it doesn't take much to turn into that pyschotic murderer you see on news and verhermently condemn, happy that he is gonig ot hang for his dirty deeds. Yes you don't realize he is the exorcist, he did all that to ease your own guilts about the possibilities that you could turn into a murder if only the cirucmstance was right and you met your victim or you became one. Only one thing stopped you if that should ever happen--fear. But for now he did not feel afraid.
She is now planning on leaving the shop, the music shop guy has now turned away distracted by some other customers' demands. Before she could get clear out of his reach and before his mood can change. He walked towards her, he was going to speak to her when she turned around
"Pete, what are you doing there, sneaking around like that! It's just like you! You're really becoming one of those foolish beer-bellied middle aged man you once feared you'll become! What did I ever see in you! WE have to get on home. Jeanie is waiting for us."
He followed her in silence, his fantasy broken, a quick wake up call to his flabby-pear-shaped-wife reality, and his role as a middle age father, on his way home to help prepare dinner and then wash the dishes. He would stalk, and maybe murder, another day.
posted by Nippy at 10:15 PM
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