Blood, Death and Hatred

The blood oozing from the dead body of Irfan, the person Farid loathed and loved most, was Farid’s new-found obsession. It was the best result of revenge, the clear demonstration of torture. It seeped from the left side and the back of Irfan’s chest, the parts he had stabbed several times with the short knife he had brought. It flowed out continuously, feeding him the pleasure of witnessing the death of the person who brought quick misery to his life. It bathed Irfan’s shirt, enveloping it with a pool of blood.

The sight was too beautiful for him to do anything about it. He wanted to take some time to enjoy the view.

“What do you want from me?” Irfan asked, impatience and hurriedness coating his voice. “I can’t stay here for too long. My parents would be worried about me if I do,” he added. He shrugged. “I don’t know why you don’t want to talk about it on the phone.”

They were at the park. The sun was about to set, illuminating the sky with bright orange ribbons. There was no children playing at the playground anymore. Their parents had brought them home. It was just the two of them now, sitting on the bench near the pedestrian line surrounding the park. The carpet of grass landscaping it was now dark green since the approaching night had cast a mist of darkness at it. Everything was darkening as time went further. The front lights of the motorcycles Farid and Irfan had parked next to the bench and just at the side of road were the only clear light sources guided them.

The moonlight let Farid enjoyed more the sight of the shiny blood decorating Irfan’s body. The scarlet of Irfan’s shirt matched him more than the previous black one did him. The intensity of it made him brilliant. It made him fierce, passionate, and confident despite his unmoving body that betrayed his death. That happened when you wore a shirt with bright, strong colour. It was the reason Farid liked him.

In the school, Irfan was so masculine and regal being the head prefect. Farid remembered the day Irfan got the official position three months ago. He had a wide smile plastered on his face, and he took the certification from their headmistress on the stage with ease. When he went down and passed by Farid, he flashed him a grin and a wink. While waiting for his turn to arrive to get the certification as a normal librarian, Farid could not help but thought how endearing Irfan’s cockiness was to him.

He was fierce and passionate wearing the fiery sports shirt during the rugby match between their school and the opposing school. He was the quarterback of the school’s rugby team. Due to that, he was packed with hard muscles. His strong frame impressed Irfan just as much as his flawless playing skill did.

He had so many charming qualities, all of them exuding a sense of domination.

“I-I just want to say something,” Farid answered, avoiding eye contact with Irfan.

“What is it?” Irfan asked with urgency. “I don’t have much time for this.”

Irfan looked at him straight in the eyes, hoping it would reflect his made-up confidence. “I-I like you.” He quickly looked down on the pavement. “I-I have always liked you. Ever since I came to the school. You were the first classmate I met, the one who reach out his hand to shake mine. I remembered your grin. You talked to me like I was the friend you had for a long time and not the new student you barely knew. That alone had enough -”

“What?” Irfan cut his sentence, his voice rising. “What the hell have you just said?”

“What should I do with you now?” Farid asked to the dead Irfan.

Irfan laid still and silent, not answering his question. But that was expected from a dead body. It was silly for him to ask. He looked around. The lack of cars passing by on the road, and of sounds, was all too convenient. It was like the place and everything about it was covering his murderous action - they were in a silent disapproval.

He looked at the sky. Even the bluish black sky lacked its little stars too. What did that mean? Was it too unhappy for the horrible act he had done it could not allow any bright, shiny stars from staying at its place?

Farid spat. It should be unhappy for the state he was in, not for the act he had committed.

The loud voice startled Farid. He frowned worriedly at Irfan. “Y-you’ve heard me. I like you. I have a crush on you.”

Irfan opened his mouth in disbelief, and laughed. He walked around in a circle, his head looking at the darkening sky.

“Seriously! Are you saying that - are you saying you’re - Oh. My. God.” He shook his head, and looked at Farid. “You’re just unbelievable.”

Farid let his attention drifted back to Irfan’s body. Next to Irfan was his fallen motorcycle.

He shrugged. “I should clean every trace I have here, shouldn’t I? I don’t want to get caught because of it. Oh well.” He added. “I think I should just leave the blood there. I’m satisfied with the way it compliments everything about you.”

Farid knew someone would find Irfan’s body, lying on the ground like a sleeping person, although no person would sleep with his blood gushing from his body. Did he leave any trace? Well, he did grabbed Irfan’s shirt from behind to get a good grip of him. That was important since it would force him to stay at the right position for the blade to pierce at the fatal part.

“A-Are you... angry?” Farid asked with a timid voice. Irfan’s loud voice continued to give him discomfort.

“Of course I am!” Irfan shouted, messing with hair in frustration. “What you’ve said is disgusting. You are disgusting. A guy confessing his feeling to the other guy... The thought of it alone makes me nauseous. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

His face was reddening. “You should know how wrong it is to have that feeling. If you have a crush on a girl, I wouldn’t mind. But you have a crush on me. I can’t understand why would you have a crush on me. Just what do you expect from me by confessing like this? Do you expect me to return your feeling? I would never do that, it should be obvious.”

The rich blood enchanted him. Its smell was so alluring, so appealing covering Irfan’s body. He crouched over to Irfan’s motionless face, taking a look at it. The tanned skin, the luscious scarlet lips that formed a tiny smile, and the closed eyes made Irfan looked like a sleeping person in peace. The male version of the sleeping beauty, bathing in a pool of blood. He really liked Irfan’s tempting scarlet lips the most as blood covered it.

“Even in death, you are just handsome,” Farid realized. He sighed, caressing Irfan’s face starting from his forehead to his strong jaw. Slowly, he moved his face closer to Irfan’s face and guided his mouth to Irfan’s mouth, kissing it. He united with Irfan with the blood of death between them.

“I can’t stop it, okay?!” Farid yelled. “I can’t stop thinking about you, recalling all the kindness you have done to me when I was new in that school. I just can’t. I can’t control it.”

“I don’t want to be born like this. I don’t want to have this unusual feeling. I pray to God, hoping He would cure me. My father and mother have said this is a corrosive poison, an unforgivable sin. They have told me not to tell anyone about this. My father have been looking at me in a different way since then. My mother has been distant to me. I hate that. They have treated me differently. They slowly go further away from me. ”

He broke the kiss.

“Such pity. You really shouldn’t do that.”

Farid shook his head. If there was something he did not like about Irfan, it was the insensitivity he had.

“I thought you were better than that. I guess I was wrong.”

”I thought you can understand me, Irfan,” Farid continued. He started to sob. “I-I thought... with your kindness, you can assure me that it’s okay, that it’s not my fault for being like this.”

Irfan was a kind person. If someone asked for his help, Irfan would help him for sure - without any questioning or giving evasive answers. It was really easy for him to help people.

“Urgh. I can’t, Farid. I hate people like you. I despise them and hope they would be punished. A man is born for a woman, and vice versa. It can’t be anything other than that. To be honest, I don’t see how a man can like another man. What’s so appealing in women that men refuse them?”

Farid wiped the tears that formed in his eyes furiously. “You’re not going to help me, then?” he asked.

“Of course not!”

He better get going. He took his motorcycle and ride it to his home. It was when the cold breeze brushed his face did he realized he had committed a murder. His first murder. He stopped the motorcycle. He was just half way to his house. Everything he had done that led to Irfan’s death rushed to his mind.

Farid was begging Irfan to help him. He just wanted Irfan to understand, to not judge him firsthand. He wanted Irfan to know that he was in a difficult situation. He wanted Irfan to know that he could not act comfortably around Irfan anymore. This feeling had developed itself to being more than just a simple crush. Irfan was his friend. His best friend. Why couldn’t he understand?

“You’re just like others,” Farid said quietly. His voice was low but it was clear enough. He covered his face with his hands. “You are just the same. No matter how kind you are to me, at the end, you are just the same. You cannot understand because you don’t want to understand. That’s how I see it.”

His hands were trembling furiously, his eyes brimming with warm tears. “You said you hated men who had feelings with other men. Well, I’ll tell you something. I hate people like you. People who are kind generally but fall flat when they meet something they hate. People who aren’t aware that their hatred hurts people who are close to them. People who are selfish. People who do not make any effort to understand other’s problem.”

“Oh my god, Farid. You are such a dramatic person,” Irfan said. He turned to his motorcycle.

Irfan was about to start the engine of the motorcycle when Farid approached him from behind. He grabbed Irfan’s shoulder and with a strong force stabbed his back using the pocketknife he had fished from his pocket. As strong as Irfan was, his sitting position let him do nothing much as it restricted his movements. He struggled, of course, but it was futile as more blows wounded him. Farid enjoyed Irfan's helpless situation just as much as he enjoyed the pleasure of stabbing him.

Maybe Irfan was too shock to let out a scream. Farid was fine with that. He did not want to hear any noise - it would annoy him. After he had left a nice deep wound on Irfan, he started to stab Irfan’s left chest several times. Irfan was already dead at this point. When Farid released him, Irfan’s head hit the front part of the motorcycle. The motorcycle fell from one side along with Irfan, and crushed his right leg.

Before that, when Irfan was about to get on his motorcycle he said something... terrible, something unforgivable. Farid could not recall that. What had Irfan said? What triggered Farid to...

Farid smiled. Who cared? He got the chance to kiss Irfan, his long-term crush, and that was the best thing he had done this year.

The blood on Farid’s hands belonged to Irfan, the person he loathed and loved most. It was the best result of revenge, the clear demonstration of torture. It seeped from his fingers to his wrists, feeding him the pleasure of remembering the death of the person who brought quick misery to his life. It bathed his hands, enveloping it with a pool of blood.

Just for a moment, Farid realized Irfan was not the only person he had killed.