Author's Note: This is one of my weird, experimental pieces and I'm not altogether sure that I like it. I wrote it on a whim and I feel like it kind of veered off a bit at the end and became disjointed, so I could do with some opinions on it. All reviews would be appreciated.
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Hey. You know who I am? I’m a Murderer.
Oh, look at you. Recoiling. Pulling a face. I guess you don’t like that word. Is ‘killer’ any better? Probably not. There’s no nice way of putting it. ‘Murderer’ is just one of those terms that can’t be redressed as positive, though I guess that’s a good thing, isn’t it?
What’s that look? Curiosity? Oh, you’re wondering how I became a Murderer. Well, that’s a very short story wrapped up in a very long story that nobody wants to hear, so let’s just settle for the short one. I stabbed a guy in the neck, though I can’t really remember where. Someplace painful.
There’s that look again. But it’s not just disgust, is it? It’s interest. I’m your little monster – some decrepit, other-worldly creature that’s human enough to be fascinating but not enough to be terrifying. I speak and eat and drink and sleep and scratch my arse like all of you, but I also plunged a blade into someone’s flesh and left it there, so that makes me different.
At least, that’s what you like to think.
So, how did I go from boy to Murderer? Early November, it was, and pissing it down with rain. There was an assortment of pans scattered around my flat, meticulously arranged to catch the water that my roof seemed incapable of blocking out, and my central heating had broken down with impeccable timing. I’d woken up too early to a blaring alarm and had to haul myself out of the flat with little more than black coffee to keep me upright, then waved at a neighbour as I walked down the greying stairs. Whilst waiting for the train, I picked up the dropped toy of a screaming toddler and handed it to an exhausted-looking mother, and she thanked me for it with a wan smile.
(Too normal.)
I got sandwiched into the corner of my seat on a train by a fat man who breathed too heavily and muttered racist remarks under his breath, drawing frowns into his direction, and as I pulled into the station I was overwhelmed with a craving for chicken nuggets. I slaved away from nine to five in a supermarket for pay that would never, ever be able to dig me out of the life I was stuck in, stacking boxes on shelves and dealing with unbelievably stupid people who blatantly flouted the ‘customer is always right’ theory.
(Too normal.)
In the evening, I met my girlfriend in a restaurant that thought it was classier than it was and I bought the fanciest meal I could with the smallest amount of money possible. I ate pretentious pieces of rare steak because that’s what adults do, even though all I really wanted was chicken nuggets with shitty, cheap tomato ketchup.
(Too normal.)
And at half past eleven that night, I met a man in a grubby park and stabbed him in the neck.
Was there a reason? Maybe. Does it matter? Probably not. I still wanted the chicken nuggets. I still smiled at a child on public transport the following day.
So who am I? That’s what everybody wants to know.
I’m the guy you didn’t expect. I’m a Person.
Points: 242
Reviews: 27
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