Listen. I know I talked about my recurring nightmare last week and my fears for my future and the future of my family and in all honesty, those worries (and the nightmare) are still there. But I don’t want this blog to simply be a place I vent the feelings I’m too scared to fully express to my family. I don’t want to constantly be weighing down my dear readers with talk of death and loss and fear.
So this week, I’m just going to tell you about a recent kill I actually committed.
It still involves death and loss and fear. Just none of mine so it’s okay.
Highlight of my week: I discovered that you can actually be scared to death. Of course, you can’t just kill anyone. An unknown predisposition to anxiety and/or a weak heart certainly helps the process. I decided to go for anxiety and – unintentionally – killed a girl without actually dealing a deadly blow.
I feel horrible for playing into contemporary sexism and genuine fears that a lot of women face. I do have an apprehension about being alone with a strange man or when someone follows me (as I am following someone). My fears are less about rape and murder and kidnapping and more about being caught committing murder. And sometimes, I see an opportunity to play into genuine fear for my own gain and I kind of feel bad.
I still do it though.
I was walking down the street looking for a new kill when I overheard a man clearly about to do something he shouldn’t be doing and the woman was trying to get away but couldn’t. So I stepped in and got her out of there easily enough because men who feel the need to prey on vulnerable people lose all their power when even one person steps in. I escorted her away from the situation and convinced her that she’d be safer if I walked her to her car which was several blocks away (downtown parking, ladies and gentlemen). Along the way, I started asking more and more personal questions about what she did, who she was with, who was waiting for her at home, any pre-existing conditions. Already shaky from her unwanted encounter, as I continued to pester her, ignoring her requests for quiet or privacy, she began to hyperventilate. As we got closer to her car, I started physically separating her from other people on the street so she was walking against the wall and couldn’t slip away or get someone’s attention. When we came to a clear alleyway, I suggested a shortcut and she really had no choice but to comply. Once we were out of public view, she took off running, in an attempt to escape whatever it is I was ominously suggesting. Of course on the other side of the alley was my darling husband who had been following my phone’s GPS and greeted a terrified runaway with open arms. And then held her in place while I caught up to her and warned that running away would not help matters. When she tried to scream, we held her mouth shut while I reached for the knife in my purse.
And then she collapsed in James’ arms and stopped moving. I’ll admit, we kind of froze for a minute. What do you even do then? You can’t call 9-1-1 but I didn’t want to leave her lying there. So we put her in the car and took her to one of our favourite spots for dismemberment and burial. While I rode in the back with her, I examined her body to see if I could figure out why she’d died so suddenly and the only conclusion I could come to was that she’d died of a heart attack.
Aka: she was scared to death.
Cool and terrifying.
As is most of my life.
So that was something that happened this week. Thought I’d share. It also isn’t the most uplifting tale of murder but at least there’s a little more disconnect so I’m not going to have nightmares about it. Hopefully.
Who knows these days.
As always, dear readers,