Murder can be very messy. Not always, mind you; I once killed a man by sticking a knitting needle in his ear and scrambling around the bits of brain I could get at. I didn’t spill a drop of blood – except for the bits that pooled in his ear. And it was neat; complicated but neat. Sometimes murder can be very neat.
But sometimes murder can be very, very messy.
I learnt that this week – on Sunday.
I went to the theatre with some of the girls from work and there was this man sitting in front of us who would not stop texting on his cell phone. It’s so rude. You are there to see a performance, not disturb the people around you.
So at intermission, I excused myself to the washroom, and I found him outside the theatre, smoking, and asked him to please be kinder to the other patrons.
He told me to fuck off.
Now, some people may think I was out of line for talking to him but honestly I think I was in the right. There’s no reason for people to behave like that around other people. Especially people who have paid to see a performance.
After he blew me off, I tried to remain calm. I kindly asked him to step further away from the theatre entrance so we could talk more privately, and because he was currently talking to my tits and not my face, he agreed.
I led him around near the back of the theatre where a construction crew had left some of their random tools earlier in the day. I would like to state for the record that I didn’t have this knowledge beforehand. I led him around near the back because I noticed there were no lights and hardly any line of sight. I had a letter opener in my purse for such occasion as a jerk on his cellphone and I intended to use it.
But then I saw the wood chipper.
I would also like to state for the record that he started it. And not just because he was a jerk with a cellphone. He foolishly took my flirting as a sign that I was interested and he made a pass at me. I pulled my letter opener and took a stab at him. I nicked him in the shoulder and he freaked out, jumping at me. I’ll admit, I wasn’t prepared for him to fight back so hard. I...dropped the letter opener.
Yes, even I make mistakes.
I remember falling to the ground; I remember reaching for a weapon. I remember tasting blood – not my blood.
And I remember being so angry that he took me by surprise. Me; in my element. So while he was lying on the ground, I turned off the safety and turned on the wood chipper. I was going to destroy him.
But he came at me again and I hit him with whatever was in my hand – a hammer. The sharp end of a hammer. And I hit him again and again.
I counted each bone that I heard crunch, every spatter of blood that sunk into my dress.
He was dead after two.
After sixteen blows I looked at the wood chipper and I had a vision: I dragged the body over to the machine and tossed it in. Skin, bone, and meat mangled, crunched, and tore until it came out the other end as a pile of dust.
Instead I turned the machine off, and hit him twice more – just for good measure. And I walked away. I put the hammer and letter opener in my purse, I wiped away any noticeable blood (thank god for little black dresses) and I enjoyed the rest of the show in peace.
It was actually a very good show. Fun, and entertaining – a little dirty and cheeky. I highly recommend it to all my friends.
The next morning my lovely secretary rushed into my office to tell me all about the body that was discovered outside the theatre we had just visited. What if it had been us? Did we see anything?
On and on; she just kept talking.
I kept thinking about that wood chipper and I had one, distinct thought:
One day I’m going to kill Heather and I won’t hesitate to turn her to dust.
As always, dear readers,