Chapter Nine
I walk out her room slowly, the retractable knife is in my right hand as I extend it, “Stay inside here, this will be quick.” I say this to her, and she seems not to disagree with me ending her father’s life.
Ohmygodpleaseforgivemysoulforitwillsin.
I can see he is sitting, I am facing his back. I can take a clear hit and stab this savage’s neck and that would be the end of it, but this isn’t a movie or a cartoon, it’s not that easy isn’t it? He turns behind me, maybe I walk too loudly, maybe my heavy breathing gave away.
“Who the hell are you?!” he says angrily, still sitting down, but looking at me and what I am holding in my hands very intensely, knowing that I mean harm to this bastard child of splicers and bastards. The choir goes out, we are in the ring and we both crying for a drop of blood.
“I’m Ted freaking stone cold killer Bundy, you monster!” I plunge my right hand at him, the one holding the knife, but he dodges it quickly by standing up and jump back. Oh, it’s on now.
To the death. Satan accept this soul.
Lick the blood. I am your champion. These ladies and gentlemen are what my skin is made of, lights that shimmer down below hell. I don’t even think about time, roughing the edges of my brain, it’s not curved.
It is elements and mortician to the bedchambers of terror and substantial mishaps. I am Ted Bundy, dear buddies. I am a stone cold killer. Will he fear me? Let this fool know the dread I can cause, but I also know he too can give damage. I will hold his hands, and lead him to death and oblivion, let him discern the pain he caused to the innocence that was lost in his hands and sword, his sordid God-awful sword that he plays with, the swords that’s forces itself into the warmth between Sybilla’s legs.
Sybilla’s father stares me down. The skin between his eyes tighten, while his eyes itself is burning with the fury intent to kill. This makes me nervous, this makes me scared.
Fight or flight?
Fight.
“This is a big mistake kid,” he says with this guttural rough voice. “I don’t know who you are or what you want, but this won’t end well in your part. You know you won’t get out of this house alive.” He is big, just like the freaking China Wall. Not fat, just slightly muscular.
This is stupor.
You can be a lawyer if you have the time.
You can be a doctor because the world needs a doctor, so be a doctor.
However, you don’t be a killer. Never be a killer because the world doesn’t need you then. You are a scum if you are a killer, no, you are below scum. So please take this in, don’t kill. Don’t murder, don’t end a life. It is not worth it. Don’t even end your own life, please. I’m sorry, I take that back. You are not scum, you are having troubles and you just need to be heard, so speak or listen, but please, do not kill anyone.
I go in for another attack. I slash from top to bottom, he evades it. He grabs my wrist that is holding the knife and knees me so hard in the gut I can see my soul leaving, tiny bits of it, shards coming out from my mouth in the form of red liquids.
I take the pain. I accept it. This is the kind of pain cancer patients have to endure day in day out of their horrid lives.
You are hacek.
Don’t accept it, Kid. Don’t take the pain; you die you if you accept. You can’t die, not now. Everyone dies every day in this world, but today is not my day, it’s his.
I throw the knife far away to the floor. Even though his clench is strong I was still capable to throw it away in a lengthy distant for him not to use it against me. With my left hand free, I immediately punch his gonads from down here, he feels the pain. Good. Take it in.
That is nothing compare to what you did to her.
This monster will be in Hell’s prison after I end his life here, and he will be sitting there amongst the adulterers and molesters and they will have their way with him every second. He will tear open another hole.
He will die and live every day for the rest of his miserable life.
Where are we?
Malaysia. Block F. Apartment room 614.
I kick him, I kick as hard as my right leg can pump it and he can taste the dirt on my school shoe. I bury my shoeprint deep on his face, his head fell to the ground, and I stomp it again. I stomp twice until he take my other foot down.
I fall.
My back against the floor, I can feel the fear of God in me.
He is on top of me, he gave a hard punch and then he proceeds to choke me. His sweaty palms around my neck, my face turns red and I pray. I try my best to fend off, but I am out of air and can no longer fight, it is only a matter of time till my death.
And then suddenly, come jumping out from behind this savage’s back is Sybilla, only wearing nothing but her underwear. She stabs her father’s left eye with a fork, plunge it so deep, he screamed like a chimera. Rawr! He let me go, I roll to the knife that I had threw, grab it as quickly as I can and then got up to my feet.
Her dad got up and threw Sybilla over the table, she hit head first.
This is an opportunity.
With the knife in my hands, I immediately plunge it deep into his throat, and then I drag it across, ripping a straight cut diagonally his neck, blood splatters on the floor like no tomorrow.
He dies.
We all die.
But today, he dies.
When I end him, a part of me died.
I am going to hell aren’t I?
Sybilla’s father drop down to the floor like a log, he was dead a long time ago, right when he touched her. This is just ceremonial. I have watched life fade away in my eyes before and it made me think about bearded men with brunette hair.
I’m still in this country.
The bearded men slap me, and they tell me I have been a bad boy, a naughty boy. That I need to be cleanse. How dear fathers.
I stand here, I cry. It’s okay to cry after a kill. Take the experience in, it’s not every day you get to take a life and play God.
Two lives actually.
“They were supposed to die by your hands, it’s the right thing,” my consciousness says while dumping my dead morality to the darkest corners of my head.
And by the time I have contemplated the things I had done, Sybilla stands up and rubs her head as if she was reborn again. She comes next to me as I stand in front of the dead savage, she spits on him, no love there. None at all.
I place my hand on her shoulder, she pushed it away, and I thought to myself, “Who you think you are boy, do you think just because you kill her father, she is yours forever? She is a hollow point cartridge.”
She turns to me, and understand that I have no syntax, I do not makes sense like the lives we live. She is a literature contemplating on the topic of whether the gods break a tear for the pain they have caused. Ebb, she oozes the planetary formation of a fetus. I am not meant to see this, reverse, inverse. Intervals, baby don’t you think the way we step on your father’s blood make this a romantic setting, screw Rapunzel letting down her hair, or Romeo spewing literature down Juliet’s balcony. This is our moment.
She inclines in and smooches me, her tongue is inviting, and her hands are taking my undershirt off. We should do something about the body, we should clean it, throw it, I don’t know. Do something about it, but instead here we are about to have intercourse apparently.
“You love me don’t you?” she pleads like a beggar, if I have a right mind I would slap her. “Then show it to me. Show me how much you love me.”
I drop the knife on the floor, it hits the pool of blood, PLOP!
I don’t say anything as I kiss her lips, and then we stop for a while, she turns down looking at her father and threw up on me. Icky goo comes out of her mouth, seeing it makes me want to puke as well, but I hold it in. She didn’t had the decency to aim where she was throwing that muck, she just turn to the corpse and then look back at me to give me this great gift. This nice, pleasant, flattering and thoughtful gift that was literally inside her.
Rice, chicken meat? Hard to tell, must have been her lunch.
“I’m sorry,” she says. I should be sorry, I just killed your dad. He must have meant something to you.
I push her dark hair back, and I thought to myself when she dies will she go to heaven? Her glittery glossy curved lips makes it seems she will. But me? I don’t think so, I will suffer just like the rest of them.
Do you want to know why? Because I am a savage.
“Kid?” she says this with the ray of light coming out of her butthole, and butterflies dancing in her eyes, if that was possible. I stare down, can’t take my eyes of the dead man as his eyes were wide open, I am not giving a damn about her vomit on me. “It had to be done,” she justifies our action, I knew it had to be done. I should have done it while he was groping her body.
I call this love. She might call me insane.
I see U S of A, so call me crazy, and call me wild. But there’s my brain splattered on the wall.
“We need to throw away the body,” I say for how logical as it was. It starts to smell already. We need to dispose this flesh of decomposing human trash fast, but how? This isn’t your everyday regular trash you have to take out, this isn’t dog poop on the street, or your Chinese takeaway you had for lunch, can’t just throw this in the garbage bin and let the garbage man handle this. We need a way.
“Acid,” she says, gripping me as hard as she can. “We need to make acid.”
In other news, a woman just got splash a corrosive acid on her face.
What the hell is she talking about, we are no scientist and this is no laboratory for us to play with. Damn it, we have a body and she wants to play professor.
She tells me that sulfuric acid can dissolve human flesh. She instructs me to get a car battery from any car and so I quickly run down, crack open a random car’s hood.
With the car.
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