Saturday, September 27, 2008

Murder and Death

And again, it happened. Shrieks filled the air, as the knife went past her body, and blood spurted out of the veins, and splattered all over the walls and the bed and any place that it could find to leave its impact on. The glass curtain that silence often tends to draw over the darkness of night was shattered to an infinite number of pieces, most of which could not even be counted, let alone repair; it had been permanently destroyed, at least for tonight.
I was standing outside the house, and had witnessed the knife go through her tender body, and which had started a fountain of blood that had even stained the table lamp that stood by her bed, and had quietly witnessed the gruesome crime being committed. Her shriek sounded as if a spirit was being tortured in hell; maybe it’s the sign of the Angel of Hell stealing your soul, seeking revenge for someone in exchange for their soul. But it was frightening, was the shriek, and the night was witness to all that it had surrounded, but conveniently decided to allow the crime to go unnoticed, were it not for me being there.
I was there alright. But was I willing to check the matter out? Why should I, when I already had figured the chain of events? I was standing there, quietly smoking the cigarette bit that was left in my hands, but there was some passion in that smoke, as my lust was finally silenced. I was satisfied for the first time in so many days, ad I could not figure out why, but should one wonder for the reasons for something so pleasing to occur? I was satiated after so many days, and there was an immense amount of pleasure that filled my senses. Good riddance from the bitch, I thought, as she had been tormenting my mind, heart and soul to the extent of making my life a miserable experience.
Is it wrong to lust for a woman? If women can lust for us, can’t we be attracted towards them? After all, any attraction that occurs towards another is purely physical. Liar is the person who says that he or she was attracted by a quality in the other’s personality; its all nothing but a pack of fucking lies. Fuck you all, who pretend to be someone whom you are not. Anyways, I was very much attracted to her. Everything about her made me want her even more; her hair, her neck, her naked back that I often saw peeking out of the window, as I stared into the house from a certain distance, from where she played her sick mind games with me. She knew I was attracted to her, and she felt glad about it. And yet, unlike others who would shudder at the sight of a stalker, she was rather pleased about it. She was an enigma to me, a riddle which could not be cracked by anyone; a puzzle no one could piece together. She was perfectly in sync to my imaginations, for what I found alluring. Her eyes, oh my! They were the eyes of the devil. They knew what to do to make you fall for her the minute they were laid upon you. There was a sickening feeling that would rise in the gut, as if someone had just hit you very hard, and made you wish that you could hold her back right then and kiss her till she bled from her mouth, trying to take revenge for what she did to your spirits with that sharp glance that accompanied the cruel smile etched on her face.
The night was still deep in its darkness, as he walked out of the house, his clothes smeared with her blood, as he wiped it out with the towel that she would conveniently drop when she knew that I was staring into the house from the edge of the lamp post that allowed a clear view into her house. The bitch knew, and would conveniently let it slip off her body, as she would turn around behind the curtains slightly parted, as if playing peek-a-boo with my wants. She would ensure that I would be tormented to every extent that was possible. At least the very factors of torment were eliminated to a certain extent. I was glad, as I butted the cigarette into the pole, and then squashed it to death under my feet, which had finally obtained some force in them, now that I knew she was not there to torture me, and make every moment of my life a never-ending saga of agony.
I am a loser, no doubt. I had lost myself to the wicked charms of a witch who had cast an inescapable spell on me. I had been running away from it, but its vice-like grip was too much to handle; even after death, it was following me, as I walked up towards the window, whose curtains were parted enough to allow me a glance at her body, which had been horribly mutilated. A lot of her inner organs lay strewn all over the floor, as her vacant eyes stared towards the ceiling. An expression of horror was frozen over her face, which still had that haunting quality in it, even long after the soul had parted ways with the body, and had begun its march towards hell. The mysteries of her face were still evident, or was it a figment of my imagination that made me see a mirage in the heat of the night?
I kept staring from the outside, even as the room was now stinking of death, as a moth started to wander around the now red light that the blood-stained lamp was emanating. There was a strange aura hanging over the room. The killer was long gone-who was he, what was his intention to murder her, I do not know. He too must have been a jilted lover or a man who was obsessed with her like me to the extent that he had been driven mad, the way I was, but much more beyond the want and the longing, and towards jealousy and outrage by her. There she lay now-she deserved it to say the least. Ruining so many people’s lives, tormenting them like anything, and such people deserved nothing less than hell as a punishment.
The sun was now rising, and I cast a final glance at her body. The face was the same, but I had, all of a sudden, tears in my eyes, as I quietly bade the final goodbye to her, and walked away, carrying with me all the memories of her that lay in my heart, and will stay with me for probably the rest of my life, which I shall end in a few moments from now. Her witchcraft has such a powerful net pulled over me, as I saw a razor blade lying on top of a heap of rubbish, and without even thinking, I picked it up, and sliced my wrists with it. What was the use of living, if the one thing that I was related to somehow was to be taken away from me just like that? I smiled, as I fell unconscious, and drifted towards death, waiting for it to cover half the stretch.

2 comments:

varun the cool said...

well m the first one...frankly reading the first chapter itself...i felt mesmerized by your writing style..well just awesome.plot looks great...a nice read

Unknown said...

Absolutely vulgar and dirty story.I don't want to fight you but that's what I felt.

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