“Bonita! I’m back.” I’d barely set foot in my apartment when a rancid odor overwhelmed me. The trash can was upturned, and garbage sprawled across the kitchen.
“You fat whore. You went through so much shit.” Something black and nasty was stuck to the linoleum.
“What is this?” I flipped on the overhead light and crouched beside the oven. The plastic bag that once held a dozen cinnamon-raisin bagels was torn to shit, and the remnants of a raisin were practically cemented to the floor. A soft meow, like an apology, began from the living room and continued until my Siamese cat appeared beside me in the kitchen.
“Look what you did.” I pointed to the mess. “I wasn’t even gone that long. Are you happy?” Her tail gently brushed against my leg. “You better not be.”
She jumped to the counter.
“You’re so fucking agile, you get into everything.”
Blue eyes sparkled against her chocolate coloring.
“I’m not happy with you.” I shook my finger, but she merely sauntered along the edge of the stove. The more she ignored me, the madder I got.
“You can’t do this. Bad!”
But nothing registered with my cat.
I scooped trash into my hand. Anger welled inside me like a flash of heat that had no beginning or end. It was all consuming.
“She should listen to you.”
Don’t you think I know that?
I grabbed the brush and dustpan beneath the kitchen sink, but instead of sweeping crap into the pan, I swung the brush like a bat and knocked Bonita off the oven. She sailed into the air and skimmed along the floor on her side. When she finally came to a stop, sapphire eyes flashed at me before she scurried away.
“Yeah, run away.” I kicked the trash into the corner.
“Bye, Felicia.”
You’re a dick.
Quoting a movie line, albeit funny, wasn’t helpful.
The stench and smallness of the kitchen closed in on me. I grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and fired up my laptop. Journaling would allow me to handle this better.
A Killer’s Journal
The darkness seemed all too familiar when I first entered it. Memories of the not-so-distant past always returned to remind me how utterly useless I was. At first I was afraid of the darkness. The vast emptiness and silence of it all frightened me.
I remember the times our babysitter, Brad, locked my twin brother and me in the closet knowing we were horrified of the dark. He was a dick, and we weren’t even in school yet. But who were we to say something? Besides, if we had, my mom would’ve taken the blame, and my father would not only have allowed it, he would’ve added to her shame. And where would that have gotten us?
Now when I look back at my five-year-old self trapped in that dark closet, I don’t view this encounter as fear but rather a way of embracing the darkness. And there was so much darkness.
The darkness was filled with hatred and fear. I hated Brad for putting us in the closet, and fear consumed me that my mom would leave us with him forever. Anytime she left, hatred and fear filled me until it felt like I would choke. Over time, I realized that those emotions weren’t meant to be rejected but rather embraced. At first, I was afraid of the loneliness of the darkness, but as I reflect on it now, I learned a lot from that experience.
When fear is removed, the darkness isn’t so dark and the alternative becomes freedom. Embracing a world where insecurities and fears are nonexistent allows the only thing that matters to emerge. And the only thing that matters is the preservation of one’s self and one’s desires.
I remember one time when my brother and I were with a friend. This was when we lived in a rural part of Wyoming. Our friend’s family owned a feed store that sold animal feed and other farm shit. We were at his store after school, and his mom tasked us with the duty of searching, hunting, and killing any mice we could find.
Adrenaline pumped through my body at the idea. For once I was able to kill without the fear and repercussions I would face when confronted by others. The darkness inside me was allowed to come to the surface and take a breath.
This duty of finding mice was one I wouldn’t stray from. The challenge of exterminating these creatures was something I embraced. Are you beginning to see the connection? When you let go of fear, the darkness can surface.
In the beginning, we searched under old plywood and shipping containers to discover the infestation of these dirty creatures.
Over time, however, I separated from the group, as the thrill for the kill was too invigorating. I needed a scene of my own to perfect these masterpieces.
At first, I killed the mice with simple caveman-like tactics like stabbing and beating them with a thick stick until they died. However, it didn’t take long before I tried all sorts of new ways to captivate my prey in order to keep me interested.
At one point, I filled a gallon-sized bucket with water and dropped the mice individually inside it to watch them struggle in order to preserve their life.
Their struggle immediately caught my attention. I was mesmerized by their desperate but futile skirmish. Their struggle to survive was primal. This I knew firsthand.
Before I could write my name, I learned that when my mom placed me in the empty dryer and my twin brother in the empty washing machine with the lids open that it was a form of survival. Hidden in the cavern with the door ajar, we knew my raging, fists-throwing father wouldn’t find us.
But he always found her. I know now that she sacrificed herself for us. We were her weakness. What would’ve happened if she didn’t have us to protect? Would she have left? Would she have survived?
I’ll never know. Besides, what did it really matter? My mom was as helpless as the trapped mice that gasped and clawed at the sides of the bucket as if they had a chance. They never had a chance, and neither did she. To survive in this world, you save no one but yourself. Everyone is fair game.
And why not? Everyone in life attempts to live it the best way they can. Whether this means a nice house, nice car, a sexy wife, beautiful kids, everyone in this ever-so-boring, self-centered life is focused on making their lives so great that when death comes around, they can say they lived life to the fullest.
What I’m interested in is taking this so-called precious life of theirs and shortening it long before they live out their childish dreams. I learned a long time ago to let go of childish dreams. Dreams aren’t a reality any more than happily ever after. It just doesn’t exist. Not in my family and definitely not in my life.
Someone who doesn’t realize that all lives are pointless and meaningless doesn’t deserve to live in this world. Whatever you say or do to preserve and advance your life can all be pointless in a matter of seconds. Like the mice in the bucket.
People shouldn’t be looking forward to living a long life but rather be concerned about the short life they already have.
I’m sickened and disgusted by those looking to preserve their lives beyond that of a normal person. This attempt at life is a futile and endless struggle that will ultimately lead to nothingness. It is my duty to show these people that life is as sweet as it is short. Just like the mice. I was given that responsibility for a reason.
If anyone were to read this, they would perceive my duty as a crime against life itself.
I personally believe I’m saving these self-righteous assholes who believe their lives are more important than everyone else’s. They need to see the reality that they can die just as easily as anyone else, and therefore they are no one special at all. You can’t really enjoy life until you’ve tasted the fear of death.
When my mom was pushed down the stairs, it was my sister’s twin brother, Christopher, who bled out of her. By the age of five, I knew just how short my life was and just how much my father controlled the outcome.
My earliest memories are of fear. The fear that my father would find me. The fear that his rage would channel through his fists and sucker punch me like I’d seen him do to my mom. The fear that my body would cave in like a wounded bird like my mom’s. Her arms came up like wings trying to protect herself, which only made him laugh. He actually laughed. It was a game. Our survival amused him.
At first, the darkness and emptiness were something I feared, but over time, I embraced it. I did not need the feelings of others; rather, I realized the potential I had and what I could do without those who burdened me. There were many thoughts and feelings I had when I first decided to act the way I felt was right, but over time I realized the faults of my ways. For me to really fit in society, I needed to persuade my peers, my parents, and every teacher I’d ever had that there was no fault in me. I was the kid next door. I fit in better than anyone. By assimilating to their life and their rules, I lived my own private life in the darkness with David beside me. David was my protector then as he is now.
Now, when a teacher or college professor tries to school me, it’s my duty to teach them the lessons I’ve learned.
I saved the journal to the flash drive and then deleted the file from my computer. I scrolled to the tab I’d bookmarked earlier and reviewed the blog post.
The online instructions provided a list of supplies and a step-by-step blueprint for making a dart gun. There wasn’t anything on the supply list I hadn’t been able to pick up at the dollar store on my way to the apartment.
All the necessary materials I bought were on my bed.
My mom once told me that the first item on an ingredient list was the most important. I didn’t know if that was true, but it made sense that PVC pipe topped the supply list. It wasn’t big, only six inches, but it was big enough to do what I wanted. Besides the pipe, I had a female PVC coupling, a laser pointer, electrical tape, a Styrofoam ring to hold the nail darts, wall nails, sticky notes, zip ties, and permanent glue.
After attaching the coupling to the end of the pipe, I slid the Styrofoam ring midway down the pipe until it was positioned just above where I’d secure the laser pointer. I carefully wrapped the white PVC pipe and Styrofoam dart holder in black electrical tape. A red zip tie secured the laser pointer in place. All that was left to make were the darts.
I placed a nail in the corner of a sticky note and rolled the paper until it created a funnel top. I trimmed the excess paper so each nail had a coned top, which would catch air better. I secured the cone in place with glue, then repeated this process with more than a dozen nails.
I stuck the makeshift darts into the Styrofoam holder, which made them easier to grab.
I was ready for a practice shot.
I glanced around my apartment. Bonita’s tail swayed from behind the blinds.
For better accuracy, I sighted the red laser on her tail. I quietly pushed a nail into the coupler of the pipe so that when I blew, air would fill the paper cone and send the nail dart soaring toward my target.
I sealed my lips around the pipe and blew hard. The nail dinged Bonita, who screamed and darted away, but it didn’t pierce her the way I’d hoped.
Maybe I needed sharper nails.
“No!”
David’s voice was strong today.
“You just need to blow harder.”
The joke was on the tip of my tongue, but I could tell he wasn’t in a playful mood.
“Listen, that professor of yours is a real asshole. People like that need to disappear.”
“This dart gun won’t kill them,” I said to him.
“But in the right spot, it could definitely scar them.”
His voice was louder than mine lately.
“Get ’em in the eye or throat. Try again.”
This time I filled my lungs with air, sealed my mouth even tighter around the coupling, and blew hard. The nail zipped through the air and into the wall.
“Nice.”
Thanks. But how do you expect me to pull this off?
I searched my apartment for my cat, but Bonita was nowhere to be found.
The only way it could possibly work was if I sat in the middle of the class surrounded by other students. I couldn’t separate from the herd. But even then, how the fuck was this going to work?
“Every Monday they show a TED Talk. When the intro music for it starts and the professor is still at the front of the classroom, pull the dart gun out of your backpack.”
Right. The music should drown the sound of me blowing into the pipe. And hopefully in the darkened room, no one would notice.
“Aim for the throat or the eye. Leave a mark.”
Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?
“Don’t be a pussy. Do you think that jerk deserves mercy?”
No, they don’t.
I packed my backpack for class, carefully tucking my dart gun into the front pocket. I just wanted to scare them. Nothing harmful, just a little zap to tell the blowhard who was really in charge.
Sundays usually sucked, but now I couldn’t wait for the night to end so the fun could begin.