Messy
one
I sit back on my haunches taking a moment to relish in the sight in front of me. Three bodies are sprawled out on the floor. All of them disfigured to the point where they’re unrecognizable.
The linoleum is covered in blood. Initially I’d set out to do all of the work in the bathtub, wash their mess down the plughole, but they were all unconscious before I could haul them in. I don’t want to move them anyway.
They look too pretty.
I lean forward and run my hand over what’s left of somebody’s forehead, pressing against it with my thumb. Blood oozes out and pools near the victim’s nose – oh, I must’ve forgotten to break it. That can be fixed pretty easily. My eyes sweep over the bathroom, pausing at every
weapon I’ve used so far, until I reach over and grab a knife with a serrated edge.
Perfect.
Delicately, I carve off the victim’s nose, not wanting to ruin my artwork. When I get to the top I pull down hard with the blade, using a mix of strength and gravity to get the discarded body part bouncing across the floor. More blood starts pouring out from the wound. I’m starting to regret knocking him unconscious now; imagine how much he would’ve squirmed at that one, unintentionally severing his nose even more, being forced to taste his own blood when it reached his mouth.
Less thinking, I decide, dipping two fingers into the steady stream of red liquid. I coat it all over my hands, marvelling at how warm it still is. Figured they’d be dead by now.
Still, I wish it had lasted longer. I remember the moment they realised, remember them trying the door and knowing it was too late. I remember pushing my fingers into the nameless man’s eyes, watching as blood and ichor dribbled down his cheeks (“You want to watch me torture your friends, huh? No? Okay.”), killing him slowly while the other two screamed.
It’s getting dark now. I decide to turn the light on, wanting to play with my corpse toys a little more. I stand up, dropping the knife and wiping one hand on my t-shirt, and that’s when I hear it. Sirens.
They’re getting closer. I frantically search for a place to hide the bodies, opening the towel cupboard and grabbing one of them by the arm, but the arm falls off and the body lands on the floor with a dull thud. Knocking now, and I shake my head, no, no, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
“Mr. Jones, we know you’re in there. Come out of the door with your arms up.”
The linoleum is covered in blood. Initially I’d set out to do all of the work in the bathtub, wash their mess down the plughole, but they were all unconscious before I could haul them in. I don’t want to move them anyway.
They look too pretty.
I lean forward and run my hand over what’s left of somebody’s forehead, pressing against it with my thumb. Blood oozes out and pools near the victim’s nose – oh, I must’ve forgotten to break it. That can be fixed pretty easily. My eyes sweep over the bathroom, pausing at every
weapon I’ve used so far, until I reach over and grab a knife with a serrated edge.
Perfect.
Delicately, I carve off the victim’s nose, not wanting to ruin my artwork. When I get to the top I pull down hard with the blade, using a mix of strength and gravity to get the discarded body part bouncing across the floor. More blood starts pouring out from the wound. I’m starting to regret knocking him unconscious now; imagine how much he would’ve squirmed at that one, unintentionally severing his nose even more, being forced to taste his own blood when it reached his mouth.
Less thinking, I decide, dipping two fingers into the steady stream of red liquid. I coat it all over my hands, marvelling at how warm it still is. Figured they’d be dead by now.
Still, I wish it had lasted longer. I remember the moment they realised, remember them trying the door and knowing it was too late. I remember pushing my fingers into the nameless man’s eyes, watching as blood and ichor dribbled down his cheeks (“You want to watch me torture your friends, huh? No? Okay.”), killing him slowly while the other two screamed.
It’s getting dark now. I decide to turn the light on, wanting to play with my corpse toys a little more. I stand up, dropping the knife and wiping one hand on my t-shirt, and that’s when I hear it. Sirens.
They’re getting closer. I frantically search for a place to hide the bodies, opening the towel cupboard and grabbing one of them by the arm, but the arm falls off and the body lands on the floor with a dull thud. Knocking now, and I shake my head, no, no, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
“Mr. Jones, we know you’re in there. Come out of the door with your arms up.”