Fantasies of Homicide

 In my mind I have imagined it a million times, there are so many ways to go about murdering someone that it becomes very hard to choose just one and alas you can only kill one person the once. Unless of course you revive them, but there will be no revival here.

I’ve thought of suffocation with a pillow, but that would be over too quickly and I want my victim to suffer.
Victim, funny word, I have been the living victim all my life and now I turn the table and crush his bones to dust. First I think a paralysing drug, making him immobile but conscious of every little thing. I will leave him like that for days, rotting in his filth while I force feed him disgusting foods from dirty dishes. I will also have head phones on him playing lady gaga at full volume on repeat. After that the real torture would begin.

I will surround him with mirrors and sew his eyelids open, can’t have him missing the show now can I?
Fingernails first I think, they pull out so easily and cause excruciating pain. I will pull out all his hair, one piece at a time. I will cut of sections of skin, not digging my blade in deep enough to hurt, but just enough to get the skin and make him feel it. I will break all his fingers and toes with a claw hammer. I will put his hands and feet in buckets of bleach until they are almost only bone, then I will cut off his fingers and toes. I will also have a recording of his voice playing in the background so he can feel belittled by himself. I would try to prolong his life as much as possible so that he could be tortured for longer, he should endure as much pain as possible before he dies.
And then… 
Who am I kidding, when I kill him I will be in a rage of power and excitement, I’ll probably cut the bastards head off immediately and regret my impatience later.

The Rain and I

The world looks quite majestic when it rains, especially when the sun is slightly out. Each rain drop reflects the rays and sparkles in the light, a steamy haze comes off the surface of everything and it appears as if you are walking in a dream and not reality. Even the smell of rain is wonderful, the earth smells stronger and the trees look greener. I can’t describe it enough to do it justice, but there is truly something magical about the world in the rain. 

You walk along in the drizzle and step round the puddles; your refection looks back up at you as you peer into each one. The sound of each rain drop falling is so elegant and musical, and combined with every other raindrop is thunderous and beautiful.

The world feels cleaner when it rains. People stay inside and I get more of it to myself, the irritating sound of others complaining about their pitiful lives is drowned out by the downpour of harmonious bliss. Sometimes the rain is so thick that you can’t even see other people, there is just you alone in the rain and nothing else matters, nothing else exists.
And it’s cold, and you shiver and pull your coat around you, while I’m jumping in puddles, singing and dancing in the rain and no one else’s opinion matters because all that exists is me and the rain. No one can touch me and I am safe in the rain.

Springtime

The sun reflects off the ripples of the water’s surface as the water calmly moves back and forth across the pool. The sound of the water rippling can be heard above the sparrows chirping in the trees. The water looks cool and inviting, the sun beating down hot upon the land makes it even more so. The trees, mainly palms and ferns flow gently in the light afternoon breeze. It is a warm breeze, and almost non-existent but if you were wet you would most certainly feel it.
It is spring and the flowers are all approaching full bloom, their scents are over powering as they all combine in the breeze. Taken in individually they are all sweet and potent and alluring, but on mass they can be quite over bearing. They bring the bees, not as many as in past years but enough to pollinate the plants and help the fruits grow.
The sun is so bright that the gnomes poking their heads out from behind the shrubs have their faces obscured by the brightness of the suns light, they appear as a mass of white. It is not that hot a day, only around 27 degrees, but the brightness of the sun deceives you into thinking that it is hot enough for a swim. It is not until you lower your foot into the water and the chill of its iciness runs up your entire body that you realise it is not quite yet swimming weather. It is almost time, and you are happy to wait, sit down and enjoy the spring.

...ellipses

The dull routine of existence is boring me endlessly. I need a challenge, something, anything. I have done nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing for three months, the time would have been better spent if I had slept through it all, and believe me I tried.
I detest the common place that has become my life, it has left me drained of energy and sick. How does boredom make one ill?
I am stuck in that section in literature that gets deleted and replaced with an ellipses because it isn't even worth mentioning.

Remember

When I am gone what will they remember?
Will they remember it all?
The skeletons I have in the closet?

The bodies I’ve buried in the basement?

The stars I’ve shot into the sky?

The birds I’ve taught to fly?

Will they remember the stories I’ve told?
The stupid things I’ve done in my quest to grow old?
The smile on my face as I danced in the rain?
The tears that I shed in moments of pain?
Will they remember the lessons I’ve taught and the battles I‘ve fought?
The wars I have won and that peace left unsung?

Will they remember it all?
Or will they remember nothing at all?

forgetting...

I woke an hour early today, the dream of my old mentor dying made it impossible for me to go back to sleep. I was ashamed at myself for forgetting he was still alive in the first place. I was then filled with the sad truth that in time with absence I would forget everyone and everything. It had only been 6 months and I had forgotten all about the most inspiring person I had ever met. It annoys me that I am still haunted by bad memories from years ago but the good slip through my grasp. It’s like trying to hold onto water, even the wetness of your hands quickly dries up and you are left with nothing.
I got up, went to my wardrobe and pulled out a shirt. It was a collared white t-shirt, I had been looking for it for a year and it was never in there, but now here it was right in plain sight. I noticed it was dirty, the cuffs had marks and there was a strange stain on the front. I have no idea how it had gotten put away in such a state, my dirty clothes always make the basket or failing that, the floor. I couldn’t work it out. I put it on over another shirt and some slacks and I walked outside to watch the sunrise.
It was cold, my jacket was inside, I don’t know why I didn’t put it on, I don’t know why I had gone out in the cold to see the sun. Perhaps it was because I am rarely up that early, perhaps it was because I had not seen the sun in days and I wanted to feel the warmth of it on my skin or perhaps it was because I thought that standing in its light would help me to hold onto the memories of happier times.
I moved my herb garden into the sun and went inside to make some breakfast. As I watched the jug boil I wondered if it were possible to forget everything, if I isolated myself long enough would it all be gone? Could I even forget myself, my name. I’ve already forgotten my age, my sister reminded me of that the other day on the phone. It wasn’t that I cared, but I found it strange that I couldn't remember.
Sometimes I forget to eat, forget to sleep, forget where I am, forget who I am. I wish I could forget about the things that come out of the darkness and scar, but I am still haunted by those, perhaps I always will be. When all else is forgotten I will be consumed by that which resides in the dark.
I want to know why sadness clings longer than happiness. If I forget someone is alive is that worse than forgetting someone is dead? I want to know why others are dead and I am still alive, is there a reason?

Progress

I used to hear the birds sing in the morning

Welcoming in the new day

Now I hear the planes flying

All the birds have flown away

I used to watch the ants making their way

Through the grass on the ground

Now it has been paved over

Not a single ant can be found

I used to look to the stars at night

Now the lights are so bright I cannot see

I used to watch the sun rise up over the meadow

Now the smog and buildings hide it from me

I wonder will my children mourn the planes, the pavers and the light

As I mourn the birds, the grass and the night