The men outside my eight by eight cell turn silent, as they watch their superior, the master of the firm footsteps die, in vain.
The firm bite on the jugular has broken the skin, the soft inner muscle of the throat and then crushed the windpipe, suffocating the man like a gazelle falling prey to an African lion.
And I am sitting beside my fresh kill, with remains of the tore out windpipe in my mouth. The futile, vacant eyes keep staring at me as the deep hole in the throat fills the cell with warm, smelly blood.
The horrific scene turns the stoned men go amok. About seven to eight people of the police station turn petrified, drop their guns in confusion and flee in search of support. Being a mere witness of such a savage kill turns them deranged. They escape for help.
And then I step out of the cell, inside the long hall, as blood keeps oozing out of the dead and forms a pool at my footsteps. Hitherto naked, I take good care to find a pair of trousers and lock the doors of the hall from inside. I also find a matchbox and a packet of cigarettes inside the trousers.
The silent night outside is pierced by the shocking cries of the policemen. The voices fade within seconds, as they run away, perhaps never to return.
I lit a cigarette now.
Two days ago, we had ordered chicken at dinner. She ate as if she had been kept without food for a whole week. She asked me why I wasn’t eating anything, and I had lied, that I wasn’t hungry. My hatred for her had made me lie.
Immediately after we came back from dinner, she pounced on me. I threw her away on the floor, making her gasp in pain. Nevertheless, we had sex, and after the peak, I threw up on her. Her body became wet with my smelly puke. And then I followed her to the bathroom and then we had sex on the wet floor, there.
And then I murdered her, cold blooded.
The police got into the scene really quick. There was nothing I could speak to defend myself... not that I wanted to defend though. The witch was killed. And I took great pride in claiming that to the inspector.
"Yes, I'm the witch killer.", I had said.
And then I was thrown into the eight by eight cell.
She was my wife. Her eyes were round. Eyebrows were deep black and her canines were sharp and white, which showed themselves whenever she threw a laugh. A few of her hair used to fall on her forehead.
She was my wife. She wanted to make me happy.
To ensure death, I had taken the scrapper out of the bathroom and produced a full blow on her head, from behind. The vehemently shaking legs were tied to the dressing table and as she coughed blood to my face, I tore the bloody tongue out of her mouth, with my bare hands. Death came fast.
And then after two days, I had to make another kill tonight.
I feel hungry. The bread that was served to me inside the cell on an aluminium plate swims on a pool of blood. I go ahead, pick it up and start eating. The little drops of blood sprayed out of the body made the food delicious. I finish it in no time. And then I crave for some more. Blood, that is.
And it is then, I hear voices outside.
It is the men making their way back. Only this time, it seems they bring reinforcements.
The voices approach, from all sides of the hall. The doors are tried to be broken, which I have already locked from inside. Though I do feel safe from the animals outside, I prepare to commit suicide.
I place a chair on the centre table and prepare to tie a knot with the trousers I wore in the ceiling fan. My naked body is watched by the mob outside, as the yellowish bulb from the ceiling creates a magical creature out of my sweaty, unclad figurine.
The front door breaks now. And within seconds the room is filled by a dozen of animals. They have a spear. And they use the spear now.
The futile attempts to tie the knot from the ceiling fan gives way to one of the attackers as he pierces the spear into my exposed anus. The pig hunting session comes to my memories as I throw a loud, barbaric cry. The spear is further pushed inside by four other men as I stay afloat in the air, like a piece of meat in the skewers, ready to go into the fire.
I squeal like a pig.
The spear that went inside my body now comes out, with part of my intestines with it from the other side of my body. The grunts continue, as two of the men come in front and opens my inside with their bare hands as I see my guts come out and scatter like filth, all around the room.
Before everything goes dark, I see the men smiling. Their teeth are white. Eyes full of mockery. The sharp, white canines are visible even in the dimly lit hall. And it is clear they are happy to hunt a rogue pig down.
The world that smiles at me becomes dark now.
The firm bite on the jugular has broken the skin, the soft inner muscle of the throat and then crushed the windpipe, suffocating the man like a gazelle falling prey to an African lion.
And I am sitting beside my fresh kill, with remains of the tore out windpipe in my mouth. The futile, vacant eyes keep staring at me as the deep hole in the throat fills the cell with warm, smelly blood.
The horrific scene turns the stoned men go amok. About seven to eight people of the police station turn petrified, drop their guns in confusion and flee in search of support. Being a mere witness of such a savage kill turns them deranged. They escape for help.
And then I step out of the cell, inside the long hall, as blood keeps oozing out of the dead and forms a pool at my footsteps. Hitherto naked, I take good care to find a pair of trousers and lock the doors of the hall from inside. I also find a matchbox and a packet of cigarettes inside the trousers.
The silent night outside is pierced by the shocking cries of the policemen. The voices fade within seconds, as they run away, perhaps never to return.
I lit a cigarette now.
Two days ago, we had ordered chicken at dinner. She ate as if she had been kept without food for a whole week. She asked me why I wasn’t eating anything, and I had lied, that I wasn’t hungry. My hatred for her had made me lie.
Immediately after we came back from dinner, she pounced on me. I threw her away on the floor, making her gasp in pain. Nevertheless, we had sex, and after the peak, I threw up on her. Her body became wet with my smelly puke. And then I followed her to the bathroom and then we had sex on the wet floor, there.
And then I murdered her, cold blooded.
The police got into the scene really quick. There was nothing I could speak to defend myself... not that I wanted to defend though. The witch was killed. And I took great pride in claiming that to the inspector.
"Yes, I'm the witch killer.", I had said.
And then I was thrown into the eight by eight cell.
She was my wife. Her eyes were round. Eyebrows were deep black and her canines were sharp and white, which showed themselves whenever she threw a laugh. A few of her hair used to fall on her forehead.
She was my wife. She wanted to make me happy.
To ensure death, I had taken the scrapper out of the bathroom and produced a full blow on her head, from behind. The vehemently shaking legs were tied to the dressing table and as she coughed blood to my face, I tore the bloody tongue out of her mouth, with my bare hands. Death came fast.
And then after two days, I had to make another kill tonight.
I feel hungry. The bread that was served to me inside the cell on an aluminium plate swims on a pool of blood. I go ahead, pick it up and start eating. The little drops of blood sprayed out of the body made the food delicious. I finish it in no time. And then I crave for some more. Blood, that is.
And it is then, I hear voices outside.
It is the men making their way back. Only this time, it seems they bring reinforcements.
The voices approach, from all sides of the hall. The doors are tried to be broken, which I have already locked from inside. Though I do feel safe from the animals outside, I prepare to commit suicide.
I place a chair on the centre table and prepare to tie a knot with the trousers I wore in the ceiling fan. My naked body is watched by the mob outside, as the yellowish bulb from the ceiling creates a magical creature out of my sweaty, unclad figurine.
The front door breaks now. And within seconds the room is filled by a dozen of animals. They have a spear. And they use the spear now.
The futile attempts to tie the knot from the ceiling fan gives way to one of the attackers as he pierces the spear into my exposed anus. The pig hunting session comes to my memories as I throw a loud, barbaric cry. The spear is further pushed inside by four other men as I stay afloat in the air, like a piece of meat in the skewers, ready to go into the fire.
I squeal like a pig.
The spear that went inside my body now comes out, with part of my intestines with it from the other side of my body. The grunts continue, as two of the men come in front and opens my inside with their bare hands as I see my guts come out and scatter like filth, all around the room.
Before everything goes dark, I see the men smiling. Their teeth are white. Eyes full of mockery. The sharp, white canines are visible even in the dimly lit hall. And it is clear they are happy to hunt a rogue pig down.
The world that smiles at me becomes dark now.
