368
Sun, 18 Mar 2007 at 03:34pm
I have a car, but I only use it when a case requires me to really move across the country, but right now I was just investigating the death of a Mr. Timothy Mason, a local case. In transit, I analyze myself, a habit which I simply ignore. Maybe it’s so inherent that I ignored the morality of it. Yes, I am a very moral person, I suppose. Not too much of a pollutant, no. In the morning I’m mechanical; at night I’m alert, my overcoat and hat and gloves will express efficiency to anyone I meet. I wonder if I’m drawing attention to myself. I wonder if I’m thinking too much. No, no, I should think about the case.
As I walk up the steps I quickly let myself in as my authority allows me to. Ms. Mason is there to greet me and at the bottom of the staircase her face projects an echo. So we go sit down for a drink to talk about her dead husband. And now the system’s down, so we drink by the light of candles, casting shadows on the big mugs. Not only do I feel out of place, but I feel the entire place, and it feels like it were juxtaposed, if the word ‘juxtaposed’ was an adjective describing the detachment of everything to everything else but really its probably a word that starts with ‘a’, but I can’t think of it. And while I stare at the table she’s looking at me. I don’t think she has a face and I can’t look at it, its just sound. So I get up and leave.
She continues to talk to the space that I previously occupied while I walk, step by step, up the staircase. Tiptoeing to the top, I peer around the banister and I see so many children sound asleep in their beds. They were so peaceful, almost synchronized in their tranquility. I walk back down and I’m about to leave the sound bouncing around the house, reverberating off the walls, through me and through me, but Mr. Mason stops me at the front door. I’ve decided to ignore him too, so I stab him three times and he smiles. I’m throwing him out the door. I’m closing the door. I turn around and I’m watching her watch me I wondered why she wasn’t asleep yet (I needed to finish my work).
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369
Sun, 18 Mar 2007 at 03:35pm
He was very strange, but I offered him tea. He was very quiet and I’m not sure who he was, but he seemed to mean business, so I let him in and we talked for a while, about the death of my husband, and I realized that he was a detective come to investigate it. So he asked to look around a bit and, of course, I agreed, even though I didn’t think he would find much except for our bedroom. We lived alone, and its not like he was murdered in a closet. Or did he suicide? Oh God... I just couldn’t believe any of this was happening. I felt like something was sucking the world away from my eyes into the event horizon.
I walked away, somewhere, and then I saw him. He seemed to be miming something, something about throwing. Perhaps was he tired too? I was so tired. I remember when I leaned against the railing at the bottom. I was at the bottom and I was ready to fall. He kept miming and then he turned around and I smiled a little when he started walking over through the sunlight, but I passed out. Nothing was coming together, ever.
370
Sun, 18 Mar 2007 at 03:37pm
I start over to her at the base of the stair and while I’m doing so I realize the drugs I put in her alcohol are starting to take effect and she’s smiling. So I take off all of her clothes, and mine, and rape her. She’s in a hallucinatory state and I look through the window while I’m fucking her and the sky is lighter than it was before. Instead of black, angry brown clouds dominate the sky in a terrible display of natural force. But I ignore that and revel in my detective authority. But she’s too loud, so I cover her mouth with my hand. She can breathe through her nose. Or not, whatever.
At first I thought I was waking up from a long rest, and I wondered where I was. For some reason I couldn’t really see clearly, and I felt like my entire body was pulsating, like someone was hitting me. I groaned and put my hand up to my head. I started yelling for some reason and something covered my mouth and it hurt. I tried to tell Thomas that, remember, we can’t have children? Then I realized what was going on and I asked him to stop, but he wouldn’t stop. Why was Thomas doing this? Why was Thomas dead? Thomas was dead. It wasn’t Thomas.
She ripped my hand off her mouth and started to scream like an enraged animal, which was really no surprise, and I don’t want to stop her because I like it. But seemingly at her command there was silence. The motion caused by what I’m doing, and her open mouth aren’t registering with my ears, but I’ll ignore that. Then the children came down. They floated through me, and I was no longer enjoying raping her, because these demonic children spirits were circulating around me. But I needed to finish the job.
