Thursday Treat

A special treat for you, my favorite readers. I have finished another installment of my writing project (which I am still not sure where it is heading) and have decided to post it for you, and welcome your critiques, ideas, opinions, and even put-downs and lift em ups. So without further cheap admonishments, let me present to you chapter 2.

It was a simple pocketknife. Two blades, one a bit longer with a sharper point, yellow coloring on the outside. Plenty sharp, since I had spent the better of 2 days sharpening it correctly on a whetstone by hand. Nothing like good skill used correctly. I flick the hand up and spin the blade over end and catch it open-handed. A quick half turn and I fling it out side arm and it thunks into a dartboard at head height, just a couple inches under the bulls eye. I smile touches my lips, but not my eyes as I get up and pull out the knife. I close it up and slip it into a pocket. The other hand ranges along the belt and I feel the lock blade and the 12” Bowie. I check to be sure my jacket covers them well.

Walking down the street, no one notices me. Not many people out on a cold and cloudy day. The skies are looking like they want to drop rain or snow, but it is not destined to be per the reporter on TV last night. I call them reporters – they never guess the weather correctly enough to be a forecaster. I turn into the local corner mart; glancing back quickly to be sure no one followed me.

That’s always been a habit of mine. Since that one time two punks jumped me – but that is for another time, when I can remember what happened. If I start thinking about it now, the blackness will fill my head and I will lose track of what I am doing. I cross the street again and head up two more blocks. Turning left I see the police car coming from up the street. Lights not on. I tuck my chin into my jacket and pull the zipper higher. I head straight for the liquor store. As I pull open the door, I see the patrol car turn down this street.

“Hey Pops,” as I unzip the jacket. “ How about a fifth of Jack?”
“You old enough to drink? I’ll need to see some ID.” He sets down the paper he was reading and gives me a look through his glasses.

A glance out the glass door shows the cruiser going by, not stopping. I reach back into my pants pocket and feel the knife. I give the old man a nice toothy smile. “Sure Pops. Got ID right here,” as I pull up my wallet and show him a driver’s license. After a quick glance, he hands it back and turns to get my order. I hand over a $20 dollar bill and he makes change. I grab the sack and change, fastening up my jacket. At the door I turn and look at him. Already bored he has gone back to reading the paper, leaning against the counter.

The black cloud fills my mind. I try to get out the door, but my body has already stopped moving. How long is this going to last this time?

Ready to learn the next lesson?

It’s that damn voice again. What was it saying the last time I heard it. Something about being faster… I can’t remember. Now a pain starts to rip through my mind. My eyes open, seeing the old man leaning against the counter – frozen in place it seems. Suddenly my hand is gripping the Bowie knife and pulling from its sheath. Watching in a daze of confusion and fear, but with a sense of knowing what is about to happen, I throw the knife at the old man.

Everything moves in slow motion as the knife flips through the air to land point first in the man’s temple. Time speeds up to normal. I hurriedly reach out and pull the knife, side-stepping the spray of blood. Spinning around I get behind the counter and pop the drawer, grab the cash and turn to leave. The knife is still dripping blood. I go to wipe it on the man’s shirt, but instead I find myself plunging it in his back and side several times. I force myself to wipe it off and sheath it. Sweat is dripping down my face, and I am not sure if it is that or tears I am tasting. Definitely something salty. Quickly I step around the counter and head out the door, cramming the wad of bills into the coat pocket.

Did you learn the lesson?

Again I am frozen and the blackness swoops in. I think back to what just happened. I killed someone. I stole. Without thinking just violently killed and mutilated another human being. Someone I didn’t know, had never met before. And I stole money. Not like it was lying out for free, I made an effort to get the drawer open to take it. What lesson is this supposed to teach?

How do you feel about the power of taking a life?

What?!? How do I feel? Just once why don’t you show yourself? I feel the blackness darken and seemingly solidify near me. I start shaking in fear. I start thinking about how it felt to have the ability, the control to end someone’s life. It does feel sort of good deep inside – more that it was a person than an animal. Imagine if it were someone I knew, or better yet, was emotionally attached to – imagine the rush as I killed them! Yes, I learned a lesson.

Was it the correct lesson?

Yes. I feel the presence in the darkness move away somewhat. The feeling of power fades from me, and I slowly start to hope this can still be saved.

I am stepping out on the street from the liquor store. I stop and look around. I still see the cop car about a half block up the street. Should I go and get him? It’s to late. I quickly reach into the coat packet, grab the wad of money and run back to the door. Flinging it open I toss the cash in, and grab the Bowie. I wipe off hopefully all my prints and toss it by the body. No time to cover my tracks, as I take off down the sidewalk, mixing my steps in with the multitudes of others as I hurry home.