Murder - Creative Writing

Murder - Creative Writing
Murder ? Creative Writing Today I?m going to kill something. Someone. Anything. I feel the
obligation to, that time has come around again. Every fortnight it is.
Two weeks later and another person will be lucky, just like that. They
will have been touched by a celebrity. They do not thank me for it,
they do not get the chance but I will leave my autograph by their
side. Something for the pigs to ponder about when they arrive on the
scene. But by then it will be too late.
I know you are wondering what it is. Something like that would intrigue you. You will see soon enough but I can tell you now, I will stretch to that much at least. I leave a little gift you see? Nothing too big mind you, I just remove two things from them and leave it by their side, wristwatch and eyeball. Not a delicate manoeuvre mind you. But always worth it, gives the whole procedure an elaborate touch. I always like to keep my eye on the time. Never been late in my life. I thought of that little signature when I was at school, not that I needed school in the first place. I just went there to do the usual, squash a few flies, keep my name on the list, have a little time away from home. I used to put the little autograph everywhere, not the real thing of course, but as I breathed out talent on the window I would scratch it in or I would etch it into a desk. The next person sitting there would notice it, I just wish they would notice me. I kept to myself at school, not that I had any choice, the other little brats would not come anywhere near me. They knew I was too clever for them and the poor ones who thought they could overpower me knew where to go; they would be kissing my feet. I could have changed the world if somebody had let me, but I do not need to be given a chance on a plate to do so. Today I am going to do it. By myself. I look around the scrawny flat. It is a tip and always has been. I see the goldfish bowl on the floor and pick it up. I stare in and look at the little blighter. It hasn?t been fed in about a week, it did not deserve it. What does it do for me? All it does is swim around in it?s own little world and I am sick of it. I swish it around and it bashes against the sides. This is good. I sense the panic within the bowl and decide to put it out of it?s misery. I pour it rapidly into the bog. It swims around, and gets accompanied to it?s surroundings. Flush. It?s gone. A smile creeps around my face. I know I?m ready. There is a tense atmosphere in the flat now, I claw for the cat but it steams off. She knows I am a genius, a superstar, a God. There?s nothing that can stop me. I pull the phone off the hook and stab in the number to the local radio station. They tell me I will be on air in a few minutes and I stamp my foot impatiently. I?m on. I tell the man he?s talking to a superstar and that?he cuts me off. I slam the phone back down, this has infuriated me. Nobody ever takes notice. But they will after today. I take out the bread-knife and emerge from the front door. I walk down the dull grey road. It is just one of those days today, an ordinary, boring day. Mondays are always the same, everybody hates them. I know you are close now. Still, the clouds overhead glare at me like great monsters, reaching out to get a piece of me. Everybody wants to get a piece of me. I am a God after all. I play with the knife in my trouser pocket, it makes me feel so solid, people look at me strangely as I walk down the street. They obviously think they have known me from somewhere before. Suddenly the World brightens up, everything around me glitters. A phenomenal rush runs through my body, I?ve seen you . There you are, ready to write another of your stories. You sit there all pretentious in your office but I know you will be out soon. I grab a paper from the stand and read another one of your successes. Front page this time. Soon your name will be on the front page for another reason. I stare a hole through the words you write. They are like poetry, like another language. Shakespearean or something. I would not know, English was not really my strong point. Well, you won?t be getting the front pages any more, soon they?ll realise I am the one they should have been writing about all along. I check my watch again. You never thought time could be such a precious thing but your eye will be forever upon it now. The demon from within me remains strong and will always seek justice. I imagine gauging through your precious make-up, scraping your skin, severing your organs and slowly grabbing the life away from you. Another smile emerges on my face and the sky becomes so light I cannot see, but it?s not the sky that produces the glow. It?s you. The dark clouds fade away to reveal your stunning figure advancing ahead of me. I touch your arm.

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