“The Killer’s Soul”
by D. M. Larson
The roads were my river, like Huck Finn in a way. The river of life. As long as I kept on trucking and didn’t think about stopping, people didn’t die. As long as I couldn’t find her...
Shelly… she’s the one who started it all. The object of my affection. The object of my obsession.
Boys have fantasies. I first saw her in some local burger joint. She hung out there, sipping on sodas, maybe getting some fries. She and her flock, clucking away, giggling at guys. They giggled at me the most.
I couldn’t help staring. I couldn’t help it. I made them laugh and taunt. Made them call me names. Made her disgusted. But I had to look. I had to look at her.
One of them called to me, “Take a picture. It lasts longer.”
The next day I did just that. I brought in a camera, one of them real tiny spy ones, almost fit in my palm. I hid behind the fake flora and clicked away. When her band of bruhas realized what I was doing, they banded together to bash me. The three witches, casting their spells, bent on killing me. I could see the murder in their eyes. The murder… I took one last snapshot and ran.
I printed all those pictures and I pasted her on my walls. Studied her.
When I wasn’t looking at her, my eyes were drawn to the last picture, the three witches. Their eyes on fire… their eyes bent on killing.
We were reading Macbeth in school. Well, they were reading Macbeth. I watched the movie version.
Their murderous eyes tempting me. Tempting me… until I did it.
I did it. Graduation night. She was drunk. Her friends dancing around her. A party in the woods.
“I have to pee,” she giggled. The sweetest giggle. I waited for her… snap, snap went the twigs under her little feet. Snap!
Then it was over. Nothing like I dreamed of. Her limp cold body… the unseeing eyes. Suddenly she was nothing. An empty shell.
Her spirit escaped me.
I had to try again. I had to have another chance. I had to capture her spirit and make it mine.
So I truck. Truck until I see her. See her wandering the streets, in a bar, at a café. Her emerald eyes, her raven hair.
Six times now I’ve tried, tried to make her love me, tried to make it like my dream, but… snap! She won’t give herself to me. I must… snap! Do it my way. The quick way… snap. Why does she struggle… snap. Why won’t she love me like I love her…
...snap.
END OF MONOLOGUE
