A Murderer’s Monologue…

The artist is ~hidlight at DeviantArt

I love the sweet smell of smoke as it lingers near my nose preventing any other smell from entering my body. It’s feathery touch on my skin is so exhilarating, almost orgasmic, like hands of an invisible goddess that caress my body and my soul. The whimsical patterns it forms in the air blind me. The rest of the world becomes invisible. I can’t see the smile on people’s faces, I can’t see their grotesque expressions as they scream and shout, begging me not to kill them. I guess it’s this goddamn smoke that helps me kill people with such ease.

Yes. I kill. I kill for a living. As a child I never thought I would grow up to become a murderer. But here I am, the henchman of the biggest don in the city.

Today I stand at the very same place where my family was murdered fifteen years back. It seems only yesterday when a mob of religious fanatics, incensed by a provocative comment that a religious leader had made, ran up these staircase and slaughtered my family like butchers. I was right there, hiding under the cot and watching a scene that settled in my mind as indelible memories.

Having satisfied their thirst for blood those bastards went away, leaving behind a room in which my loved ones rested with their eyes wide open and their throats cut. The floor was damp with their blood and my tears. The eerie silence that hung in the air after the bedlam made me sick. I stood there nonplussed.

I had survived, but only to skid on the blood of my kin and fall into the world of crime from which there was no coming back.

At the moment I am waiting for my accomplice. He’ll hand me a gun with a bullet that has an unlucky soul’s name written on it. And after that… one more life will be taken.

Shared at Three Word Wednesday and Thursday Tales