The body had drifted in from the sea. An early morning jogging enthusiast almost threw up that mornings muesli and organic yoghurt upon finding it, wrapped in seaweed and as pale blue as the waters that carried it to shore. Plenty of fish in the sea and who knows how many people? But today it seems there is no room in the depths for this poor soul. Soon enough, the police arrive, go about their business, designating a crime scene and stoking the interest of curious locals out for their daily walk on the peaceful sands near their cosy beachside homes.
I watched from my window. For I knew that I had created all of this. A mural and painting come to life before my eyes. But it had not come easy. Months of planning and research on this project had led to this moment. Pure, concentrated thought honed through body and mind, action, misdirection, cunning and guile were behind this seemingly mysterious discovery. And for what you may ask? Well, for the simple, undiluted pleasure of killing. Taking another person’s life. An experience like no other and one which even now sends chills of pleasure through my being, just thinking of that moment when God grants you the divine power to end someone’s life. One feels special. Chosen.
Or maybe this is delusional thinking; assigning spiritual significance to such a brutal act. No, I killed this person because of my hatred. Were it only that simple. I also did it out of love. Yes. I know why I did it now. Out of love and hate. My mind is clear now. At that eureka moment, the heavens open up and scatter the crime scene attendees, forcing them to take shelter. Within moments, aside from the flapping barrier of police tape placed around the body’s location it was almost as if nothing bad had happened.