BLUE PROSES

A CONVERSATION WITH THE CULPRIT

                                                                 A Conversation with The Culprit

"Plotting someone's death is a game for you?" I asked while gazing at all the stars. I looked at him and I smirked, I have not seen a murderer this close. "The game was indeed afoot" he replied while pointing the biggest star in the sky he has seen. That moment sounds exactly like a heartbeat. "Why did you kill them?" I asked vaguely, I'm using my arms as my warm pillows and I'm laying here in the cold white sand five meters away from the shore. It was a long momentary pause before he replied, "do you mean, why did we kill them?".I never really thought I was a part of his crime~ our crime. Perhaps we are synonymously motivated with just one exact reason and it has made us the devil of our own heavens. "How many more versions of you will you torture to death?" I replied, and I can feel that the ocean is not happy for all these crimes. He looked at me with a blank-slated face. I couldn't decipher his emotions. His hair was waving backwards due to the breeze we're having in the area, I guess same hair dance happens in mine. "We kill them and then we pull a new version of them, do you pity all the versions that you killed?Your shy-shaking self? Your unconfident version? Your gullible instincts? Your naive-" "Can you please not remind me of them?" I asked as I cut him in words.He never respond to that. It was a categorical question anyway, I mean, also rhetorical. He was enthralled as if he has woken up from his slumber. All those murdered renditions of me, that was years ago but my recollection of it was still vivid. "For years and years I chased their cheers. It's a great future you can't forget your past". I'm raining. I don't know. These clouds went heavy and I don't know why, but, one thing's for sure. They were cold dead. But I can still hear them in my head, reminding me that they're traumas and I can never get rid of them. They're the music I hear every night. And I don't want to listen to it. But, the more I negate the fact that I hear them, the louder it gets. And it only means one thing, I looked at him and his eyes became aggressive. I smiled bitterly for I can foreshadow the next event. "I'm sorry, I have to shoot you...............".He started holding the device and I closed my eyes, and before I hear the sound of the bullet of death, I will never forget what he called me, and that was the last word I hear alive. "Selfish". That exact same moment, many versions of me were not filtered yet, and another one will sit here in my spot, another one will hear the noise inside of him, and I will now become a part of that noise. And him, the culprit, he's doing his job.