How to Kill a Murderer

Playing the Fool

Lizzy chewed on the tips of his fingers, due to the absence of nails, and sat absent-mindedly at the bus stop. He was covered almost head to toe in bandages, dressed in dark jeans and a hoodie. The tension in his muscles hurt, but was acting as relaxed and unphased as he could.

The air was crisp and the sky was grey, the sidewalks were lined in plastic bags and homeless beggars. People walked by and kicked both aside like they were nothing. It was nothing out of the ordinary for the citizens of New York. The world was polluted as usual.

A gentle whirr grew louder over the wails of sirens and honks of passing cars narrowly missing each other. A rattling bus with rusted edges came to a screeching halt in front of him. It was smeared in mud and bugs, almost distracting from the ads decorating the sides. They hailed from anywhere in between Maine and North Carolina. Ads like the most popular shampoo brands, a fast food chain, even an old, rusted 1964 Impala being sold farther south. The bus company was local, though. They must be getting desperate for money if they were reaching that far.

The doors swung open and the old worn down bus driver beckoned him on curtly. A cloud of smoke and vapor surrounded him as hacking coughs rang out from inside. He reached into his pocket and fiddled around, but he had forgotten his mask at home.

He climbed onto the bus and grimaced as it immediately went quiet. Concerned stares crossed over his mutilated face. He kept his head up and his eyes facing forward, any slight guilty movement might send people into a panicked frenzy.

The night he returned to his apartment, he flipped on the news as he took care of his injuries. As he stitched his stomach, feeling nothing from the pure adrenaline, the plastic-faced new caster chirped about the recent string of car and bus jackings where civilians were assaulted by groups of men, and some even killed.

Lizzy's eyes darted over to a young couple sitting together and watched as the boy positioned his back towards him, creating a defensive stance in front of his girlfriend. He almost let a chuckle slip. Like that could stop Lizzy if he wanted to hurt them.

He understood the sudden panic, though. His face covered in a blue hood, he limped through the crowd like a corpse, and he probably had the stench of blood embedded into his skin.

He continued walking and found a quiet, empty seat in the back, and sat down. The people in front of him and next to him visibly shifted in their discomfort. It took a moment, but once the bus was back at a smooth pace, people began to resume talking.

The morning was slow as molasses. The sun rose and stretched fiery fury through the sky, yet was invisible past the puffs of darkened smoke against the grey clouds.

The bus soon was full of chattering students and workers heading towards their daily obedience. His heart felt as though it should be racing as he scanned around. What would these people think... what would they do if they knew what he had done? How he had taken a life with his own hands? Yet a better question he'd been asking himself was, why did he care?

Even as the bus continued to fill to its max, no one sat next to him. He started to wonder if he had blood on his skin still, but chuckled his worries away. After all, with every careful step he took there couldn't be any way he missed a spot of blood.

The bus made another stop outside a neighbor hood of old, deteriorating apartments. Sitting at the bus stop, another small group of students were happily spewing nonsense, and a few older gentlemen waited in silence. Their weary eyes stared on in hopeless despair, their vast knowledge of the student's futures was almost chilling.

They began to pile onto the bus one by one, starting youthfully as the students clamored on, then growing slow as the elders limped up the stairs. As they began to clear, Lizzy smirked. Behind them all, cowered over his phone with eyes as sad as an abandoned puppy, was Alberto.

He watched patiently as Alberto tripped up the stairs with a squeal. He struggled to keep himself upright, probably due to the fact his eyes were glued to the floor instead of what's in front of him.