The Unspoken Kill

   Finally, she's mine.

I'd done the impossible, convinced her to walk with me tonight, away from her family who had grouped themselves ahead on the poorly lit road surrounded by rows of thick trees. For I'd watched her for months: her plump curvy body and ebony skin that shone like melted caramel had wrapped my attention, and I couldn't help but whisper sweet promises and dreams that made her slowly build walls around her family's hold.

Now she boldly told them off just to be alone with me. A young teenage rebellion. Beautiful.

The time is ripe for the kill.

   It feels better than my dreams, the moment too precious as I hurriedly drag her into the forest. Her warm touch tickling my palm makes me grip her tighter, quickening my pace until I reach a place I call home: a shabby woodcutter's hut with two exits wide open on the opposite side. Inside, a ceiling bulb dangling precariously from a loose wire illuminated a dilapidated workspace of old tools and shelves.

I pick her plump unconscious body up and drop her on a familiar wooden table placed in front of the workshop with a hard thug.

She stirs once, twice, and then stills.

My steps hurry around the table, my eyes never leaving her. The night is bright when I settle, facing the forest, and adjust my blue jeans and brown loose jacket.

This is the part I've dreamt of the most, why I wanted—no, needed her to myself. I practically moan when I bend and move my head closer to her chest, up her neck, and pause on a bruise from where I had struck her head, emitting her sweet smell to memory.

The moon dazzles when I straighten and look up, and then I look down at her and feel my heart shudder with pleasure that cascades down to my groin. She's the moon, my moon.

   I pick an axe down from the corner of the table. I had sharpened it, especially for her, for this moment, carefully preparing for the past month while keeping it hidden from others not to use. The wood handle is cool and smooth along my fingers as they trace downwards till I reach the cold metal. One of my fingers stains a thin line of red when it grazes its sharp edge. Perfect.

I feel possessed, like a predator ready to strike. I lift a hand above my head with the axe high for the moon's light to glint down on my prey. I taste the anticipation when my tongue licks my lips, I feel the heat radiating from her pulsing veins still rushing hot and wet, and my hearing peaks up as I prepare my axe to break through her soft flesh and her hard bones.

The cool wind stirs, rustling the leaves on the ground, and crickets chirp with just the right amount. The moment has never been more ripe, more perfect.

My other hand rises to hold the axe. Ready. 

My legs open wider, rooting my sneakers firmly on the ground. Ready.

My lung takes its fill and my eyes zone in on its target. Ready.

And with all my might, I force my hands down, fast.

   "Just cut the damn thing already!" a whiny voice calls from behind, causing him to miss her by an inch as the axe bites down hard on the table. The table buckles from his surprise staggering, causing her body to fall and roll off, but not far enough.

   "Shit!" He curses under shaky hands that quickly cover his mouth, his breathing rugged. His eyes dart nervously at the axe, stuck on the table, and anything around that could give him away. Again, he curses when his eyes land on her still form on the ground.

His head suddenly snaps to the side when his brother appears to his left in a black t-shirt and camo shorts that almost make him undetectable. He breathes slower.

His brother stares silently at the still form. However, when their eyes meet, there's a smug expression.

   "What, Kelly?!" he shouts as his hands drop, finally finding the confidence and boldness to confront his teenage elder brother for the intrusion, yet not loud enough to sound disrespectful. His hands clench and unclench beside him.

   "Seriously Joseph, what are you doing here again? Baba told you not to stay here when he's not around. Where did you get that... axe? And is that what I think is on the ground?"

Joseph watches Kelly's puzzlement as he looks back at the still form on the ground, but catches a glint of amusement.

Joseph, hesitant for a moment, walks away from the table, around his brother and reaches her, a lifeless log of wood. The moon shines on the thick tree trunk the size of his lap and as long as his leg. "You were beautiful," he mumbles softly and picks it up.

A third presence appears by the time Joseph walks back to the table. "Mami said I should call both of you. Food is ready." Their youngest teenage brother, chubby in green knickers and a Ben10 t-shirt, shouts with pride, definitely from completing his task.

   "Your brother is chopping wood again," Kelly says calmly, crossing his arms over his chest as if the reason alone is enough to explain their delay.

   "Again?!" the younger one gasps when a panting Joseph drops the log on the table with a hard thug.

   "One of these days Baba will discover this your... obsession, and send you to Uncle Mande."

The younger one laughs, "He will come back hungry and bony, and wish he listened to us."

Joseph gives their youngest a sharp look, "Look at your mouth—yeyeye! his tone mocking, "Is this what Mami sent you to do—"

All three brothers suddenly go still and quiet. The woodshop creeks under the windy night, yet their mother's voice in the distance is loud enough to carry her warnings that lateness will not be tolerated. The youngest darts out of the shop without a second glance while the eldest lingers, casting a suspicious look at the middle brother before finally stepping out. Joseph watches until both are completely out of sight, then turns his attention to the log, alone at last. He would have to dispose of it before his father opens the shop tomorrow, but for now, his hands glide down the moist bark one last time and walk away, closing the two doors.

He hears glasses clicking, plates shattering and people laughing when he reaches the entrance of the family house, a yellow bungalow with properly fixed lights placed around the ceilings and around the low fence, which faces a small busy street that exits to the main road.

   "Hi, Joey." A voice as soft as a bell chime calls out from behind him.

He could be in the deepest sleep and her voice would effortlessly wake him. Goosebumps shiver up his arms as he turns to see ebony skin like melted caramel with body plump and curvy, waving eagerly at him from behind the chest-level gate of the house. "Harmony," he breathes out her name and waves back.

She smiles affectionately before joining her family on their regular evening stroll, leaving him waving to himself.

   "Beautiful, so beautiful," he murmurs into the windy night. His hand drops, instinctively clutching the hidden axe tucked into the back of his trousers. "The moment is almost ripe."