The Melancholic Euphoria of Victor Gein

Drug and death are the only reasons why Victor Gein lives.

Beside the dumpsters within the dark alley of New York City, Victor, reeking of pungent disgustful odor, sits on the cold cemented ground while sniffing his heroin in satisfaction fighting off the chilly December wind. The white crystal grains of cocain glisten under the moon – the only thing that provides him light against the darkness of the narrow street.

He rolls the foil and lit it, and again, inhales it to satisfy his empty stomach and eager addiction. Once he is done, he stands up, rubs his palms and blows them with his foggy breath brought by the winter breeze. He clutches his filthy and worn-out jacket, trying to defeat the cold as he walks up ahead of the busy streets of The Big Apple, as the world would call it.

It is already one in the morning but the people, who look at him with disgust, walk at the sole of their feet chasing yet another day that has passed, but for Victor, his day has yet started.

He strides his way street before street until he spots a perfect place where he could do his business safely – away from the cops, away from the people, away from the bustling streets.

Victor, humming the melody of Beatle’s Let It Be, lit a cigarette while he waits for what could provide him the best of his life. For a few minutes, he, all peace and quiet, stands beside the lamppost that could give him but a subtle radiant.

He keeps still, until he smells the most awaited part of his day.

A man in his black business suit, half-running and agitatedly, makes his way through the dark alley where Victor is. He is Adam, a young salesclerk in one of the establishments in the city.

Business time, Victor grins at the thought.

“Running late, kid?” He smiles while puffing out the last smoke of his now unlit cigarette. He clears his throat and spits out his phlegm on the ground before he looks at the young salesclerk again.

The man, shocked, answers him with hesitance in his voice. “No. N-not really,” Adam walks again, clutching his suitcase tightly.

Victor smiles at the man who nervously walked past him. He follows him until the young salesclerk turned his way in the darker side of the alley.

Adam walks faster when he felt someone is following him. He tilts his head and is horrified when he sees the homeless hobo behind him, grinning evilly, almost scaring the hell out of him. It is a horrendous look, he thought, as the man walks slowly approaching before him. He murmurs a prayer as he sensed danger and he starts running, fearing for his life.

Victor takes out his knife from the inside pocket of his sullied jacket as the man in front of him starts to get away. With the ecstasy brought by the coke and the eagerness for his desire, he begins to run after him, chase him. His potential victim runs fast but he is faster. He keeps the chase until there’s no way for his prey to get out.

And now, the young man could impossibly escape from what Victor has about to offer.

“P-p-please… don’t—don’t k-kill me,” Adam, with tears flowing on his cheeks, begs for mercy as he frightfully stares at the silver weapon in Victor’s aged and creased hand.

Victor looks at him before he crooks a smile. “Sit down young man,” he commands and points at the spot beside the metallic dumpster.

Adam, trembling with trepidation, obeys.

Victor squats before him and stares at him with his eyes almost lingering through Adam’s frightened soul. “Want to hear a story young man?”

The young salesclerk, staring at the cold icy weapon resting on his throat, nods in anxiety. Victor raises his long, thin knife with its sharp edge, looks at it closely and points it at Adam once again.

“You see, this world is full of crime and violence, and I thought it’s getting older. I mean, the world is sick, the people living in the world is sick, all is sick and everybody don’t even give a fuck about it!” Victor coughs, tilts his head before he spits out the green and disgusting thick liquid from his mouth. “But the funny thing is, I was one of those fucking people.” He shakes his head and bursts out a menacing laughter.

“You know what, I had a wife and we had a daughter,” he continues after he stops laughing, “and they were killed.”

Adam, in fear and anxiety, looks at the man in confusion and discomfort. His lips are trembling. He is as clueless as to how long he has been holding his breath in fear of this man insanely looking at him.

A deafening silence follows.

“They were killed. They were killed!” Victor with his shaky voice exclaims in full tears, still pointing the jagged knife blade in Adam’s throat. He sniffs, stares at the blade for what seemed to be eternity, and then gives Adam a sharp glare afterwards. “You want to know how were they murdered?”

Horrified at the question, Adam stays still.

“Ah! No… no…” Victor shakes his head whilst wearing a mad smile. “It’s better to show and not tell. Is that right young man?”

“N-no, please…” Adam cries in despair. “Don’t… don’t… Please! Mother!”

“Alright kid. So this is what happened,” Victor moves over to his victim’s ear and whispers. “He – the killer – slits their throats like this!”

The angry slash of his knife to Adam – who whimpers in pain – echoes in the night as the blood shrieks from the deep veins of his throat. Victor’s drug-induced mind goes ballistic as he paints a smile in his dark lips while the red thick syrup from Adam’s splatters on his face.  

Lovely blood, he thought to himself.

Adam shrills from the pain of laceration, blood gushes from his mouth as he hardly breathes of air.

There’s a long, daunting pause while Victor stares at the young man battering for his life. The whisper of the December wind plays simultaneously with the cracked voice of his prey shrieks soft and sound.

Victor searches out for the inside pocket of the young man’s suit, gets the leather wallet taking out dollar bills from it and finally puts the money inside his pocket. He’s become thousand bucks richer in just one snap of fingers. Another supply of coke for tomorrow, he says to himself.

He takes up his blade again, stabs Adam in the chest until the depth of his heart, killing him in an instant. Victor gives the lifeless body a long stare before he smiles in satisfaction. He knows the fun has not yet started.

He starts stabbing him in the stomach, hastily, until his torso was splattered all over in full red thick liquid of blood. He draws nearer to the body, unzips Adam’s pants, stabbing him in the genitals until it breaks in two or three. He moves over to the head, slicing the cheeks upright to his eyes thrusting his blade in the socket until the eyeballs gouge out, leaving the socket in the open.

“So kid, that was how my family has murdered.” He stands up in frenzy of unexplainable pleasure brought by the murder.

Adam’s lifeless body is slick and shiny with blood when Victor leaves him not giving a damn of what to do with the butchered victim.

He begins walking through the dark alley, wiping his face with a cloth more like of a rag, smiling upon the finished business that has given him another reason to live, if he has ever lived to begin with.

He goes back to his place beside the dumpsters, sits on the cold cemented ground in New York City and looks up to the sky as tears start to stream down his cheeks remembering the horrible scene that has happened.

The street hobo searches out the inside of his jacket, pulls out the leftover heroin he had for the day and intently looks at it as thoughts, vague, come running across his mind.

He just exists. He does not live. Drugs and murders are enough to keep his existence. But Victor doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all.