Listen, Stein

There are eight methods I’ve used to kill people. You don’t want to hear about them. You’d rather hear about bunnies and wizards and life changing stories and all that kind of crap. This isn’t a life changing story; it’s a life ruining one. So grab your sissy backpack and hit the road, Jack. You don’t want to read one more word.

You still here? Still prying into my private life with satanic eyes, eh? Mincing about in other people’s business and sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong? I know your type; I know you too well. I kill idiots like you.

No. No, I don’t Doctor Stein. Not any more. We talked about this, I know. You don’t need to tell me all over again - don’t harp on about it or I’ll flip and you don’t want to see me flip - yes, I am threatening you. No… no, I’m not Doctor. Don’t do that. Don’t call them over. I’m begging you. Look… I don’t wanna say this - I never say this, and by never I mean not ever in the last five months trapped in this hellhole… institution - but I’m sorry. Sorry, okay? Apology. So don’t call them over. Good? Good.

So yeah, I was saying…? Something about the morons I murdered? Well, first of all it wasn’t murder. People don’t pay you to murder people - they pay you to assassinate people. God, I hate it when people get all slacky and don’t use their tongue properly. Doc Stein does that a lot. If I was due in court for petition sooner I might flip the case and sue him. The judge would bang his gavel and the jury would cheer and I’d be in floods of tears, winning and yelling and free. Free. Free. People should speak good English. It’s blood natural.

Anyway, I suppose you still wanna know about all this hellhole stuff that’s been going on. That’s cool with me, to a degree. Acute angle. Executed.

Execution. Like, in Tudor times. Henry VIII. Chop chop, bye-bye bed warmers. Only in this case it wasn’t some swanky dude in a mask like batman’s with a glinty axe. This time it was me, a row of stubbled prisoners backed against a wall and a rifle. A really really sexy rifle.

It was sleek and dark, with blackish wood and smooth edges. If it was a girl I’d marry her. She’d be tall and sleek with ebony skin and dark dark hair the colour of melted chocolate. She’d know everything about me, and I’d understand her need to kill and the vicious streak dashing through her veins. We’d kill together, each other, red blood happy. Madly in love.

Only it wasn’t a girl and when my commander called those strange odd sadistic words, “Fire!” I blew up any chance of her being so. I thought I lost her respect like I lost myself that evening. Curled up in a ball and sobbing like a lunatic. All I did was shoot a couple of jerks who’d been stupid enough to get caught nicking rations. Revolution meant a new world, new attitude, new ideas. Old rations.

I told myself after I’d have been shot if I wasn’t compliant and all that, but I knew it wasn’t true. Not in the foggy slightest. The revolutionary crew's morale was draining like the dwindling water supply. Everyone was freaky thirsty. People started nicking and that, really sneaky, which I - and everyone else - was pretty much okay with. I don’t get it. Well, I don’t get a lot of things but one thing I can’t wrap my head around is the question: if everyone’s okay with something, why is it illegal? Like not wearing seatbelts and watching films underage and drinking in your teens and all that crap. Democracy is a dictatorship run by the charismatic.

The really draining thing was I happened to be the guard posted to the reservoir on the night of the big splash. This guy came ripping out of the foliage like a rabid rabbit, running real random. Pitter-patter is how your feet are meant to go when you’re nicking water, I well know that, but his went fud-fud-fud like a drunk tractor or something. I cocked my gun - still the beautiful girl from before, we’d made up - and turned to face the intruder. He was some dude about forty-five with round glasses and a maniac beard, the sort you see in pictures of the Amish from old times and that. Then my gun fell out from my hand, all clammy, and went flop-whee-splish into the water and I cursed and tried to stop everything but it didn’t really work and the next thing I know the dude’s got a capful of water in a bottle and I’m pushing him and he’s falling and drowning and I'm screaming and he's drowning and drowning.

The bubbles made a pretty pattern as they hit the surface, like a shark’s whisper or something, all splayed out like disjointed boils. Then the pattern and the gasping groping gut-wrenching groans stopped and all was milky silent.

Drowning, Doctor Stein. Yeah. D-R-O-W… Oh, you know how to spell it? Then why did you act so odd? Will you quit interrupting me anyway, I’m trying to speak. To them. Yeah there is, see for yourself, they’re over there. Not in my mind. Not in my mind. Not in my head, Stein. Shut up and listen or I’ll shoot you! Shoot? Yeah, shoot. Like I did next after all that crap.

It was the man’s brother this time, the forty-something one. He was all torn up and frigid and had this glazy look over his vulture blue eyes, all secretive like. He was gonna nick the water too. I knew it. So I shot him with my beautiful wife, all sleek and mahogany. Black red oozing dripping spitting spluttering mahogany. The command wasn’t happy about it but I was. I stopped a crime. Not caused one, Stein. Stopped. Prevention. It’s what the police are meant to do; that I do when they do bugger all. Shut up, Stein. You can call them if you want. The police, not the crazy mad group you have lined up like toy soldiers behind that door, ready to pin me down again.

Drowning is when you have breath taken from you, I know Stein. It’s like suffocation. My next method - number five on my list. How would I feel if I had my breath taken from me? Like I give a damn. That ain’t happening, and if you fancy giving it a shot I welcome you. Try to deal with my fist. Pillowed fist, cushioned and suffocative.

So this major, right, he was leading some poncy investigation into me after I shot that traitor. He had devils eyes, satan blue. You have blue eyes, don’t you Doc? That’s a bad colour to have. Mine are brown. Lean in, see. I said lean in! Yeah, you can see now. Earthy brown, like mud. Blood and mud, all churned up together like butter. War, that is. War brown.

So yeah, I muffled him. He was a prick anyway. His wife scarcely cried at the funeral. Barley tears - wheat dry and drunk. Bet he beat her; did her a favour. So yeah, then control started to cripple. Things blew up around me. The red society that had revolved around order and understanding fled to apocalypse and the next thing I knew the world was broken and I stood in the middle of it all, not even a scrap of tape to stick it back together with. My stomach kept on stabbing and making horrible noises. My vision blurred, my chest heaved, I couldn’t keep my eyes propped open proper. It messed with my head, Stein. It scrambled stuff. I didn’t know who was in control anymore. I couldn’t see the boss.

So my sexy mahogany wife and I, we broke into the store and nicked a bite to eat. Just a bite, mind you. To roll my brain into consciousness. I didn’t mean to ostracize anyone; live, that’s all. Live so I could be of service. But after I ate starvation rang and I heard where the food I gorged was meant to go. The next month they all died. So I killed ‘em, like that, without a whisper from my wife. She was dead to me.

The hunger flared up once more - fireworks in the night sky, black as pitch and twice as flammable. The next thing I knew there was nothing for me to eat, nothing. But my ex-wife, she skulked around, trapped under my bed by layers of cloth and fibre and samurai secrets. I let her use me once more, and before I knew why or what or when I was tucking into fresh meat - Jeff, his name was. Cannibalism is a hecka nasty way to go, but it needed to be done, Doc. To preserve order. You should know about that. Order is everything; without it the world would be in tatters. The poor starve and the rich feast, savvy? And as Jeff’s corpse starved for life I feasted on his flesh. Despite what they say, it tasted nothing like chicken.

Then you and your weird people came, Doc. Armed and crazy. And I froze, rabbit in crossfire and spotlight and burn burn burn as the guns went tat-trit-trin and booms of screams screeched around me, tyre plastic. And I couldn’t save them, none of my order Doc. I couldn’t save them. After all that madman horrorshow stuff that happened I found myself all dead and crackly inside like those burnt bits on the edges of hunks of meat. Jeff meat.

That’s how I killed eight people, Doctor Stein. Execution, poisoning, shooting, drowning, suffocation, stealing, cannibalism, and my messed up cowardice.

I told you all that stuff like you asked, and I even told these people here - the ones you can’t see. I told the world, so it has to tell me something in return. A deal’s a deal. Playground rules, fair trade and all that idyllic crap.

Listen, Stein. I wanna - no, I need to know. I killed them like that, but how are you gonna kill me?