The Night I Killed Karen

A typical girl with legs covered with stockings.
A green and pink sling bag which hangs on her shoulder.
Hair that are unusually curly at the end (which happens to be straight before)

It's Karen alright!
She may be a subject for mimicry, but for me - I have the faintest notion of seeing her even in a slightest special way.

I have nothing against girls with names like Karen til I met her.

No one should dare utter her name on my face or I will send him or her straight to Hades.

I've been seeing her lately: walking here and there, going to the lavatory, standing on the veranda. I can never miss her face in a day. And how can I miss the nerves snapping each time I have glimpsed of her. I don't intend to know her personally - I don't have to. Letting fate cross our paths once was enough. No more second chances, no replays.

I am no psychopath, neither emotionally disturbed. I don't usually keep grudges to people - but this one is different.
Some may understand.
Some may don't.
I don't need to explain anything to anyone.
I don't need to defend my side.
If my inner diva wants freedom, I let her control me.

Eyes are rolling, words are fluttering. And Poseidon may understand the intensity of resentment as if she was Odysseus.

Weeks ago, I walked towards him.
He was standing with her.
He was very much interested on her presence like a firefly scampering around the glowing lamp.
I ignored it.
I did not mind.
But my anger convulsed from within. Weeks passed, stories from him rang my ears.
What do you expect?
Of course it is about her! It is about a day with her for a piano lesson.
How interesting!
Why, I could slam her with that old, big piano with my bare hands!
How nice of me! Isn't that sweet?

More weeks passed and as I ended the line with him, the fury did not stop. The frowziness of the air swept me off my feet as she passes by.

And on that specific night, where I can no longer bear the anguish, I let death have her.

It was swift with no time to react.

She was standing all alone on the side of the street.
The world was divided between me and her alone.
My phantom approached her silently, stabbed her bloodless and choked her handless.
Oh how can I describe the triumph I felt as I watched her being shred to pieces.

And as the bus goes on its way, with my phantom left behind crushing her head, I smiled as I carried the thought, "If only looks could kill."