It reeks of piss and shit. That's how it smells inside this narrow, claustrophobic space I've been containing myself in for minutes that already feel like hours. Feeling fazed within the dark corners of my mind and the place, my legs tremble hard. The heat perching through my skin in the midst of dawn, even with the sun only yet to rise from the small window of this room. My clothing drenched in cold sweat as I heave heavy breaths in and out of my system. Eyes dilated wide, with anger and rage, reliving the events I can't ever let go of until the rest of this is done. I know, there isn't anything in my life I've ever wanted to accomplish more than this.
The foul smell is pervasive and sickening as it scatters across the room. It would've already made me gag, had I not gotten used to it. He used to take me in a junk like this, too. The scent I smelled too frequently before makes me remember more the yellow, jaundice-like water. How the piss tasted like, as it infused with my own blood when he had repeatedly kept plunging my head into the toilet bowl, hitting against the hard ceramic. The scent makes me remember the sound of his never ceasing laughter while he does the plunging. It makes me remember how I just wailed, and how it was nothing but futile. It makes me remember the shame of the idea of telling father about it, keeping in mind that I'll never be man enough if I did, so I didn't. It makes me remember how he tormented me every fucking day, how enjoyable he thought the sight of my wounded figure was, and how I didn't understand why it gave him such delight. It makes me remember bunking school, just to avoid the pain and anguish he had dealt me, never having the balls to fight back until he had already moved far across the state. The scent reassures me that I am certain of what I'm about to do.
These memories, I remember having them subside. I even was almost on the verge of forgetting, but it just suddenly came back, hearing about his coming back. The memory that came back wasn't as gouging as before, never provoking enough to seek vengeance. Until two weeks ago, seeing how he still really hasn't changed. It's revolting, how he's supposed to impart morality to others when really, he's a fucking hypocrite.
Hurriedly striding on his way to work, I had presumed, that's when I had seen him again. He was suited in a uniform similar to one of an educator, sporting a brown, leather shoe that pointed crookedly, looking filthy and disheveled. I knew it was him, as he hadn't looked any different from the last time we'd seen each other, a decade ago. It was dawn then; before the sun had set, and hours before my work duty, when I surreptitiously traced his steps from behind. Following him turn into a corner, through the wet market that was a horrible stench of meat carcass. Following him closer, and even closer, I tapped his shoulder twice, without fear. He turned, looking surprised, much as I faked mine. He started to say something, but it was barely audible over the whole noise of the place. When we proceeded past the market, I asked where he was going, and he told me he was on his way to school. Turns out he's really become a teacher now. I wrinkled my forehead, in disbelief, wonder if he's even serious. He asked how I've been doing, I replied that I was doing fine with my job. He laughed funny when he heard what my job was, said what became inaudible, then left. The mockery he had just painted on his face never changed, it was the same horrible sight I've seen too many times before. It didn't matter what he had just said, because his expression was painfully reminiscent enough.
Then it grew on me, haunting me day and night. Like a disease that had just infested, the meanness carnally feasted on my head. It occurred how much a piece of shit he was to even be occupying space. How every breath he takes just goes to fucking waste. Then I followed him the whole week.
Presently, I can't stop myself from moving around inside this cubicle that's just too goddamn tight. I cop a feel of the knife that swells from my back pocket, I get more secured as my hand senses the sharpened, curved blade that and begs for it to be let out.
Justice I shall serve.
Suddenly there's footsteps from outside, approaching quickly towards the junk.
The lights turn on, I cease to make any sound. There's a shadow on the floor of a man entering the cubicle beside mine. I bend over to see from the gap below the partition, and I see the same leather shoe that he wore from the time I saw him.
It's him.
The feeling of fear wraps around my head, along with excitement.
The cubicle door I slowly push open, creaking discomfortingly. I come out of the cubicle, only to see the other cubicle closed. There's the sound of drumming as his piss hits the water, then he lets out a long, easy sigh of relief. It's going to be his last, and I silently chuckle at the fact. I walk to the door that serves as the ingress of the junk, careful not to make any noise, then I close it. Next, I turn the lights off.
"Hey! Don't switch off the lights!" He shouts as he continues his urination.
My eyes quickly adjust to the darkness again, as I had been standing in the dark waiting for him, for almost an hour. I take my clothing off, then put it on the sink counter. I walk back to the front of his cubicle, my gaze filled with strong anticipation and agitation waiting for the door to swing open.
I'm fucking doing this.
The sound of urination stops, and I hear the sound of metal teeth zip against each other. Next, the sound of a fastening belt escapes the cubicle. Then there's only the sound of water drops dripping from the faucet against the sink. I wait for seconds that feel like minutes and hours. I stand inches away in front of the cubicle door, then it slowly creaks away open.
There isn't time to wait until the door is fully open, I run towards it furiously, remembering all the things he's ever done. The force I exert towards the wooden door sends him almost flying against the urinary toilet and tiled wall, knocking him still conscious but barely able to move. His face covered in blood, and the fear in his eyes apparent. I grab him by the collar he proudly and shamelessly represents. With my fist clenching tightly, I mercilessly send blows to his face, as I should've done a decade long ago. I don't speak a single word. I grab him by his bloodied hair, putting him in a bending position as I repeatedly plunge his face in and out of the ceramic urinal-- like how he's done it to me-- but now with excessive force. At the same time, I jolt with heavy force from my feet to his limbs. The swift rhythm of my feet makes his bones crack and collapse. I hear him quench his thirst from his own blood and piss, he's barely breathing already. It's only a matter of seconds before I could kill him if I didn't stop... so I stopped.
I stopped to get the knife from my back pocket.
"You think I can't do it?! Huh?!" I laugh and shout violently to his right ear, holding his head back roughly without any concern.
I clench my hand on the scales of the knife, and with immediate thrust I pierce its sharp end delicately with precision and grace through the back of his neck. The curvature of the blade stabs through his flesh like a fine knife on a tender steak. Blood gushes out of the hole that I had just perforated through, spraying throughout the whole goddamn cubicle, and flowing down the drain. The deed is finally done. I look down upon his carcass, with a smile placed from ear to ear, like I am witnessing a reverie. Retrieving the knife from his neck, even more blood gushes out. I walk out of the cubicle, wash hard the blood off my skin and the knife, they come as clean as before. The sun is already rising.
Shit, kids are about to arrive.
Hastily wearing my shirt back on, I manage through the window above the last cubicle. I run fast.
The sun has risen with violent heat earlier, I am in my abode. My phone rings, I answer it. I'm suddenly called to work.
This early?
Wearing my uniform as I enter my way to school, I see a signage posted on the front gate that says classes are cancelled. Yet, I continue inside. No guards seem to be present, just like earlier. The guards are all gathered near the restroom, preventing other teachers wearing horrified faces from entering the junk. I scramble my way past the guards, to the door with a yellow barricade tape. They don't prevent me from entering. I crouch to enter the room, it's reeked of blood, piss and shit now. Cops surround one cubicle. I step to see what's inside, only to see a corpse laying against the broken ceramic urinary toilet bowl, bathing in blood.
"What the hell happened here?" I ask my fellow police officer.
