Mortality

 Deeper he twisted the knife into the back of his victim, scrutinising him for the tell-tale sign of impending death, the moment when he ceased attempting to cry out due to energy decline. It was an almost instantaneous thing, comparable to a gasp, though in reverse. Instead of a sharp intake of breath, it was an abrupt stop to respiration. Of course, the subsequent rattle as the creature tried in vain to once more draw in oxygen was to be expected, what with the human race’s obsession with self-preservation. Slowly, the Killer released the pressure he was applying to the rag against his prey’s mouth as said prey stopped opposing the daunting yet inevitable silence which carried with it demise.

 His subject gave him a beseeching, pleading look which illustrated his hope of the possibility of rescue. The Killer ended this hope with relish, carving another deep cut into already mutilated flesh, embracing the warm spurt of blood which met him. He saw the desolation creeping into the patient’s eyes, and then, just as suddenly, all trace of emotion leave those eyes. Disappointment washed over the Killer, as, yet again, his victim yielded nothing. He hadn’t even been able to accept death as he resided mere inches from its grip. The idiocy of the man was difficult to comprehend for the Killer. Surely he couldn’t have expected another outcome?

 Unceremoniously rolling the corpse off his makeshift operating table, the Killer found himself mentally constructing methods of assuring departure in the minds of his future examinees. He came to the realisation that his desired achievement at the end of his study was to be construed as supernatural, which prompted him to consider the retrospectively mistaken act of burning “witches”, who were considered supernatural, at a stake. Certainly this deed, or a variation of, would clarify his intentions immediately. His initial disappointment fading to be replaced by excitement, the Killer resolved to carry out this plan of action at the next opportunity.

                                                                         1.

 Had he known he would be shot today, Jonathan Smith would not have worn his best suit. However, convention dictated that one dress sharply for legal proceedings, especially when one hopes to escape with only a reprimand and no physical punishment. In Jonathan’s mind, the man he had allegedly “assaulted” had withdrawn from the fray with a very minor admonishment, considering Jonathan’s known temper, level of inebriation at the time and the provocation which had been hurled at him. Apparently, you could no longer defend yourself any more without the law stepping in. The arrest had been enough of a hindrance, what with having to wait in the filthy, dingy holding cell and then pay bail, and now having to show up in court so soon after the trauma of the whole process. It was an outrage, and Jonathan was fully prepared to give the judge an earful: that is, until the arraignment.

 He was told of the charges and his rights, and asked for his plea. He knew, of course, to plead not guilty, so as to receive a trial, thereby forcing the prosecution to prove its case beyond all reasonable doubt. He definitely wasn’t going to accept a fine, or worse, jail time, without a fight (ironically the reason he was here in the first place). “Not guilty, Your Honour,” he said, placing sardonic emphasis on the last two words to exemplify his contempt at this formality, “and I shouldn’t even be”- he was cut short with a splayed hand and a coldly indifferent look from the judge. He was instructed to calm himself, which he felt was slightly unwarranted, and it was several minutes before he was permitted to speak to the judge again. Jonathan indicated that he was in no financial position to afford a lawyer. He filled out an affidavit and presented it to the judge, then signed an agreement from the in-court clerk about liability for fees should his monetary situation change positively (this was almost laughable to Jonathan).

 Jonathan was presumed innocent thus far and given the date of his next hearing. He was glad to leave the courthouse, but he could only bask in his relief for a brief moment before he turned into an alley and an explosive agony assaulted his right kneecap, his senses becoming overwhelmed with pain. His vision steadily blackened, his hearing became less and less effective, and he felt nothing separate to the injured area as he collapsed on the pavement, screaming soundlessly, consciousness relinquishing his grip on him slowly, then evading him entirely. His last glimpse of the waking world was a beaten-up old trainer, spattered with blood and leisurely approaching him.