Breezing through it

Chapter 3 - Strange bloke

He walks right through me, as if I were nothingness. Perhaps I  am nothingness. I have no form, but I am. 

I think, so I must be. 

I am oddly conscious. I can witness the scene in front of me. I see a wooden wall. The wood is worn out, and it would hurt to rest against it because of the splinters sticking out of it. I lack olfactory receptors but I can smell the stench of rotten flesh. It reminds me of a strange place with sewers and dead animals, and I feel like gagging. But I can't gag. I feel disgust. I hear the rain pounding on the tin roof as if the sky were falling apart. I hear the footsteps of the man as he walks on soggy wood, soaked in the blood of the woman on the floor. 

The man is wearing a black leather jacket and kneels beside the girl. His eyes are distant and his face is as calm as a sedated dog. As he kneels towards the girl, he flashes a bit of his lower back, revealing a fleshy scar near his tailbone. There's a matted brown layer over his skin, akin to the stain on the floor. It must be blood. 

He reaches his large hand towards her neck and pushes a tuft of brown hair aside. Some of it is stuck to her neck because of all the blood. He presses and I feel him stop his breath to measure her heartbeat. He closes his eyes to focus, shifting his index and middle fingers across her collarbone. 

"She's dead", he says calmly. He might as well be talking about the weather. 

"Yeah", another voice says from behind me. I see another man, bulkier and taller, standing near the door. He looks down to the woman and smiles, "she's a pretty little thing, isn't she? She's all yours to have."

The black jacket guy looks down and doesn't speak for a bit. The rain slows down a little. Then he walks to the door and says, "Am I qualified?"

Bulky dude laughs. "Yeah man", reaching out his tattooed hand, "welcome to the club, Kang."

Kang takes the hand, but his remains plain. "I'm honoured".

With that the bulky guy leaves. 

Kang is quiet after that. The clouds dance across the sky, perhaps hours go by. He remains stoic, seated on the floor with his eyes fixated on the girl's neck. I dare say, I'm even bored. I don't know why I'm here, and I don't know how to get out. The girl's face reminds me of something, but I can't put my finger on it. It's this strange sea of emotions but with no reason. Like that feeling when you listen to a song and it makes you sad, but you have no reason to feel that way. Like when you're upset over the death of a fictional character. I question my knowledge of these emotions, but I can't escape them. 

He stays so still, I'd think he was dead if it weren't for the subtle rise and fall of his chest. His cheeks glisten with the light from the window and give him a weird highlight. There's freckles on his nose and a slight mark just next to his eyes, like a scar from wearing heavy glasses too often. I can't tell what's going on in his mind. He could be glad, or guilty. I don't know if he's conscious, even. He seems like a doll, looking down at the girl. 

So much time goes by that the girl's flesh begins to rot. The smell is so overwhelming I want to leave, but I don't know how to. It's like I'm locked to this place. 

Finally, he moves. It's a peculiar gesture. He walks up to the girl and pats her hair. From his pocket, he produces a rubber band and he ties her hair. His hands are firm as he removes the washcloth from her mouth and wipes her cheek with it. The dry blood rolls off her cheeks like eraser dust. He flattens the creases in her shirt and drags her limp body to the corner of the room and makes her sit straight against the wall. 

Then he squeezes her shoulders and begins to cry.