King Of Pain
There's a dead body on the floor. Dead men don't talk. Nor do dead women. Someone once said: "What you see in CSI is entirely do-able. Although how well is questionable." And the ugly truth is not every crime can be solved. Sometimes a case just goes cold and then gets lost in the files. People get killed everyday everywhere. There are only so many cops. And sometimes, the cops turn bad. They know how to get rid of evidence. They know how to silence the witness. Their salary is just not enough. It's more fun working for the mob: live a double life; never stop telling lies. The excitement. the money. The thrill. And sometimes even the most righteous man makes foolish mistakes. Maybe it's because of the sudden anger. Maybe it's because of the hidden greed. Maybe it's because of the momentary poor judgement. Or maybe he's just too unhappy with his boring life and he hates being so pathetic and so lonely. He wants revenge. He needs revenge. He wants to make his voice heard. He doesn't want to be a nameless face in the crowd any more. He's tired of being good. He's tired of playing nice. From now on, he will no longer follow the goddamn rules. Being a decent man didn't do him any good. Instead it has cost him his happiness.
He's not afraid of darkness. He's not afraid of Karma. He doesn't believe in Heaven and Hell. He has chosen to become the beast he always wanted to be. He has chosen to dance to his own drum. He won't give a fuck about anyone else. He's just himself. A forty-something single man with dense curly chest hair and a receding hairline. Thank god he doesn't have a beer and pizza belly. He has fallen madly in love with the sweet Chinese pickled garlic he found on a trip to Chinatown. He hasn't ordered meatball sub for years. He no longer has a dog. And he refuses to find a replacement. What he lost can't be replaced. Life has left him nothing to win and nothing to lose. Sometimes he feels he's but a lifeless puppet. Somewhere along the road he has lost his heart and soul.
And he hates the deafening loneliness. He hates the way it smirks in his face. He hates the way it keeps taunting him. Like he's an idiot. Like he's a fool. Like he's a fucking clown. Like he deserves what he gets. Like he doesn't deserve a moment of his own under the bright spotlight. Like he's not meant to be happy. He doesn't know why he's so angry. Of course he has the right to be angry. He feels cheated. He has been played. Now he wants it all back. His life, his youth, his innocence, his chance to happiness and success, and the woman he wants. And yes, he wants that child, too. That beautiful caramel skin brown-eyed child.
Should he cherish them? Should he treasure them? Or should he play and toy with them? Will they laugh? Will they cry? Will they scream in terror and fear? Will he be happy then? Will he be satisfied? Will he feel contented? Will he finally, finally, know the taste of peace? Right now his mind is like a raging tempest. Lust. Desire. Longing. Wistfulness. Glee. Anticipation. Will his rival crumble to his knees and weep? Will he die of agony? Will his cold emotionless heart crack, shatter, and break into zillions and zillions of tiny bits and pieces?
He lets out a rough bark of laughter. So this is what revenge tastes like. He doesn't feel guilty at all. He has just killed someone. He has stared into those eyes till them turned lifeless and dull. He has enjoyed the soundless scream. He has become a monster. A killing machine. A butcher. A murderer. There was no witness to his crime. He knows he won't be caught. His Moment has come. He's going to stun the world. He will take back what's rightfully his. He will undo the wrong and make things right. And for the first time in many many years, he feels happy.
Now he just has to deal with the body. Piece of cake. A small cupcake. Simple. Easy. Tasty. Yum.