Streaks of blood
It was cold out today. the kind of cold that makes you want to stay firmly wrapped up indoors next to a radiater thats on full blast. And yet here I was phone in hand searching for small piece of significant information in the back of my garden shed, well i don't know if you'd even really call it a garden shed, it's too clean and too... organised I suppose depending on how you saw it. but no matter how clean this place was I still couldn't find a small slip of fucking paper!. I look up in utter exasperation flinging my hands to the back of my head and there is the fucker, pinned squarely in the middle of the ceiling. I rip it down and quickly scan it '' 9:45pm 22/7/11'' I crumple up the paper and stuff it back into my pocket allowing myself a contented sigh as I do it, so this would be just like old times. I'd been feeling that familiar jitteryness, the unspeakable need to do something to sate my.. flawed persona. And now the opportunity had arisen. The old familiar feeling of anticipation was coursing through me, making it almost impossible for me to maintain my breathing at a slower more regulated pace.
I march back inside the house taking great care to appear as nonchalant and expressionless as possible incase any of my neighbors had taken up their favorite past time of curtain twitching. My minds completely wired now and it's hard to think of doing even the most menial household task's let alone concentrate on them.
So instead I find myself standing in my bedroom staring longingly at my knife collection. there is a long one with a large handle, a smaller one beside it with a long sleek tip which makes it easier to handle, and then theirs my all time favorite, one that was made especially for my hand only.
It has a black wooden handle the butt of it is slightly rounded and roughened from its years of use and the blade itself seemed at some angles disproportionately large to the handle. But on closer inspection you can see that the lower part of the blade was in fact melted and molded to the upper part of the handle, giving it the illusion that blade and handle were in fact one. I tuck it safely into my waist band and untuck my shirt to disguise it. I briskly walk over to the right cupboard which is hidden slightly behind the plain white IKEA wardrobes and take out my 45 caliber gun.
I've had this slightly re-modelled over the years to suit my mood. As it stands it currently has a slight gold rim around the edge and the handle has been made ever so slightly slimmer in order for me to handle it better. I admire it with a cool admiration for a few seconds and then place it in my medical kit. Unlike most standard and quite generic medical kits, the only medical item that resides in my medical kit is a roll of bandages. The rest of it consists of a pair of rubber gloves 47 spare bullets, a pin, two sets of wrenches and a small vial of white licqour. I check everything's there and quickly give the wrenches a good flex to see if they are in good working condition and when im fully satisfied I close my kit and turn to head downstairs into the living room.
My living room is every suburban housewife's dream, well at least on the surface it is, a quick glance shows how my cream colored walls blend in quite nicely with my white sofa and my white carpet. The white oak coffee table is situated squarely in the middle of the room in between the white sofa and the 37 inch television. There is one thing that stands out though among all this white and cream and that's the dark brown bookcase situated evenly between the living room door and the wall opposite it, but you see that's how I intended it to be so it would be distracting to the eyes.
I walk over to the coffee table and bend down, whilst carefully inserting my right hand just behind and under the right corner, my fingers immediately locate a small handle that is no bigger than a adults pinky and I give it a gentle tug. Once the drawer is fully open I unsheathe from it a small plastic bundle of metallic wires and place them carefully in my pocket.
I'm breathing heavily now, the excitement of what will happen tonight is becoming too much for me, I need to sit down. I plant myself on the furthest corner of the sofa and go over my routine plan again ticking off everything that I have as I go along on a small piece of paper.
And then I realise. My plans involve her.