Free Gifts.

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I needed someone to blame, I needed someone or something for my hatred to feed on. I couldn’t bare it in my body any more it was eating me up, a foreign body gaining strength as I got weaker. I had to let it out.

I knew she’d be alone you see, I’d been watching her. Every night she’d go home, kick off her shoes and throw a ready meal in the microwave. I watched as she glided across her apartment like a noble bird soaring the skies looking down on the weak and inadequate below. Who did she think she was? Did she think she was better than the rest of us?  How could she, when she went to bed every night with her hands drenched in the blood of a good man, an honest man who paid the price of love with his life.

That night I could see her sat in front of the television her long golden hair draped over the back of the chair flowing softly as she ran her hands through it. Getting in wasn’t hard, that stupid bitch’s door was always open, in more ways than one as I’m sure you know.  I was just going to scare her at first but then I saw she’d replaced the photo of where my brother’s picture hung, with a picture of herself in the nude, what a conceited whore. So I took my scarf from my neck and I strangled her. I held it tight, so valiantly, as she struggled. Kicking and screaming, sweat pouring from every orifice of her body I held it tighter and tighter, as her body began to shake, tighter and tighter, as she scratched and drew blood from my skin tighter and tighter until. Immobility, perfect silence and tranquillity, the balance of life had been restored.

Take that as my confession detective I am not afraid. You may think I have confused the lines between justice and revenge but I have not. Revenge is what I intended to acquire, justice was the free gift.