blister
re desteve, oihostaziyn ñadru estos (7296)
Justin
Lo
He told me to meet him at the beach, as usual. There was this plain wooden bench where we would go every Sunday and kiss the hell out of each other. It had this surrealistic quality because only the old people ever went by that part of the beach, and they liked the mornings better. We had that place all to ourselves in the evenings. We used to laugh about how we could do it right there and no one would notice us. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that it’d be cooler to feel the petals fall on that bench than in some stupid room.
I
walked over there as usual, still wearing my school uniform. Everyone looked at me weird, probably
because none of the other girls would ever be caught wearing their uniform at
nine at night. But I sure as hell
didn’t want to go home, so I was just drifting down Main Street the whole
afternoon, checking out the new clothes and stuff.
Today
I decided I’d circle around and get to the bench the way he always did. His route came from the other side of town,
where he lived. I’d never tried this
before, so I thought it’d be cool to be in his shoes for a bit. Sure, it was a roundabout way of getting
there, but I didn’t have to meet him til ten.
And if we didn’t have to meet til ten, there was no way he’d be there
before ten. Trust me, I know him. We’ve been stuck together for like three
years now.
The
street was so damn slimy. I couldn’t
help but look around to make sure no one was going to try and mug me from
behind one of those rusty trash bins.
Towards the end of the alley, I suddenly saw a figure in front of
me. He was wearing a dark jacket and
dark pants so it was really hard to see him, but judging from his build he
seemed like an average guy. The six
foot type.
He
was walking and walking, almost trudging I guess. It looked like the rainwater that was left on the ground was
actually bubblegum cuz his feet didn’t really lift very much.
Suddenly,
he stopped. Naturally, I stopped,
too. I didn’t want him to notice
me. I wasn’t stupid – I knew what
happened in these sorts of alleys. But
I can take care of myself – I’ve won every fight I’ve been in, and they haven’t
been slap-n-scratch fights, either.
I
still couldn’t see the guy’s face, but I realized he was approaching another
dude who was waiting, leaning against that brick wall with a look of utter
idleness on his face. Looked like a
jerk to me. They seemed to talk civilly
enough for a few minutes, kinda buddy-buddy, and they ended with a pleasant
punch in the shoulder. Except then I
saw this flash of silver and they were really at it.
The
guy who was leaning against the wall jumped over an empty cardboard box and
kicked it towards the guy in the jacket.
He lunged forward with the knife and tried to slash at his distracted
opponent, but to no avail. The jacket
dude punched the box out of the way and threw the knife at the other man, who
wasn’t prepared to dodge. The knife
slowly lodged itself in the victim’s chest, sorta sliding in smoothly and
sensually.
No
matter how many fights I’d been in, I was still a schoolgirl and this was all a
bit shocking to me. I was gonna watch a
guy die. I probably would’ve called the
police, but something made me stay frozen for awhile longer.
The
man in the jacket approached the fallen one slowly. In the movies, the one on the ground always surprised the
overconfident aggressor. But the man in
the jacket wasn’t about to bask in his victory. He gave the man on the ground a harsh kick in the head. I could hear something break, but I wasn’t
about to go through and consider what it might’ve been.
By
now the blood was everywhere. The
murderer grunted and reclaimed his knife.
Then, he started dragging the body with one arm under each armpit. I realized that I was hiding behind the
nearest dumpster, and I was quite frankly terrified. Should I run? Should I
stay here and hope he doesn’t notice?
Should I try to kill him?
It
was already too late, though. The
murderer was just inches from me. He
tossed the body into the dumpster and then turned towards me. I could see his face now. And he looked more scared than me.
“M-M-Melody?!”
he croaked, seemingly in recognition.
I
studied the face more closely and I realized that it was him. On his way to the bench as usual, I guess.
“Do
you like to do this every day before you meet me?” I asked. I felt strangely calm and cordial.
His
face became contorted, disfigured. At
least that was how it seemed to me. His
face was downright disgusting right then, and I didn’t want to look at it
anymore. But I kept on looking, kept on
staring – right into his eyes. Right
into his very soul, as they like to say.
And
then I started to cry.