I for one was in favour of blood and gore. Wondering off from the main crowd, narcissism engulfed my thoughts as I selected my victim, the moonlight paving the way for a horrendous night never to be forgotten. I felt a surge of might and wickedness rushing within me whilst stalking my victim through the deserted side-alleys, hands at the ready below my side just in case of any sudden movements. Suspense. Not noticing a thing, I followed him, eager to release the burning desire deep-within me.
As I gently ventured towards him and into the unknown, all seemed to come alive: the delicate thump of the concrete floor beneath echoed in my ear at every passing step I took; the golden oak trees down by the side of the road swayed to and fro, excited for what was to come. As I glanced to the left; I had a glimpse of a scurrying squirrel dashing up a tree, appearing to hint of an inevitable danger. The time was coming. Looking the other way, curtains were being drawn to close the view of the street. Did these things know of what was to come? Or was it mere coincidence that everything fit into place to became one simple, jigsaw puzzle? At that precise moment, I felt a just of wind stroking my neck faintly, yet with purpose. The time had come.
Getting closer, I noticed the man seemed to be murmuring words of some sought. Jesus, Lord and protection were the words I caught. No time for prayers here, I thought. At one point, we had complete eye contact. A shiver ran down my spine: a shiver ran down his. I demanded his wallet: he refused. I demanded his wallet again: again he refused. I demanded his wallet for a final time and he accepted. As I waited to receive a hard night’s work, scratching around turning my head, the man quickly turned around and began to accelerate away. “Burn in hell,” the stranger shouted.
This deeply angered me and for some reason the beast within me had suddenly been released: I caught up to him and jumped on the man’s back, claws wrapped firmly round his neck, strangling him to suffocation. Next, the butcher’s knife tucked inside my trousers was released on my victim, slashing his face with all conviction. I was the King: he was the slave; I was the Lion: he was the lamb. A minute of might and pure evil ran throughout my veins that night as remorse took over my entire life. All for what? A wallet containing a measly $50 dollar note, and a miniature bible with the words Joseph McIntosh Junior written on the back cover, that I was to read in guilt for the rest of my life. It was a spurn of the moment thing, something I could never do again. I ran away for all those years only to come back to the scene of the crime to seek forgiveness from you, oh holy father. Why I did such a thing? God Almighty will probably never know himself...”
“Holy father you call me? Well holy father my ass!”
BANG!
A bullet bolted into my heart, through the confession box.
“I AM JOSPEH McINTOSH SENIOR. That man you killed was my only child,”
They were the only words I heard before I felt the piercing bullet sink through me, making me unconscious and leaving me to a coma which was to overwhelm me for 25 years, giving me enough time to write this story on my hospital deathbed. I was all alone, except that I had company with one thing: a miniature bible with the words Joseph McIntosh Junior written on the back cover, that I was to read in guilt before my demise.
