8:16 p.m.
Obsessively, I check the watch I bought at Wal-Mart three days ago. I dimly notice the ticking second hand is in time with the dripping faucet of the cracked, white sink. Stripes of bright red have begun to run over the sides. I shut off the cold tap, cringing as it let out a muted squealing noise. Next to it is the stained toilet. Inside, a dead baby.
Yeah, I killed it. If you'd like to know, the mother is rotting in the tub across the room. Her shrunken abdomen is bruised and her blank eyes stare at me through ten-dollar bleached hair. She really doesn't look that much different in death than in life. I laugh to myself at her look of victimization, even though at this time she's only a flesh doll.
She was perfect with her Barbie jet-set, fabulous life. I never saw her work, she seemed to prefer the life of Mrs. Brady, with her wonderful business-worker husband and two-door garage. They were probably destined to have the 2.5 kids. Whatever the hell that .5 is. Maybe it's the kid in the john. She would see him off to work every day and do whatever wifey-things she did. I would see her from time to time and she would even speak to me. That's when I found out she was the most intellectually bankrupt bitch I ever met. Cattle mentality, she giggled as she admitted she hadn't picked up a book since high school and left all the "heavy thinking" up to her husband. The vacant stare said the rest of that sad tale.
Every day I would see her, and her very being was like being impaled on glass rods; her voice was like barbed wire wrapped around my brain. This was her high school's best. This was supposed to be the future of the country. Dear fucking god I wanted to deep throat a shotgun and kiss this existence goodbye. Then she broke the news. She was carrying a podling. More vacant-looking bimbos who got it all to infect the world.
If god had an unhealthy obsession with me and sodomy, he was throwing out the lube.
Like the creature in her body, my hatred grew, nurtured on seeing this woman nearly every day. I faked a smile like she probably faked orgasms and pretended to tolerate her company. As the weeks went by, I hoped the kid would die before taking a breath in this world.
8:20 p.m.
Again, I check the cheap, blue watch. I would only have an hour left to finish. I looked at my hands, stained with her blood. Somehow, it managed to climb up into my light brown hair, turning the ends a dark red. I don't know why, but my hands had started to shake. A loud noise sounded from the kitchen. The metal baseball bat I used earlier had fallen to the floor from the counter. It had only taken three good hits then the rest blurred. The bath water had already been poured. With the gun, I made her sit on the toilet, whimpering in pain behind a hand, while the dead baby tore out of her. She lay in the tub after, bleeding into the water until she lay still.
Absently, I felt the bulge in my body with my left hand. Oh, I knew her husband. I knew he didn't know the word "no" well enough.
I knelt in front of the dead woman, gun in hand. Her lifeless eyes were the last thing I saw before I pulled the trigger. |
Submission Name: Red & White
