KILL ALL STRAIGHT MEN FOR FUN

I did something terrible last night. Not sure what exactly, but I know it is something terrible. I either talked an old man into killing himself or let a serial killer to walk away from a bar drunk after midnight. Or I dreamt the whole thing. But it feels so real. The memory of his face. The way he told me of what he wants to do next. The way I told him to just kill himself and get the whole drama over with. The look in his eyes when he said “Maybe you are right, yes” 

Or not.

starts with me FUCKING running down the stairs of an old apartment in Rue Jacob from an angry naked man with one of the tiniest dicks of the year.

...

The rest is a little blurry.

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First time I killed someone I was twenty-one. I had been working in a supermarket for three years; the only one in the shit-hole I grew up in. Ken, the fifty-something fat and hairy bastard who ran the place had been harressing me since I was a child going there for chocolates. Now that I think about it, I must have been dreaming of killing him since the day that hi-tech big sharp kitchen knife came to the store, or maybe even way before.

...

I have never beaten anyone up before, never stole a thing in my life, never lied to my mom. The right thing would be to turn myself in, but was I really going to go to jail because of a piece of shit like him? I know what you’re thinking ‘No, girl, no one gets away with murder. Turn yourself in, it’s self-defense.’ But things change when your freedom is at stake. And where I grew up, there are hardly ever any happy endings for women in life or court. I only had one choice and Selah knew it too. She wiped her tears, sobbed one last time and said, “We need to clean this mess”.

I don’t remember how we did it, how long it took, what we talked about while we did it, but we managed to clean the mess. We took two cigarettes from Ken’s desk and sat next to his dead body wrapped in the floral bed sheets on discount I had my eye on for a while.

“What now?”