Murder

It was a pleasure to kill him. A pleasure? Maybe not so much pleasure but satisfaction? A weight off my chest? But I digress, I did enjoy it though. The feeling of his flesh being sliced from ear to ear, blood dripping down my hand. It was liberating.

That thought scared me a bit. I wasn't a killer but, maybe because it was him I killed?

I am currently running into the woods. Carting a burden that is his body on my back.

When I left the scene of the crime I left it perfect. There was no sign of a struggle simply because there was none. I gained his parents' trust, it was simply too easy to just waltz in the place as if I owned it. There was no blood splatter, no small drips here or there. I made sure everything was in order before I left.

I am looking for the spot I have at the ready. I considered cutting him up into pieces and feeding them to pigs. But where would I get the pigs? The next option was to throw him into the ocean. But I live far away. Going on a road trip right after the murder of the man youd had clear animosity with? Mighty suspicious.

If I wanted to bury him I'd have to dig a whole really deep. No shallow graves. I'd leave him upwards, with his head six feet under. I cant have animals digging up evidence after all. Also helicopters would look for rectangular patches of upturned dirt roughly the size of a person. That's why I'd have him standing upwards.

I could have gone to my local cemetery and put him in a newly opened grave. But alas, nobody has died recently. At least not anymore.

I chuckled at my own joke as I walked. I wasn't in a rush. I only needed to rush to get into the forest. The spot I had ready wasn't under a thicket or in a clearing, but right next to one.

As you know, for all crimes you need an alibi. Usually dumb ass criminals just make up somthing on the spot. But I need to be better than that. So the nice family who moved next to me, their dog had an "accident".

The story goes as such. I was driving home from work late at night. The dog ran conveniently out into the road and I hit it. Stricken by guilt I put him into my car and drove off. I called my friend And asked what to do. He said he'd give me the tools but he wouldn't help me dig the grave. I went to his place to pick up the tools and then left for the forest. I found a clearing deep in the woods, off the main trails by at least a mile or two. So then I buried the dog three feet underground. Then I actually put a large rock as a gravestone. Marking it with the dog's name "Lucky". A truly unlucky dog indeed.

I'm sorry buddy, but it's for the greater good.

That was the story, it gave me a reason why I was in the woods at such a late hour. Where I got the tools and when I left and came back.

As you can probably tell, this wasn't just an act of passion but a premeditated assination. I'd been planning this for a year now actually. It's been a year now, old friend.

Before this I developed a certain liking for hiking. For the past year I'd been frequenting this mountain in particular. Whenever I get the chance, I'd go hiking. It was a well known fact. As such I figured it's the first place the police would search. For either the dog or the person. That is if I'm the prime suspect for either of them.

All they would find looking for the person would be a dog possibly half eaten by animals. And for the dog they'd just hit their mark and leave. If asked I would simply tell them the aforementioned tale, regarding my moral woes of killing an innocent puppy. Which wasn't exactly lying per say, I did regret killing it. But it really was for the greater good.

Damn, I'm starting to sound like a cultist. Anyway since this was all in fact planned and accounted for, I pre dug the graves. At least the one for the human shaped piece of garbage I was carrying on my back. It needed to be a believable amount of time to dig and fill a whole the size of a dog. And I had no idea how long that would take.

You see, after I finished burying and cleaning up the scene I'd call my friend, tell him I was finished and ask if I could return the tools immediately. Conveniently my friend would be asleep, so I would leave him a message. Noting my location and trying to sound pained and remorseful.

I fuguerd the story would play out, that a dumb teenager made a mistake and wanted to cover it up. But got seen through.

Covering one evil with another was quite easy once you thought about it.

The problem was keeping the police from snooping around too long. No matter how much effort and planning I had contributed, I was no professional.

My brother was an avid hunter. As such he had some of that weird deer odor smell thing. I wasn't sure if it erased the odor or made you smell like deer piss. But either way I sprayed it on his body and in my car. Not on the dog though.

Once I was complaining to my brother when I was younger. I exclaimed "I hate that person." To which he responded "Hate is a strong word, you just dislike that person." I wholeheartedly believe that sentiment.

I didn't believe it before. But that was before he raped me. One year ago today actually. I think after the fact I came to understand the true meaning of hate. And given it my own definition.

The moment when the heart first turns to murder.