So yeah, the last man I murdered was a singer/songwriter in Scotland who unceremoniously happened to take a header off the jaggedly rough cliffs of Arthur's Seat, a monumental hilltop in the City of Edinburgh. Poor man, ever so clumsy, took a peek over the side to see exactly how high he was when suddenly he wasn't as high as he first thought. Nope, he thudded rather silently in terms of anyone hearing him go over. I was kind enough in my little fantasy of fantasies, (the place where I create my mayhem) and I did spare his crazy little German Cuntz guitar; why should she fall victim to my wearisome rampage? No, the guitar is innocent! She was spared. As her owner, keeper, and player-friend tumbled half prostate and half standing over the tips of the rocky crag she was allowed to lay behind and quietly wait to be found. In deed, and indeed, it was she who bespoke (if you will) that her man had been slain; albeit she spoke in silence, her very presence at the edge of the cliff was soon questioned by a few passersby until one curious sort decided to peer over the side to see what, if anything or anyone, could be found. He was found crumpled, bloodied, and broken. He was dead. God rest his fictional soul.
When I do decide to murder it's usually for good cause. I think of a need, I create one if I can't think of one, and start the process of seeking out and searching for the perfect place to do the deed. As mentioned at least a dozen times in the past, it's not really the murder or the act of murder that intrigues me; but the successful disposal of the body. That's where true creativity comes into play. With my sorrowful sweet singer, I left him for the buzzards to find. No real cover-up, no effort to tidy things up for me. He had to go. His will be the downfall perhaps of my pseudo-martyr, the Poe-Esque madman who really doesn't see himself as being all that mad. Perhaps a loose screw now and again, but he's typically quite neat in his mannerisms and yet the singer may very well be his undoing in this, the series I am composing for the new Nick Posh novel. Nick (in case you don't know) has had a few murders in his past, but none of them were in cold blood really, more of an elimination process of those who needed to die. I say "needed", that could more or less be a guideline.
My mind would be in overdrive if I allowed it to be, but thankfully I have just enough Darrell Lea soft Australian Licorice candies to only go so far before I run out and have to take another trip to Tractor Supply to restore my stash. During the trip to the feed and tack store, I typically have to pay attention to the road so I am no longer apt to let my cognizance wander to the point of kidnapping, stalking, or simply walking up behind my prey to take their last breath on Earth. (You know, I really do hope I've made myself clear that I'm not really actually murdering people in real life, but that I tend to do so in my mind as I mull over the best times and places to get away with it if I were not a writer.) I am a writer, so the places, times, and settings for such murders need not only to be interesting, but they do need to be consistent with the surroundings of where it is that I choose to act. Can you imagine if I break the written axis and head off in the wrong direction? No, it simply won't do. I have to know where I am, what I'm doing, who is watching, what devices could be used to record the events and if I am alone. If I am able to do so, I make my mental move. Driving doesn't provide such an entry.
Today, while teaching 8th graders at the urban school I currently teach for, I pondered if the murder of a child would be received by any of my seasoned readers; even if the child was a product of evil wickedness and self-pride. I decided against it, but thought perhaps he or she could be blamed; thus allowing my mind to vent any and all hostility it may harbor for a said child without actually eliminating him or her. Look at me, I don't even want to say if the child I'm considering is a boy or a girl; that should answer my question. Note to self: no murdering kids. It's a no-go. I'll consider a colleague instead as long as they haven't been handy in the recent past. We have such a wonderful staff where I work, I can truly only think of one - - oh wait, yes, I know who I'll filet. Oh, did I say that out loud? Wow, I'm just giving it all away, aren't I? Well, she'll be a pretty corpse. If they find her. I won't leave her in plain sight. The only reason the singer was allowed to be found was for the benefit of his fan base, they needed to stop following him; you're welcome.
At the school, we have an interesting field ornament that no one seems to know when it was installed, but some say it may be taken out soon and replaced with either a dedication stone with the school creed or maybe a half wall to separate the buses from the cars. Wouldn't it be gruesomely awesome to have the construction workers dig up old bones when they began the transformation? Wouldn't it be incredibly mischievous if a current teacher was found guilty of the murder of her 8th Grade Science teacher from maybe say 40 years before? These thoughts hit me in the middle of the afternoon heatwave that Oklahoma is experiencing. They tell us that today is the last day of over triple-digit temperatures; do we believe them? I am apt to believe that the construction workers would feel rather cool indeed if one or two of them were to make the grizzly discovery in the early part of the day tomorrow just after the sun has opened her eyes wide enough to see what has taken place on the field's far left side. Forty years? Was it longer? Could have been. I think I remember someone saying the Science teacher simply checked out early, and never even gave her class their final. Gone.
Perhaps there will be more to unearth tomorrow when I visit the pitch to examine what, if anything, has been discovered. Naturally, I'll be the only one thinking what I'm thinking, but you never know what you can find when you dig up the past. I don't think the Science teacher really did anything worthy of being thrown off a cliff, but she was rather peculiar with the way she handed out less-than-stellar reports to girls who needed better grades to be on the cheer team. Just sayin'. She was missed for about a week and then we all graduated from high school. Some became lawyers, some nurses, mechanics, bankers, and more. I think I know more than one teacher to be honest; something about returning to the scene of the crime. It's an oldie but a goodie - - not as dull as "the butler did it", but close enough. I'm telling you, it wasn't the blunt force trauma, but the eleven hours it took to dig a grave under bleachers that were aging and about to be replaced. Bide your time. When the new earth is upheaved - - dig a little deeper. No one will really notice. No, not for well, a little over 40 years.
STOP....I didn't really kill her. She's fine. I checked. It's a story!! Geez, Louise!
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