#147

It is now eight hours since John went down. I keep peering into the living room hoping he has risen, or is gone, but he just lays there dead as the pool of blood that spilt out his head congeals and turns black around him.. My body will do nothing but walk from bedroom, to kitchen, to bathroom, to bedroom, to kitchen, to front door, to living room, to kitchen, etc. When I try to sit I am hit by waves of panic and terrifying thoughts. I try to think of a way to reverse time, to find some sort of way back so as I can change what happened. It seems possible, because nothing seems real. I really have that feeling, that maybe I will wake up, that this is all just a vivid dreamn and John is waiting for me on the other side with a few loving death threats and a walloping punch to the liver – God, how welcome that would be right now.

But then I catch sight of him once more, laying there dead, and I curse him and love him and hate him and blame him, and I know my life is fucked and I will go to prison and there's nothing I can do because he was unarmed and I was scared and he is so much stronger than me and I thought I'd be hurt again, and so I made to protect myself, but I didn't mean to kill him - not with the first blow - just to injure him and send him away, but really, it wasn't me; it was the pot, I just held it, but they will convict me on my fear and anger and say that it was intentional and when they find the murder plans that John has hidden away somewhere they will say that I had planned it all, and though not in this manner, that I had nevertheless taken my chances - but it wasn't like that, it really wasn't, I just struck out and it was an instinctive, defensive blow, and when he didn't back down I hit him again, and then the worst thing in the world happened: he started trembling and spasming and sort of collapsed while fitting, and then he was jerking away on the floor and his head was spurting blood from the force of his spasms, and then he bit his tongue off and I was streaming tears and screaming for him to stop and his brain and body were malfunctioning and his eyes were all askew and bulging, really huge, right out their sockets, and then there was the smell, the God awful stench when his bowels gave way and all the waste and poisons in his guts filled his pants and a weird, almost luminous bile coloured liquid filtered through and leaked from the behind, and he was then looking in so much pain and was frothing and choking on air and blood and I think he saw me, probably in slow motion, as I approached again, and he appeared to be so terrified and fucked and in such agony as his body continued jerking away, and towering above him, I begged him to stop, but he didn't, and I needed him to stop and I wanted to end his torture and so I brought the Flamingo plant down on him once more, this time with all the force I could muster, and I screamed a deep, base, human cry as I heard the clap of ceramic on his skull and felt the rupture as his head caved in, and I enjoyed it, and for a very small moment my own suffering was over and I felt relief, like I'd taken a strong pain-killer, but then it hit me,that something awful had happened: John was stopped and dead; I had transgressed a law which is ruthless and unemotional in its punishment, and even though it was a spare of the moment reaction, my life was now as fucked as his and there was not a scrap of hope left for me in this world.

6 comments:

  1. Well I don't know where you go from here.

    Unless it's all some elaborate hoax.

    I've done worse (rather, better) in my time.

    Also, I have on payroll the world's greatest criminal lawyers.

    Which I could put at your disposal.

    Now OF COURSE murder is a mortal sin.

    However, the beauty of The Bible is that, like a Curly Wurly, it is infinitely flexible.

    As a Great Man, almost as deeply Christian as me, George Dubya Bush, would say:

    Sometimes mass murder is just part of God's greater plan.

    Or more likely:

    A man's Gotta Do What A Man's Gotta Do.

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  2. During this difficult time there is not much I can say. But I will assure you John's death is no a hoax and he will not make any kind of miraculous recovery... he's dead. The Flamingo plant has revealed it's hand. X

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  3. That's just...i'm speechless. Shocking? Yeah, it's shocking. I think you know what the reprecussions are. Maybe you should turn yourself in? I hope the police see it for what it was, an act of self defence. I don't see this as your fault. It was an abusive relationship and he pushed you till you broke and finally pushed back. He forced the hand behind the pot but now unfortunately you'll have to face the consequences :( and i'm sorry for your loss, Tristram. We all know you loved him otherwise you wouldn't have stuck by his side for this whole ordeal.

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  4. Tristram please give us news i'm refeshing the page evry 5min hoping you've posted. :)x

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