Memories To Bleed
I stayed in the room for a few minutes staring at her perhaps in disbelief of my actions, but more and more realizing that Mathilda had never ever heard any of my ideas, none of my thoughts, I had been a quiet child I had never communicated with her ours had always been the mean baby-sitter relation, she beat me up I wept and mother would verbally beat her up. Then it hit me! I had killed this old woman, I had killed Mathilda because one day when I had danced in front of her ridiculing her dear god prayers, she had taken a broom and hit me so hard across my waist that it broke and that was not punishment enough she then forced me to sweep the floor with it telling me that because I had broken the broom I would have to do the cleaning with it. The broom had been severed closed to the bottom so sweeping with it required bending an inconsiderable amount that produced an uncomfortable back pain, while splinters from the broken end would occasionally buried themselves into the flesh on my fingers from which they then had to be painfully extracted with a needle.
My older sister that watched her swing that broom into my waist, immediately went to the basement in rage, into the tool box and grabbed the biggest hammer a little twelve year old can hold and dashed with god speed to rescue me by swinging that hammer saying you are going to die, you are going to die, and the hammer swinging back and forth while tears and screams came out of my big sister’s face. My dear auntee had a healthy survival instinct and so she took off ascending the stairs with the robust energy of an elephant in flight. My sister was mad and chasing and I was chasing my sister only steps behind. At the time we lived in a five story house, all stairs and aunte’s room was on the fifth floor, and so this little girl swinging hammer in hand, screaming atrocities, with little brother right behind her chased their auntee up the stairs prepared to do her in. Mathilda while running like a coward managed to tell us that God was going to kill us both sinners and that we were going to hell, that we were going to burn in furnace. Fortunately we understood very little about religion and even less about this guy God and so that did not stop us. Auntee Mathilda, only seconds from our arrival, managed to get inside of her room and lock the door. My big sister managed to demonstrate how adaptable of a tool a hammer can be as she begun to pound it into the door, and pound it into the door, as if to crucify my dear auntee, with out nails but rather to paste her soul into the wood with a meat tenderizer.
I think we got very tired of the door resisting our insistence and left but I really don’t remember what happen afterwards except that for sure my sister was punished for the damaged to the door. My parents were not big on symbolism so they did not comprehend that my sister was probably drawing a dramatic picture of the holy ghost for you really cant use a brush, paint and canvas to draw the holy ghost; wood and a hammer with life guts is a better medium, but parents are parents and so they belted my sister leaving many scars on her and to this day only the visible ones have faded.
It was while remembering this that I realized why I had selected dear Auntee Mathilda it wasn’t because I believed all virgins should be put to death but it was to complete a job that my big sister and I had started as children. Fading into a corner.
My next victim came to mind immediately after I overcame my sense of disbelief, disbelief on how thoughtless murder really was, disbelief on how simple it was to take a life, not complicated at all, I just walked in and killed her, I was not even a remote suspect and while I had not kept up with the family gossip I suspected Mathilda had been found dead and the doctors had concluded that she had died in her sleep. And why should they suspect differently, she was a nobody, she had never been anything and now she was nothing. I think that there are people out there that matter and if they are killed it effects a great many but people like Mathilda are inconsequential and so if someone kills them it is not necessary to discover the murderer, why punish someone for an act that does not make a difference.
My next victim was Leila . Leila you may want to know was a life long friend, a friend in the truest sense of the word, meaning that the fact that she was a woman did not affect our friendship. This is relevant because regardless of how liberated and wise we may be sex still gets in the way and that it gets in the way is not a bad thing but it is a thing. Anyway Leila and I shared many interesting conversations and while I must admit that often I was more of a listener than a contributor it remains true that she had a lot to say about things that were known.
Leila had always been a good friend which is to say that she understood me and liked me and those are the qualities that I seem to require from a friend. This meant that I really did not want to kill Leila, I didn’t passionately love Leila so that was no reason to kill her and I did not have her on the red level of my black list she was closer to the top of the middle. But life doesn’t really save people because they are innocent, and I already knew that so I did not moralize Leila’s destiny, in many respects she had chosen to be my friend and having done so had placed her at the hands of danger. The reason why it became terribly necessary to kill her was that she had decided to make a severe career change from working as a well paid corporate executive she had decided to become a puppet maker and puppet makers are not in abundance which meant that she would have to move 3000 miles away to a city where there was this finest of puppet making schools, she would learn her trade from the masters. Puppet making was an art.
Now why such an interesting woman with so many talents would become a puppet maker is certainly a severe criticism of our times but I wont dwell on that, my problem was that she was on my list and if she moved, I would have to travel to assassinate her, now aside from the fact that even a bad cop can make a connection between a long time friend landing in her city at the same time of her death, a more important fact was that it would be an expensive trip and so this is how Leila having already made a bad choice of friendships had precipitated her own death by making yet another bad choice, deciding to be a puppet maker, a dangerous profession indeed.
Almost as if she were sensing my intentions Leila begun to communicate with me more frequently and only a few days from the trip we begun to miss-communicate. It was very evident that our conversations were constant misrepresentation of what we really wanted to say to one another. Perhaps we were saying good bye, victim and killer sharing secret rituals, the invisible things that had kept our friendship together all this years were breaking like rubber bands and slapping us as they recoiled.
One day I was checking my mail when I see a large envelop with Leila’s current address, I opened it to find in disbelief all of my correspondence to her. Every letter I had ever written to her was there. Was she trying to save her self? Had destiny informed her of my intentions? Was destiny trying to rescue Leila? If so was Leila more valuable than I was? I hate suspense so I immediately called Leila and asked what was going on. She said, “I thought you were angry at me and I didn’t want you to think that I would ever use your letters, against you.” I ended that conversation feeling like a baby chick in a crow’s nest, being fed vomited worms to the point of suffocation.
Leila was on to something, she was communicating with her own destiny and it was probably trying to save her at this point I was back against a wall, I would have to kill her before she communicated her fears. Disguised I went to a cutlery store and bought a set of the finest butchers knives. Huge things those sharp blades. For the next three weeks I followed Leila, day and night hoping for that one moment... it happened late one evening she went for a walk in my favorite park, of all places, she was walking and I was her shadow and her shadow took out this huge knife and stabbed her in the back, Leila always a fighter, turned in disbelief but with the extra energy induced by an overdose of adrenaline. A face of putrid horror confronted me, she was shocked to see such a familiar face inducing a painful blade. I retrieved the blade only to recklessly plunge it back into her body and repeated this enough times to make a rhyme out of it.
Leila’s lack of docility a quality that had intimidated most men was now making this a bit messier the results would disqualify me from entry into the most prestigious schools of surgery. Leila managed to scratch my neck a few too many times which made me realize that killing someone can be a bit painful but I did not wish to think that I was killing Leila, why she was a good friend, no I was merely trying to create an opening wide enough so that her soul could escape the constrains of her body; I wasn’t killing this woman I was merely practicing liberation theology with an inquisitorial tendency.
Leila was a fighter till the end but usually the person that gets the first punch wins, and so my victory was less inevitable than even I suspected. Interestingly enough she did not vocalize her tragedy, she fought silently until we dropped and ended by the bushes; a last gasp of air burst forth from her mouth causing a series of blood bubbles to excrete lava like on her pale face. Her eyes wide open, her body was laying in a less than lady like posture. I did not remove myself from our savage embraced immediately, just rested there confirming our friendship against her cold flesh. After a while perhaps fearing the staring moon I gently released myself from her and I walked straight into the lake, the lake where some ducks were burying their heads into their backs as if wisely refusing to be witnesses of the inevitable, I, swimming slowly to the other side, stroking the water, breathing the serenity of the night, walked home wet and colder than Leila now laid. That night I slept knowing in my innermost that I had not wanted to kill her.
Of course there was also the possibility that I did love Leila, that I could not accept the fact that she was in love with her linear boyfriend Miguel, but I doubt it very much if this were even remotely true it would mean that I was using destiny to justify being a serial killer nonsense! Now some of you thinking yourself psychoanalyst might disagree with me and just conclude that I have lost track of my real enemies and that I was just now killing to satisfy some sanguinary fantasy. You would argue, and it is obvious that I have killed two women which may make me a misogynist certainly a possibility, too much obsession could make that of a person, but you might even argue that I have a very possessive nature towards the feminine and that ultimately my real goal is to seduce them all and kill the ones that refuse me. Certainly at this junction that is true for both women, who’s lives I have taken have been inaccessible to me either because of a boyfriend or do to a religious act of celibacy.
Let me clear myself, you pigs of the phallic! Mathilda was the ugliest woman alive her virginity was less voluntary than you might think, her devotion to a platonic relationship with God was an afterthought, the little boy going through that wonderful world of puberty did not wish to bed this woman anymore than he wanted to sleep with a horse or a baby elephant. Besides I have confessed to you that killing her may not have been motivated by the best of reasons now murdering Leila because she was sleeping with Mr. Linearity does not support the theory that every women that rejects me will meet with a terrible fate. Sure I don’t deny that inside of my head I would like every woman in the world to think of me as their first choice for a mate and every other man to be their second choice. That would be the ideal but I do not much suspect that this will be the case besides, let me rack up some killings and then we can detect patterns.
My older sister that watched her swing that broom into my waist, immediately went to the basement in rage, into the tool box and grabbed the biggest hammer a little twelve year old can hold and dashed with god speed to rescue me by swinging that hammer saying you are going to die, you are going to die, and the hammer swinging back and forth while tears and screams came out of my big sister’s face. My dear auntee had a healthy survival instinct and so she took off ascending the stairs with the robust energy of an elephant in flight. My sister was mad and chasing and I was chasing my sister only steps behind. At the time we lived in a five story house, all stairs and aunte’s room was on the fifth floor, and so this little girl swinging hammer in hand, screaming atrocities, with little brother right behind her chased their auntee up the stairs prepared to do her in. Mathilda while running like a coward managed to tell us that God was going to kill us both sinners and that we were going to hell, that we were going to burn in furnace. Fortunately we understood very little about religion and even less about this guy God and so that did not stop us. Auntee Mathilda, only seconds from our arrival, managed to get inside of her room and lock the door. My big sister managed to demonstrate how adaptable of a tool a hammer can be as she begun to pound it into the door, and pound it into the door, as if to crucify my dear auntee, with out nails but rather to paste her soul into the wood with a meat tenderizer.
I think we got very tired of the door resisting our insistence and left but I really don’t remember what happen afterwards except that for sure my sister was punished for the damaged to the door. My parents were not big on symbolism so they did not comprehend that my sister was probably drawing a dramatic picture of the holy ghost for you really cant use a brush, paint and canvas to draw the holy ghost; wood and a hammer with life guts is a better medium, but parents are parents and so they belted my sister leaving many scars on her and to this day only the visible ones have faded.
It was while remembering this that I realized why I had selected dear Auntee Mathilda it wasn’t because I believed all virgins should be put to death but it was to complete a job that my big sister and I had started as children. Fading into a corner.
My next victim came to mind immediately after I overcame my sense of disbelief, disbelief on how thoughtless murder really was, disbelief on how simple it was to take a life, not complicated at all, I just walked in and killed her, I was not even a remote suspect and while I had not kept up with the family gossip I suspected Mathilda had been found dead and the doctors had concluded that she had died in her sleep. And why should they suspect differently, she was a nobody, she had never been anything and now she was nothing. I think that there are people out there that matter and if they are killed it effects a great many but people like Mathilda are inconsequential and so if someone kills them it is not necessary to discover the murderer, why punish someone for an act that does not make a difference.
My next victim was Leila . Leila you may want to know was a life long friend, a friend in the truest sense of the word, meaning that the fact that she was a woman did not affect our friendship. This is relevant because regardless of how liberated and wise we may be sex still gets in the way and that it gets in the way is not a bad thing but it is a thing. Anyway Leila and I shared many interesting conversations and while I must admit that often I was more of a listener than a contributor it remains true that she had a lot to say about things that were known.
Leila had always been a good friend which is to say that she understood me and liked me and those are the qualities that I seem to require from a friend. This meant that I really did not want to kill Leila, I didn’t passionately love Leila so that was no reason to kill her and I did not have her on the red level of my black list she was closer to the top of the middle. But life doesn’t really save people because they are innocent, and I already knew that so I did not moralize Leila’s destiny, in many respects she had chosen to be my friend and having done so had placed her at the hands of danger. The reason why it became terribly necessary to kill her was that she had decided to make a severe career change from working as a well paid corporate executive she had decided to become a puppet maker and puppet makers are not in abundance which meant that she would have to move 3000 miles away to a city where there was this finest of puppet making schools, she would learn her trade from the masters. Puppet making was an art.
Now why such an interesting woman with so many talents would become a puppet maker is certainly a severe criticism of our times but I wont dwell on that, my problem was that she was on my list and if she moved, I would have to travel to assassinate her, now aside from the fact that even a bad cop can make a connection between a long time friend landing in her city at the same time of her death, a more important fact was that it would be an expensive trip and so this is how Leila having already made a bad choice of friendships had precipitated her own death by making yet another bad choice, deciding to be a puppet maker, a dangerous profession indeed.
Almost as if she were sensing my intentions Leila begun to communicate with me more frequently and only a few days from the trip we begun to miss-communicate. It was very evident that our conversations were constant misrepresentation of what we really wanted to say to one another. Perhaps we were saying good bye, victim and killer sharing secret rituals, the invisible things that had kept our friendship together all this years were breaking like rubber bands and slapping us as they recoiled.
One day I was checking my mail when I see a large envelop with Leila’s current address, I opened it to find in disbelief all of my correspondence to her. Every letter I had ever written to her was there. Was she trying to save her self? Had destiny informed her of my intentions? Was destiny trying to rescue Leila? If so was Leila more valuable than I was? I hate suspense so I immediately called Leila and asked what was going on. She said, “I thought you were angry at me and I didn’t want you to think that I would ever use your letters, against you.” I ended that conversation feeling like a baby chick in a crow’s nest, being fed vomited worms to the point of suffocation.
Leila was on to something, she was communicating with her own destiny and it was probably trying to save her at this point I was back against a wall, I would have to kill her before she communicated her fears. Disguised I went to a cutlery store and bought a set of the finest butchers knives. Huge things those sharp blades. For the next three weeks I followed Leila, day and night hoping for that one moment... it happened late one evening she went for a walk in my favorite park, of all places, she was walking and I was her shadow and her shadow took out this huge knife and stabbed her in the back, Leila always a fighter, turned in disbelief but with the extra energy induced by an overdose of adrenaline. A face of putrid horror confronted me, she was shocked to see such a familiar face inducing a painful blade. I retrieved the blade only to recklessly plunge it back into her body and repeated this enough times to make a rhyme out of it.
Leila’s lack of docility a quality that had intimidated most men was now making this a bit messier the results would disqualify me from entry into the most prestigious schools of surgery. Leila managed to scratch my neck a few too many times which made me realize that killing someone can be a bit painful but I did not wish to think that I was killing Leila, why she was a good friend, no I was merely trying to create an opening wide enough so that her soul could escape the constrains of her body; I wasn’t killing this woman I was merely practicing liberation theology with an inquisitorial tendency.
Leila was a fighter till the end but usually the person that gets the first punch wins, and so my victory was less inevitable than even I suspected. Interestingly enough she did not vocalize her tragedy, she fought silently until we dropped and ended by the bushes; a last gasp of air burst forth from her mouth causing a series of blood bubbles to excrete lava like on her pale face. Her eyes wide open, her body was laying in a less than lady like posture. I did not remove myself from our savage embraced immediately, just rested there confirming our friendship against her cold flesh. After a while perhaps fearing the staring moon I gently released myself from her and I walked straight into the lake, the lake where some ducks were burying their heads into their backs as if wisely refusing to be witnesses of the inevitable, I, swimming slowly to the other side, stroking the water, breathing the serenity of the night, walked home wet and colder than Leila now laid. That night I slept knowing in my innermost that I had not wanted to kill her.
Of course there was also the possibility that I did love Leila, that I could not accept the fact that she was in love with her linear boyfriend Miguel, but I doubt it very much if this were even remotely true it would mean that I was using destiny to justify being a serial killer nonsense! Now some of you thinking yourself psychoanalyst might disagree with me and just conclude that I have lost track of my real enemies and that I was just now killing to satisfy some sanguinary fantasy. You would argue, and it is obvious that I have killed two women which may make me a misogynist certainly a possibility, too much obsession could make that of a person, but you might even argue that I have a very possessive nature towards the feminine and that ultimately my real goal is to seduce them all and kill the ones that refuse me. Certainly at this junction that is true for both women, who’s lives I have taken have been inaccessible to me either because of a boyfriend or do to a religious act of celibacy.
Let me clear myself, you pigs of the phallic! Mathilda was the ugliest woman alive her virginity was less voluntary than you might think, her devotion to a platonic relationship with God was an afterthought, the little boy going through that wonderful world of puberty did not wish to bed this woman anymore than he wanted to sleep with a horse or a baby elephant. Besides I have confessed to you that killing her may not have been motivated by the best of reasons now murdering Leila because she was sleeping with Mr. Linearity does not support the theory that every women that rejects me will meet with a terrible fate. Sure I don’t deny that inside of my head I would like every woman in the world to think of me as their first choice for a mate and every other man to be their second choice. That would be the ideal but I do not much suspect that this will be the case besides, let me rack up some killings and then we can detect patterns.
posted by Ricardo Correa at
2:12 PM
