The Perfect Murder

The Perfect Murder

Today it happened. I watched it. Poor Jenny, so innocent. The guilt is still eating away at me from the inside. It had to be done. It's every man for themselves in this wretched, diseased, cursed world. Excruciating remorse has washed over me – I am drowning in agonizing regret.

There's a part of me, my wicked side, convincing myself that it's OK, everyone has to get their hands dirty once in a while. But then I face the other half – screaming at me to confess. I am tempted to jump off this roof right now, how valuable is a life that has taken another? I dread to contemplate how long until I allow these suicidal thoughts to consume me. No. I have lived my now monstrous life taught to never run away. Escape is no option – not when it comes to me. I prepare myself, braced to face the reckless future destiny holds in its powerful hands. I turn around and walk away a free man. Freedom does not belong to those who have been baptised in the sins of the devil. But how free can you be with guilt dragging down at your ankles like the shackles of a prison – I am bound. The pure irony of this situation is astounding: I am free yet a victim to the slavery of the devil.

With clenched knuckles and ghostly white skin I grasp the sharp blade. I am ready. Ready to finish what I have begun, ready to complete the task I have beset. This is undoubtedly a perfect murder, planned to perfection, every detail rehearsed thoroughly in my mind's eye, totally untraceable. But whether I have the evil in me to live on is another question. Maybe the murder isn't as perfect as I first anticipated...

Weapon at the ready, I loiter down the stairs. Heart Pulsing. Second thoughts still lingering at the back of my mind, trying to creep their way up as I struggle to keep them buried. I carefully take my steps. The nerves are causing me to shiver like a desert inhabitant lost in the Arctic, resulting in a staggering manoeuvre that could wake a city. I come to a halt. Not because I have arrived at my destination but because I must compose myself. The feat I shall try to accomplish will be impossible unless I have tamed my fear, my reluctance and my mortality.

"Do the thing you fear most and the death of fear is certain."

It rings back and forth in my head like a piercing church bell. I somehow manage to smirk at what has crossed my mind; I speak of a feat as if it is something spectacular. But no. What I have in my mind is far from such a noble word, egregious, beastly and spiteful are more befitting. Finished fighting my own mind, I continue. I cross the elevator and head for the stairs, no chance I'm taking the lift with such a vile item seized in my perilous hand.

14th floor, afraid.

13th floor, frightened.

12th floor, terrified.

11th floor, horrified.

10th floor, petrified.

Alas, it is time for the inevitable. I creep closer to the door which holds my fate. Clutching the knob with a trembling hand, I twist it with the full knowledge that it will open. Like I said:

"Planned to the finest detail."

In the dead of night, a slight sound could alarm the entire hotel, so I proceed with fearful caution. Tightening the blade, I shift towards the bedroom. Just for safety's sake I slide through the miniature gap silently like an eerie morning breeze.

My victim in sight, I edge towards the unmistakable lump beneath the bed sheets. Positioning my knife for the kill, recent days flash before my eyes, taking me back to what brought me here...