Chapter 8
Kill Friendly
Mr Khan was a dead man. He was dead from last six hours.
"Humans are vicious little beings." His voice was light.
My eyes were taped tightly. Must be duct-tape. I was scared about the pouch in my pocket.
"Virus, you see." He was standing just behind me. "Has a similar pattern as Humans."
Near my right ear he stood, then I felt him shifting towards my left. His hands on my shoulders, both of them.
"Imagine." He said. "Imagine if I kill you right now."
I swallowed the saliva that was building up in my mouth. My shirt, drenched in sweat, stuck to my back. My legs tightly roped and my hands tied behind my head. I tugged in my thighs together so it might not fall out of my pocket.
"The prophecy will turn out to be a big old scam." He paused and then yelled. "You are a disappointment boy!"
My mouth was taped too and the chair I was tied to, it was hanging through the ceiling. I felt like a disco-ball. The ball that has shimmering mirror square pieces glued to it. The ball that reflects light to increase the high of the drugs you take. The purple visuals, the red glittering. "Dance you fucking asshole!" The ball yells at the little squeaky little guy at the corner of the bar who is too shy to get a girl. "Dance you squeaky little motherfucker. Drink, fuck and die!" I felt dizzy.
"You know red told me." He paused. "Wait, do you think you are one of them?"
His freezing lack of empathy was unyielding. I heard him laugh. I could feel blisters protruding beneath my shirt.
"Oh its one those moments when you realize." He removed the taped from my face. "That some people like to talk before they die."
"You smell bad." I replied.
"Oh but." He held my face between his hands. "Do you think you are one of them?"
"Do you think it matters now?" I asked back.
"Oh boy." His voice turned vivacious. "Have you heard rumours about me?"
I was silent, I couldn't speak. The smell of blood, fresh blood, as disturbing me. The chair was pulled down. The floor felt slippery.
"How does it feel to be the strongest demon to ever walk on earth?" I asked. "Considering that you wasted your life in the pursuit of faulty pleasures."
"It feels good, lively." He replied.
"Without any motive, you are wasting your gift." I could feel him, standing right in front of me. The smell of blood too intense, I could literally taste it.
"Motive, my friend." He said in his thick voice, Scottish accent. "Is an illusion. All lives to walk on this earth are doomed, doomed because they have to die."
He was right. The ultimate motive of a life is death. That's the end of life lessons from a motherfucking demon who reduces people to nuggets. Fuck you! I scream in my head. Fuck everyone I wanna kill this motherfucker.
"You can't kill me." I say. "Imagine a thousand years of preparations it took you to catch. You kill me again and then may be a thousand years later, I'll be back to kick your ass."
"Are you high?" He said, coming closer and sniffing my face. "We will have achieved what we want."
Was I high? What was I? Batman? Tony stark? Superheroes don't exist. Those who do are dicks. You are not a superhero. You are an asshole. You are not here to save the world, you are here to save yourselves, because you are a part of the world. You too are a dick.
"You will die a failure. You ......"
"Shut the fuck up and shoot me in the head." I ask him.
"Do what?" He asks.
"Let my brains see the light of the day, open my head up." I ask him. "I'm begging you. Use a shotgun, kill me."
Death never comes easy, he was keeping me alive, and I don't know what for. Psychological games, like winter Olympics, play like an asshole, lose like a hero.
"You know what's fascinating about humans?" He ask. "Holy books."
"Kill me..."
"No... hush... shush." He places his finger on my lips. "Learn to listen." He slaps me. "They all say the same thing, the holy books." He continues in his thick husky voice. "But why do they fight for them?" He asks.
"Who?"
"The people."
"I don't know."
"Well, precisely, neither do them." He breaks into giggles. "It's quite simple though." He takes a deep breathe. "They fight for who said it first."
"It's like fans fighting for a legendary joke." He says. "Which comedian owns the copyright? What if he just wanted to crack a joke and leave people laughing not rioting?"
He slaps me again.
"You got to keep talking kid." He says. "You wanna know why they have kept me here?"
"Because you are freak." I grin.
"Actually." He punched me in the face, my nose bleeding. I coughed, blood running out of my nose and into my mouth. "Yes. I love killing people."
His musings, he was talking to himself, not me, all this time.
"As a question of a sad fate." He asks me. "What's your last wish?"
All this shit, I'm a suicidal hero. I just don't have balls to take my own life. The pouch finally falls down in the pool of blood, you can feel it ripple as the waves touch your bare feet. He didn't notice it. I breathe out in relief.
"Oh, I like it so much." He murmurs to himself. He undoes my scaffold covering my eyes. It all seemed so white, so blinding. The sight slowly restores. I look around, flesh hanging down through hooks. Meaty bulls, hanging through their pectoral muscles, salted so they may not spoil, last long. The floor was filled up with an inch deep layer of blood and chlorine water. Chlorine smells bad.
"Something is wrong with the drains." He said, his face wrinkled. He wearing wayfarers. "What's your last wish anyway?"
"I want to see the co-ordinates." I say.
"Ugh." He smiles and he unbuttons his shirt revealing a scar in the shape of a large capsule on his chest. "I'm scared I can't do that."
I looked at him. Dressed in narrow pants, a clean purple shirt. He was your average grandpa who likes to feed pigeons, make charities, have fun with grandkids and eat cops when he has a hunch to. Giant rings made of gold and precious stones hooked up on his god-like fingers, fingers bigger than the largest wiener you might find in porn nowadays. "A happy married life he might have." I thought. His white hair pulled back into a ponytail. The room had big steel tables. The smell of sanitizer hits me, they have been cleaning profusely. Over the steel tables were cleavers, knives and hooks, all kept in a beautiful fashion.
"I don't why but I want to do this again." He says as he punches me in the face, cutting the insides of my cheek and uprooting a molar. I tried to remove it with my tongue but I couldn't, it didn't leave the root. I push harder and I succeed. I spit it out, a big glob of blood and phlegm laced around it.
"Ow... That hurts." I say as I shook my shoulders.
"Have you heard any rumours about me kid?" He asked.
I swallow another glob of blood. My face was deeply covered in scars. I felt sick. He pulls my hair back and reloads another punch. BANG! My cheek was stuck to my teeth. The inner muscles seemed to have burst chugging out blood. It was clinging to my dentures. Blood, thick globules of blood found their place between the tiny gap of teeth, diastema is what they call it or maybe they call it something else.
"Even gods can't save you from me little boy."
"Gods are dead." I said licking the insides of my mouth, the muscle fibres felt funny.
My lips were caked in blood. I couldn't lick them because my mouth hurt too much.
"Where are the others?" I asked. "Where are they?"
"Oh your friends." He smiles, holding my face between his hands. "One of them was flayed. He was alive for some time after that but then we seared him up." He paused. "Alive."
Suffering clears your head up, it cleans up everything. You know what to do when to. Like I did.
"Can you please pull that cocaine pouch up?" I asked him. "I wanna snort some."
"Oh yes sir." He smiled. "Would you be kind enough to share?"
"Oh yeah, sure."
"I'm excited." He looks at me "It's been a long time since I have been clean."
I control the pain that builds up inside me, I hold it and it starts again. Everything starts to slow-down. He carefully spreads the powder on the table, besides those steel fuck things. He pulls out a credit card and a bundle of cash. Pulling the powder and collecting it between his thumb and the card, he rolls a bill and snorts it. He waits and looks around and that's when he feels it. I bite my lower lip as I watch him yell. His screams echoing the room. Squealing like a pig, he drops down, his body half sunk in the water.
I let go. I scream and I yell as I feel the little solids of cinnamon stuck to my lungs, drilling them like needles trying to puncture me. I'd have rather put my head into a tub of liquid nitrogen.
"What was it?" He pulls up his shirt, reaching for the radio that laid there, hidden from anyone. "Help... lp."
"Once upon a time I was good kid... a nice kid you see." I said, undoing the ropes. "And then shit happened."
"You still can't kill me." He murmurs. "I'm immortal."
"For now." I checked his pockets. "We both are fucked up."
My hands still tied to that chair, I decided to take a dive into that slurry, that wasted water, that contaminated-radioactive red shit. My head dunked half in it. My nostrils filled with it. I spat out another glob of blood, thick blood.
"You don't know what you are doing." He looks at me, his eyes showing how surprised he was.
"If I ever get a pet dog, I'm gonna name it Zaveri and beat the shit out of it." I yelled.
"What was it?" He kicked in the water creating ripples. He kicked harder as he cried in pain. "It burns!"
"Cinnamon powder, polished in white bitch!" I smiled as I dropped down, slowly. "Where are they?"
"Dup there with the security, waiting to be flayed and burned." He yells and coughs again.
It won't kill you black, Matilda's words echoing in my head. Just get accustomed to it because it's your destiny. No its not my destiny, its bullshit and it has got me fucked. I was happy being a punching bag.
"You will die like all those who tried to kill me." He chuckles. "It's a curse."
"I am already dead." I pulled out his gun.
You look at the light above and its reflection below on the red water as it ripples slowly with your every step. These periodic motions turning slower and slower. You pull the hair of the most feared demon ever to walk on earth, you have just bent time. The guards appearing through the only door you can see with an astonishing variety of weapons.
"The one who holds the power is the one who owns the rules." Zaveri yelled as I pulled him through his collar.
"I have your collar and that's all need to get out of this shit." I smiled.
The guards line up and target you. In next three minutes, they can perforate your body. You will be lying over one of the piles among dead bulls and may be other dead men. You can stand quietly and die, ending this game. Or you will kill them and escape it just to get into it again. Life is all about denying death daily, that's why you look on both sides when you cross the road.
"I was nice kid man." I said.
Guards surround us. Guards with guns, guards with cleavers, guards with big knives and guards with balls.
"I was a great student." I tell him as I clenched my fist tighter with his hair inside them. He's knocked out. "And then Shit happened."
Some pulling up their guns, some running towards me. Some of them just making faces and waiting for their turn as it all happens in a slow motion. Like they have frozen into that moment.
"This has to be fun." Say as I load the pistol.