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Sundrop: New Years Eve 2022

How do I celebrate New Years Eve? With a murder of course, silly! The moon is bright and clear this evening, a waxing gibbous with a full moon in just a few days' time. I do love the moon in all its glory, in all its changes and seasons. She is breathtaking and beautiful. A light in the dark, beauty despite the ache of eternal damnation. I am free and wild as the moon and its many phases.

Liam is a Scorpio and an awful person. I saw him posted on that Facebook group for women wanting to know if their men are cheating on them. Or if their new partner is lying and already has a family, if he’s keeping a secret. It’s a great way to get local gossip without having to investigate too much. I’m not at work currently, another little medical staycation at home. I don't have access to anyone or files to check. This group though is usually accurate. I believe them.

I struggle to believe that any decent person would fight over such ugly men but then I remember the ugly man I gave a chance to and how much of an abusive bastard he was.

Still, knowing how much of a cheat this man Liam is, it was easy to pretend to like him, to flirt with him and know that he would happily accept my advances without much question. Someone who obviously thinks they are God's gift to women. It was hard not to vomit all over him.

Now that he is dead, it’s much better on my stomach. The queasiness alleviated and I feel better now.

Today’s murder was more of a science experiment than a lesson in rage or brutality. Although, for dearest Liam, I’m sure being beaten repeatedly with a hammer to the face was quite brutal. However, I didn’t care much for his pain or suffering today. I also have no interest in his cock except to cut it off, which I will before I leave. No, today I had an idea that truthfully had been brewing for a while.

Sometimes these intrusive thoughts come to me suddenly, as if from nowhere. One moment there is silence, although my brain is never actually silent. Then there is this thought of, “I should cut that man's cock off with an electric carving knife!” I’m showing my age with that one, an electric carving knife like the one my grandfather used to cut the turkey on Christmas Day. Which when I was deemed old enough, taught how so that I could do it myself. I wasn’t allowed to touch it otherwise. I bet they have wireless or at least cordless ones now. I should check Amazon; I’m such a prolific cook after all.

Other intrusive thoughts sit themselves down with me and introduce themselves slowly. They stew like this man’s bones will later. Stew, perhaps that's not the right term, boil? Soak? I will be putting them in a pot with boiling water from the kettle and letting them soften. That’s the brilliant plan I’ve had.

That brings us to today, what I want from him is his bones! Rib bones specifically although, I may take his fingers and toes. I have a fun little plan for my garden, and I want to see if it is practical.

Hs is thankfully laying on his back; I’ve gotten better and more intentional at striking face first. This does usually cause them to stumble and hopefully fall backwards. The carpet he is lying on is a stunning blue, it’s bright like the summer sky and it reminds me of…

Cole’s eyes.

It’s no less a punch to the gut, maybe the throat the way I have trouble breathing when I think of him now. For someone I thought I knew, turns out I knew nothing about who he was as a person. I look down at this dead body, at the bloody hammer in my hand and wonder, how he would view me. It’s hypocritical of me to think so poorly of him when this is who I am, and he hasn’t got a fucking clue, does he? ?

Blood seeps into the carpet from the holes I’ve bashed into his face and skull. Maybe one day I’ll open a skull and take a brain with me. I have no idea how I would transport an actual brain. It’s not like a leg or a rib cage. Perhaps the reason I haven't done so already is because part of me recoils at the thought of touching the brain itself. I don’t think I’d like the texture; something tells me I wouldn't like the feeling on my hands.

Placing my hammer down carefully, although I believe the hooked end might be a good tool for getting into his ribcage. I instead pick up my trusty kitchen knife. The blade is long and wide. It’s great for cutting meat at home. I place the blade against his chest and think back to my childhood of watching autopsies performed on the X-Files.

I press in as much as I dare, careful not to damage anything too much inside. I laugh at that, he’s already dead and I’m planning on pulling out his ribs! I’m not sure how much pressure to put on the blade as I do though, how far into him does the knife need to go? I practise a few times then get bored and just stab the knife into him, pulling down as well as I can. I cut a Y shape, the V at the top of the chest and then a long line going down the middle. I am no surgeon; my cuts would never help or save. I can only hurt and kill.

The work is not neat, I do not need it to be. There is blood, not a lot. Most of that came from his face and now that his heart has stopped, the bleeding is residual and not active which is a shame. Maybe my next victim will be tortured while alive so I can play in the blood. I feel like I haven’t done that in so long.

It takes a bit of effort to pull back the skin, taking with it all its muscle and fat. I have no idea what all the little bits and pieces are, but they fascinate me to see it up close like this. I want to look and study but I don’t know how much time I have; I don’t want to be out too late. I’m not a fan of New Years Eve and generally don’t like being up at midnight.

Now that I have the chest open to the elements, and most of the abdomen I suppose I take up my meat cleaver. I’m not sure what would be best for severing bone. I haven’t taken apart bodies in any surgical way. I have hacked and broken bones with blunt force trauma, but this requires a skill and expertise I don’t have. I will have to do it the old-fashioned way and try things to see what happens.

Still, I reason with myself that the sharp meat cleaver is for cleaving thick meat and bones from bigger animals like cows and sheep. I reason therefore that a human would be of a similar make up physically. My arms are a little sore from the swinging of the hammer, beating him in the face with it. I think this will require a bit more strength and endurance. I make a mental note to increase the weights I've been doing at the gym.

I get myself comfortable, kneeling on the floor next to him. I hope I’ve have given myself enough room to hack into his body. At least if I can do this, then serving and removing his fingers and toes will be easier. I pick up the blade, holding it tightly in my dominant hand and bring it down hard into the mess of his body.

It takes a few tries, but I can cut through the spine above and below the ribcage. Once that’s done, I place the meat cleaver down, picking up a smaller knife and working the ribs away from any nasty bits and pieces that are keeping a hold of its precious ribs. I wonder if I should take his heart and make a last-minute decision to do so. I can boil it with its bones. I could maybe preserve it somehow. Freeze it? I don’t know but it seems too cool a thing to leave behind.

I remove the heart, place it down on the carpet to the side of me and work the rest of the rib cage out of his body. I almost fall backwards as I finally do, the momentum pushing me. I laugh at myself; I am quite pleased with what I have done.

Just the toes and fingers now and then I can go home. The meat cleaver seems a little on the big side to do this, especially his toes which are rather small. Still, it’s the last part I tell myself, so I pick myself up and get on with the task.

I have showered and I have scrubbed every inch of skin once, twice and three times over. I have cut all my nails; toenails and fingernails. I have cleaned underneath them too. I have washed my hair, conditioned, washed again and conditioned again. I even shaved my legs, thigh to ankle and my armpits. I removed any pesky hairs from my face and shaped my eyebrows.

I will paint my nails in the morning, after I have slept. I will be going to bed soon but not just yet.

In my kitchen right now, in a large pink pot trimmed with rose gold, are some of his bones. They didn’t all fit and the rib cage was too big to go in all at once. That’s ok. I still don’t know what to do with the heart so right now it is in my freezer, in an extra-large resealable food bag. I can think of something later. There’s no rush. Not like anyone will accidentally go into my freezer and find it there.

The fingers and toes will also go into a pot and be boiled. My idea was to soften the bones before using the blender to turn them into a powder. Apparently ground down animal bones are great for plants and vegetables in the garden. I think it’s a nice idea to have the people I kill be productive in their death in a way they never were or would be, in their lives.

I have been reading up a lot on gardening and I really want to be able to grow vegetables. I have some plans for the garden. Which is what has led me to be under the moon in my back garden, looking at the stars. I hope and wish and pray that this next year will be a positive one for me.

I am fed up being knocked down by life.

I go to the back gate and double check that it is closed over. I’m not sure why I do, it’s not a part of my normal routine. Maybe it’s because there is something shiny on the gate that looks out of place. The kids who live at the back of me do open my gate quite often. I don’t like gates being left open, not at the front or the back of the house. I go to the gate and push it, just making sure that it is closed.

That’s when I noticed the new latch with the padlock on the gate. The keys are attached to it. I remove them from the thin key ring and test the padlock. The keys fit, it opens and closes. Huh. I think to myself, the landlord must have come and put a lock on the gate for me.

Then what? Hopped over the six-foot fence? It is locked from the inside. It’s odd but it’s not impossible. The landlord obviously never wanted to bother me; I had complained about this a while back. I barely even remember their name, I’ve had so little dealings with them. Freddie? I think that was it.

I shake my head and turn around. It’s fine, it’s a good thing.

I walk back inside and go check on the pot.