The Sole Witness

“I can recall the murder perfectly, officer. The murderer, he was,” I exhale as visions of the murder dance in front of my eyes, “relentless. I still can’t believe it happened. The look in his eyes was, well, frightening.” A shiver runs down my spine at the memory.

Murder is not as clean as what the movies make it out to be. A person doesn’t die instantly or remain quite after being stabbed. They shriek, plead, and when death is near you hear this awful gurgle. Their hands flail about in an attempt to remove their attacker and block any incoming blows. It’s a horrible thing to witness, and something one does not forget.

“I had just finished work, and was walking back to my car…” The night was brisk, and the smell of winter, of ozone, was in the air. There was a hint of something sickly sweet, like anti-freeze when a car over-heats and it bubbles out of the radiator. Cloud clover blanketed the sky, blocking out the moon. It wasn’t dark; lights from the city illuminated the sky, casting a sickly orange hue on the world.

“Upon reaching my car, I heard a solid thud then a pleading voice which climbed quickly into a scream. I thought it was a joke or a false scare as I glanced around the car lot for the source. I saw a dark figure, a man. He was tall, with a large build, with unkempt blonde hair. I would guess he was around six-five or six-six, about 275 pounds, maybe.

“At first glance, I thought he was alone. He had a dark, slimy object in his hand. From where I was standing it looked like a greasy pipe. It wasn’t until he dropped to his knees and jammed the object into the pleading and blibbering mass that I realized he was not alone.

“’Help me. Oh God, fuck! Oh God save me. Someone. Jesus,’ the victim pleaded as his hands flailed and scrabbled trying to block the blade from driving into his body. My breathing was rushed. ‘Was this really happening?” The exhilaration. The release! I would have to kill again for the pure joy of the act.

“Warm, thick blood spurted on my face and hands. It made the knife difficult to grip. I tasted the coppery film on my lips. It was an ecstasy of power to take everything from this pitiful wretch, this wretch whose sole task seemed bent on angering me.

“I let out a maniacal bellow of laughter as I repeatedly drove the blade into his torso. Blood covered my eyes making it difficult to spot my victim, my prey. I paused in my revelry. I needed a better look. Shutting my eyes, I dragged the sleeve of my jacket across my face.

“I tell myself that this has to be a dream as I open my eyes in horror of my attacker straddled over my body. ‘No more,’ I whimper in short gasps of breath. ‘No more,’ I cough as blood and spittle launch into my assailant’s face. My lungs burn and ache. I struggle for breath, but I know no amount of coughing will remove the blood that fills them. My arms lay limp at my side.

“I look up at my attacker hoping to see something human, some sign of mercy. All I see are his cold eyes. Grey eyes like two chunks of steel. Beautiful eyes, on a bloodied face, staring at me through a broken driver’s side mirror.”