I watched him from a
distance. Followed him with my penetrating gaze, as he turned off the light in
his shop. My hands were shaking. Not because of anxiety, but of rage. It was
obscure outside. Not even a star could be seen through the shroud of darkness. Perfect.
He walked into the back of the shop and started cutting the meat for tomorrow. He
was a killer. A terrifying slaughterer, who killed animals for a living. A man
with no heart, who cold-blooded executed my childhood.
The hands on my clock showed
how time went, second by second. Minute by minute. Tick tock. It was time. I
walked softly towards the animals hanging from the ceiling, so I could hide
behind them, while planning my next move. I looked at the target as I removed the needed
materials from my backpack. He was about to cut a pig in half. Inspirational. I
sneaked up against him. I was close. So close that I could hear his heavy
breathing and smell his sweat mixed with the stench of meat. I hated him for
even inhaling air. He stopped cutting the pig, like he knew, I was there. My next move had to
be done rapid and perfect. The next moment my arms were on his shoulders,
forcing him to the floor. While he was still staggered, I took the knife from his hand and used
the handle to knock him unconscious. It was my turn to have control over the
situation. Control over my life. Not being a helpless child in a cruel world.
This was my revenge. I stripped him naked. Now he had no dignity left. No
pride. I tied his legs together with a thin rope and dragged him over to the
animals hanging from the ceiling. I found an empty hook, fastened the rope
around it and dragged him up using a device made for that purpose. He was now
hanging from the ceiling like the cows and pigs, which weren’t stripped for
clothes, but skin. I waited for him to wake up.
He started to mumble. Opened
his eyes. He started shaking, as I confronted him with his actions and told him
what I was going to do with him. He groaned, while I giggled. He cried and
begged, as I took the knife and started cutting off his skin. Piece by piece.
There was blood everywhere and he would suffer. Die in pain. I sliced all of his skin off, until he looked
like the naked animals next to him. He screamed loud and painfully, and as I
stood there, I saw him breath for the last time and drip his last drop of blood.
Now I was the slaughterer.
I ran out in the cold streets of London as if fire was in my
heels and hair.
