The broken glass

13 10 2008

I had never killed a man before, you know. The idea though was neither scary nor a new one for me. I had always fancied this – me killing someone. Killing in a war was somehow different, I would think. You have a gun and the enemy is a few kilometers away. One of your bullets strikes him. He dies in a trench. You never even see him again. And you are also not sure if it’s your bullet indeed that killed him.

Anyway, I am a vegetarian. I have always hated to kill animals – any animal – a goat or even a hen. You chop off the head. It was scary and indeed devilish. But I always fancied killing a man. Locking my forearm around his neck or strangling him by some string and suffocating him. Watching the horror in his eyes and seeing him slamming his legs around and may be upsetting a vase on a table.

I imagined what I would do if someone was trying to suffocate me. I guess I will either hit his balls with my elbow or hit his nose or his eyes. Fuck it was difficult to suffocate someone unless you can bear the blow on your balls.

It never occurred to me that I could kill someone with a knife. There was a chance that he wouldn’t die unless I were to give a cut in a right place. But I’ve never been good in biology and would never know where to give that cut. And it would be very cruel too, to chop somebody’s head off!

It was Tuesday. I remember it was Tuesday because I was supposed to watch the TV show that day. One of those family dramas. But fuck! I loved it. Everything is blurred. I didn’t even see the show that day or ever since because I was arrested an hour before the show began and they don’t have a TV here.

All I remember is that I killed him. I had this glass in my hand and it fell down on the floor and it broke. I tried to pick it up but it pierced through the hard skin of my rusty hands. ‘Wow!’, I thought.

So I just picked it up by its stem and within a flash, I had jabbed it into this guy’s neck. He kept drinking, this man. It was so fast that he didn’t even know what had happened. So I slashed his wrist and then I thrusted the glass right through his shirt into his body where his intestines might have been. Or I guess his stomach would have been punctured.

I was amazed. I had seen a glass and I had seen broken glasses ever since I was a child and it had never occurred to me that I was living around such a lethal weapon.

I was happy and I was laughing. They caught me and I was still laughing. I missed the show but I didn’t mind – I kept laughing. I haven’t stopped laughing ever since. I even laugh in my sleep because I dream of those wounds, the blood and the death and of course the broken glass.

But now I miss the show. They don’t have a TV here. All I have is a steel glass and people running around me in this peculiar uniform which even I am made to wear. They even wash it for me once a week. And there are some people in white lab-coats carrying syringes and stethoscopes running around and freaking out like mad men. And they also feed me here because somehow my hands are tied when its supper time.

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