A Personal Contract

I wiped the blood from my V-42 Stiletto and placed it in the holster on my belt. I tossed the bloody rag aside and swiftly grabbed an apple from the marble countertop. Not inches below, a pattern of wet red dots decorated the pale cabinets. I stepped over the motionless, scarlet-soaked body, careful not to step in the pool of blood. I silently strolled out the open door and made my way to a taxicab ten blocks away.

         I opened my apartment door and was hit with the overwhelming aroma of bleach and leather cleaner- housekeeping had been here. I stepped into the penthouse and studied the room that made up the majority of my home. The entire abode gleamed with white. The carpet, tile, furniture, leather, flowers, appliances, and frames- they were all white and absolutely perfect. I couldn’t have it any other way. My observations were interrupted by my medium-sized, fluffy, pure-white American Eskimo dog as he trotted over to me. I kneeled down and scratched behind his ear. He responded by rolling over for a belly rub. After his massage, he trailed behind me as I walked over to the Mac that rested on the snow-white countertop. Next to it, my cloud-like white Persian cat purred. I gently stroked her as I violently shook the computer mouse. The screen illuminated and I pulled up my e-mail. There was a ‘dink’ and a new message appeared in the inbox. The subject said ‘Contract’ so I double-clicked it. In the new window, tiny text read:

John J.J.H. Schmitt

Dallas, TX

$ Wired

Photo Attached



         I didn’t even need to see the photo. I knew exactly who this guy was. John was my cheating, lying, abusive ex-boyfriend. If I was going to go through with this arrangement, I would need to be extra careful. I didn’t need a repeat of last time…

         I reached for my address book and flipped through the worn pages until I found John’s address. I jotted it down on a scrap of paper. I stood up and walked toward the door. I stopped dead in my tracks. I didn’t need to kill him tonight. Tonight, I need a shower.

~~~~~~~~~~

I awoke to the sun beaming in on my face. The clock read 6:27 A.M. The cat and the dog slept peacefully at the end of my white comforter until I got up and trudged to the kitchen. The two of them followed me and immediately began to chow-down on the kibble I poured into their bowls. The white tile floors chilled my toes as I stood to fix my coffee. As it dripped, I flipped on the television. Diane Sawyer was discussing the massive snowstorms back East when my coffee began to bubble. I tended to it, and then opened the white giant of a refrigerator. I scanned the shelves for something good. I pulled out the double freezer drawers and found a SaraLee Butter Streusel Coffee Cake- my favorite. I popped it into the microwave and during those sixty seconds, I carefully and strategically planned out how I would go about killing John. I had just figured it out when the beeper on the microwave jolted me out of my thoughts. I grinned maniacally to myself- my plan was foolproof.

~~~~~~~~~~

Moisture clung to the night air. Stars twinkled above while I hopped a fence into a lush, overgrown backyard. I peeped through a cracked window and studied the man who was transfixed by a television program and lifting dumbbells. I circled the house and noticed a window was open. I shimmied through and found myself in an all-too familiar place. I glanced around the tiny kitchen. My eyes landed on a distinct pattern of blood that hadn’t been cleaned off the corner of a cabinet.  I brushed the scar on my forehead. I stopped myself from having a flashback. I touched the holster on my belt which housed my weapon. I was overcome with rage and fury. I was ready to kill John mercilessly. I couldn’t- I had to stick to the plan. After a few deep breaths, I turned to the modest fridge. Silently, I opened it and light illuminated the dark room. I scanned over each shelf. Soon, hidden behind protein shakes, I found an aluminum-can of Pepsi. I snatched it and placed it on the countertop. I slid my gloved finger under the tab and a loud ‘pop’ was followed by a fizzing sound. I took a long swig of the soda and waited. I leaned against the counter, right near the toaster, as footsteps trudged toward the kitchen. A light flicked on.

“Sam?” questioned the man with a weight still in his bulky hand.

“Hello John,” I replied calmly. At that moment, I put my plan into action. I subtly unplugged the toaster and slowly wrapped the cord around my hand. John was too caught up in his story about his vacation to Vancouver to notice my understated actions. Suddenly, I yanked the toaster around towards my target. It collided with John’s left temple and with a thud, he tumbled to the floor. The dumbbell rolled out of his motionless hand.

~~~~~~~~~~

         I pulled open the drawer and grabbed a rag. I wiped the blood from my V-42 Stiletto and tossed the bloody cloth aside. I stood there for a moment and studied the toaster indent on John’s face. My gaze shifted to the five messily placed gashes my knife had created. I shook my head.

         “You get what you deserve,” I thought. I sounded like the guy on CSI who always said the epic phrases. Only, I wasn’t the good guy. For the first time, I was deeply bothered by this. I shook it off. With that, I hopped out the window and left, pondering this feeling all the way home.

         When I got to my apartment, I fed the begging animals. I placed my knife on the edge of the counter and went to check my e-mail. I stopped myself. I thought long and hard about my life and how I felt after killing John. Do I really want to do this for a living? Is this what I want? These questions raced through my head. In a swift movement, I knocked something off the counter and into the trash bin.

         “How about we watch a movie?” I gazed at the two creatures who stared back at me. The dog wagged his tail and the cat continued to rub against my leg. I plopped onto the white leather couch and they leaped up to cuddle close to me. I flicked on the television and scrolled through On-Demand. I settled into the pillows and the pair of fluffy white animals adjusted themselves around me. My knife glistened in the light of the T.V. from its final resting place- the garbage can.