Murdering the Old?
There once was a man, and he used to kill old people. Not the mobile and functional, the sick and dying. He would slit their throats and kiss their foreheads. Some said it was mercy, others said it was an outlet to live out his murderous inclinations. Deep down, he himself could never figure out why he did it. He didn’t like the warm blood oozing from their throats down his hands, he didn’t like how their eyes rolled back in their heads. Nor did he like how it was rarely a smooth cut, often the skin would catch on the blade and he would have to tug it. He felt hollow, always. He couldn’t cry, because his eyes rebelled against his need to purge, against his need to feel human.
He always loved drinking, but could do without the heaving that so often followed. He loved how the warm sensation of an empty belly flooded with alcohol would make his cheeks red. How they would redden with gratitude as he silently murdered his liver.
He sneaks into homes and finds unlocked doors and he slits throats. During the day he sits in a not so uncomfortable chair and waits. He waits, all day for the night. One might have thought he was the answer to people’s prayers, especially those who bounced off the walls for fear of “over-population”. But no, he enjoyed it, it wasn’t exactly divinely sanctioned.
He always wondered why the women would have short hair. Their peaceful sleep would thin out, what during the day would be fluffed and poofy. He smiled as he worked, it wasn’t for him it was for them. He practiced the least sinister smile he could think of, every day in the mirror. He practiced smiling. He didn’t want to give these old people a fright, heaven forbid that they have a heart attack.
Funny part is, when he started, this was old people’s only recourse. He would frequent cafes loaded with old people. Often he would overhear conversations of woeful discontent about kids who had constantly bothered them, spouses and their insufferable nature, delicious but unchewable food and he would think “what a pity”. In his mind, they asked for him to visit them late at night. They did beg for death.
Who was he to stand in their way… even if today they could have just as easily swallowed a pill.