Monster

***Disclaimer: Some readers may find this disturbing as it does contain violent scenes.

You're standing there. At the stretch of the pool. Now for some reason the blue waters look black. You think it'll be better if you call it Black Sea, but that joke doesn't make you laugh. Unlike the other days you are here, today it is different. You're usually your own comedian. You usually love it here. Not today.

It is cold. The clouds are darker. The skies are clouded. The pool is darker. The wind is heavier and somehow you can hear it scream. A familiar scream. It's uncomfortable.

You wake up from your house each day. Make breakfast, sometimes you don't. Pick dirty clothes if there are any and drop them off at room 18 in the black coloured mall. You like how they iron your shirts, or it's just a thing you get from being a loyal customer because you've been taking them here for over a decade now. You're 38 and unmarried.

Like an engineer or a private doctor, you get orders with deposit money from anonymous people. Like the bahasha you got a day before yesterday had 2 photos, a certain amount of money and a simple description penye utapata huyo msee.

Then you get knackered for work. You usually leave the house all dressed up and your red ties are always part of the outfit. Then you go hunting for your prey.

But today work was different. But you had to do it. Your job description is harsh and strict. No Names. No Questions. You drive along Thika highway. It's 6pm, it isn't hard today because you already know how she does her things and where she lives. You stop at Mirema.

You get out of your car, miles away from her house. You climb the lift to the seventh floor, you turn right. Open the door with whatever thing it is you usually use to break into people's houses, close it and get in the dining room. Lucky for you, she still lives alone. You serve yourself her best wine and sit there, sipping it. Minutes later, you hear her fondle with the padlock. She gets in, takes her grocery’s to the fridge and as she is unpacking, you inject her on the neck. She falls as you carry her to your car. It's getting darker, so no one will see you. You make sure of it, you've done this for years, you're experienced.

You take her to the dark room of your office. A room where no voice comes in and no voice gets out. A room with butcher knives, Hunter's knives, surgery knives and surgical blades, wires and everything scary hanging on the left side of the room. The right side has a wire strong enough to hold human weight. You tie her up. Then begin your job, silently. Just like the boss (Mr. Anonymous) demanded, but today it's different. Because this is your ex. The woman you had the best life with when you were together. Then, a year ago, she went silent on you. You always wonder why she ghosted you without a reason. You don't speak, you can see her move. She opens her eyes. You take off her clothes, one by one, silently.

"What do you wanna do to me?" She asks. Arrogance and annoyance clear in her voice.

You take the hunters knife. Sharp. Clean. Shining.

You look in it see your reflection and laugh, you pass it on her body, from her neck downwards.

"Baby, I don't want to rape you, if that's what you're thinking."

You smile, that devilish smile you always put on. That smile that made most of your victims think you might feel something human enough to let them go. But you don't feel it. You never feel it, even when they beg, they grit their teeth, they mourn, they call on their gods, they tell you about their kids being fatherless (because all your previous victims or clients were men, but today you have a woman). They insult you when they see no hope. You still manage to smile and go on. Because this is your job. Then her. She's scared now. You take the barbed wire from the hanger.

You swing her body such that her butt is facing you, then you throw it on her body harshly and strongly. A hundred times or more, you lost count when she started moaning louder. You make sure it touches her shoulders and runs to the butt. Then you repeat on the lower side. You take the Hunter's knife, turn her around and torture her. You somehow manage to take off her ovaries. She is tired of crying. Her eyes are dry now. She's begging you. She tells you she will get back to you, she will marry you if that's what you want. She promises all the money in the world and everything you will ever want. But when you're about to die, you know it. You feel the smell of hell or heaven somehow. You can literally see pain pour out of her face. There's blood everywhere but that's like water to you. You're used to that.

You work on her breasts. You cut the left one off first, using the same knife. Then the left one you insert surgical blades like a harmer works on the nail. She has submitted. You love it when your victims get to this stage. When anger, self pity and hope is lost. When they stop begging you to at least let them die knowing what they did to deserve that. When they just hang there. Begging for you to kill them and do it fast, not saying it out loud because they don't have that energy but you know what they're thinking when it gets here. Then...

You call the gateman in. He's the only person who knows this place. An isolated place in a cool neighbourhood. He comes running up the stairs. "Like always, clean this mess." You command as you leave. You get to the bathroom. Take off the suit, the red tie, the white shirt and everything off your body. You freshen up. Put on new clothes that look exactly like those you just took off. Take the dirty ones to your office, for him to clear them together with the mess. Get to your car and speed off. All fresh, all new.

Except the memories of her.