All Good Things Come To Those Who Wait

I wonder how this will go down in history?

A random outburst of bloody violence or years of pent up anger finally boiling over? You never know I may even get away with it, I mean who cares what happens to him?

His parents disowned him very publicly; he lost his job and all of his high flying contacts. He lost everything really, but he took what was mine and he has to pay.

Once and for all.


I see him coming into the park, same time as always and watch as he takes the path around the lake, again same as always. He lives his life in such an organised way, does the same things at the same time day in day out.
Well this day is going to end in a way he would never plan.

I know I have a good twenty minutes before he comes running into my world once again, so I double, double check the bag again.

Tyvek overalls (two pairs) . Check
Latex gloves (two pairs) Check
Dust mask. Check
Goggles. Check
Tyvek overshoes. Check
Box of safety matches. check
Crowbar. Check

I catch a glimpse of myself in the rear view mirror, I am sweating and I am that pale I look ill, well I am sick but tonight I will be cured once and for all.

Ten minutes to go and I decide to get geared up and ready. I put the gloves on first (they aint going to catch me that easily) Then the overshoes (I don’t know if they will hide my footprints but at least they will hinder them a little) then both pairs of the overalls making sure both the hoods are covering all traces of my hair. Then it’s just the mask and the goggles. I don’t want to leave any traces of me and I sure as hell don’t want any trace of him on me.

Not again.

Two minutes I switch the car lights off knowing I don’t have to worry about the engine noise as his rather expensive noise canceling earphones will mask that and luckily the rustle of my every movement.

Here he comes, feet slapping the pathway as he pushes himself into the fourth mile of his daily run. My heart is beating so hard I can feel it in my ears.
I grip the crowbar tighter, step out and swing in one fluid motion.

The next couple of minutes are a bit of a blur to be honest.

I catch him a treat, square in the face, I don’t know if I break his Jaw with the first blow but I know that the second one makes damn sure of the job.
He lies there gurgling, while trying to shield the blows with his arms and curls into the fetal position.

With this I change tactic and hit him as hard as I can muster in the back, maybe a bit too hard as the claw embeds its self into his spine and I have to pry it out.

He is silent now and the faint boom tish of his speakers that have slipped from his ears due to the blood that is leaking from them and my thundering heart beat are the only noises I can make out.

I stop for a minute to catch my breathe, to listen and to watch him. To see if he is dead or not. Its time to make an important decision.

Do I want to kill him?

Would leaving him alive in this state be worse than death?

“Eeeease”

This startles me

“Eeease”

I look down at the mess I have made, he is still with us! And is he begging with me?

What for?

Life?

Or death?

I pass the crowbar, slick from his blood, from one hand to the other, close my eyes and start weighing up my options, I suppose I could always go for the insanity plea, I mean this isn’t the action of a sane man is it now?

I look down at him again. He is drifting in and out of consciousness, a low moan is rattling through his throat.

I grip the crowbar tight in my right hand, raise it above my head and bring it down with all my rage onto his head.

No doubt about it now, nobody is getting up from that.

I allow myself one last look and a few words to mark the occasion, my cure, my rebirth, my justice!

“See you in hell”

Nice and simple and to the point I think.

I stagger over to the car and get the jerry can from the boot; the slosh as I pick it up casts a shadow of doubt over me. Is this a step too far?

Who am I kidding? I have just beaten a man to death with an amazing degree of planning. I have come this far I may as well finish the job.

I pour the petrol over him, washing the blood from his head, you can see why they call it grey matter, have I burst his eye? Cool.

I put the can back into the car strip off the soaked overalls, mask, goggles and one pair of the gloves. Bundle them all up in the paper sack and go back to him again.

I pull the matches out of my pocket, open the box and strike three or four in one go. Letting them burn down to my gloved finger tips and then flick them onto his fuel soaked body.

The resulting “woof” pleases me it's finally over I am free of him.

As I turn to leave him burn I get one final thought.


You know that saying “I wouldn’t piss on him if was on fire?”


Well I don't believe in that anymore.