Lesson in Murder

There is nothing extraordinary about murder. Entertainment has piped into the minds of the masses that murder cannot be conducted without some heinous premeditation. A conspiracy makes for a good narrative, as does an extensive investigation. It’s common practice that a corpse be married to a romantic concoction of villainy, mystery, and ultimately revelation. But honesty and practicality will show that murder is seldom so fantastic. I, myself, have killed a man, and I assure you, my actions were not the result of dime store fantasy or momentary hysteria. And I confess that my life has yet to turn to any extreme in either function and routine, or mental complacency.

It has been my experience that killing a man is not unlike exterminating an insect. If one were to swat a fly who chose to disrupt what would otherwise be a very pleasant atmosphere, does anyone take time to inquire as to the motive for removing the said offender from this world? Does the premature death of an rat drive men to madness either in search of justice or an innocent conscience? I will concede that humanity does lend itself to a few more anatomical, psychological, and spiritual complexities not necessarily found in my example of pest removal. However, the action remains just as basic.

Here I will relate to you the brief unfolding of the instance in which I took into my charge the necessary task of removing my neighbor from society.

He was a dull senior who inhabited the flat above me. I didn’t possess much ill will toward the man, but I can say with some pity that he was a prime example of the reason people fear their own aging. His bones were no longer so much a sufficient means of support, as they were a brittle mass floating in a sagging body. At each unpleasant glance, I humored myself with an image of twigs in a weak pudding, decorated by a dull gray waistcoat and pants; gray like the spots on his face. The only time I saw him leave the building was for his weekly trip to the pharmacy to purchase a cocktail of various drugs. I suppose he carried out this ritual so feverishly (as it were quite an ordeal for him to travel) because he had hopes of delaying his natural expiration. I often wonder how much money I saved him by accelerating his death.

As a result of his body refusing to age peacefully, my neighbor was fully deaf in one ear and its partner was very close to a similar state. And here lies the reason for my actions. I would have been far more sympathetic to my neighbor’s condition had his hearing impairment not been cause for his television continuously functioning at levels that could rival an air raid siren. Seven days a week. Talk shows, sitcoms, newscasts, commercials! Poisoning my atmosphere with their infectious noise! And so, one evening I resolved to fix the intrusion. I gathered my spirits as best I could and ventured upstairs with supposed good intentions. After some period of hailing my neighbor, he appeared before me in his usual horrid gray suit with a weak smile. It was no mystery that he received very few visitors, so my invitation to join me for tea was eagerly accepted.

He tried to make conversation as we made our short trip to the stairs connecting our floors. However, it proved difficult to indulge him as he scarcely heard any contribution I offered. The alleged conversation ended however as we stood on the landing before the stairs. He paused with a bit of a sigh, and in an almost apologetic tone informed me that he had trouble navigating stairs. He smiled as I put my hands on him. He must have found it comforting to have someone offer the support his body refused him. It only took half a push to send him plummeting to his ultimate demise.

There was no investigation.

Why do I relate this story presently? Well, fate, it seems, has a bad habit of playing jokes on people. It was nearly two years after the passing of my neighbor that I had the misfortune of missing my train one evening after a fairly routine day. Rather than walking home, and becoming subject to the disagreeable winter weather, I decided to take another train that traveled near my residence. I had made use of this train on other occasions, and so had no grounds for any suspicion of danger. And yet, as I exited the station nearest my home (still nearly a ten minute walk away) I had an acute sensation of fear. But contrary to what good sense or experience might lead one to think, the fear was of no detriment to my behavior. In fact, I detected what felt like a weak smile taking root on my face. For no apparent reason, my mind suddenly drifted to the moment before dispensing of my neighbor, and how he had greeted me with a similar weak smile. Under normal circumstances, I would have cursed myself for dwelling on such an insignificant and ridiculous observation, but for one reason or another, I could not dismiss the odd sense of fear, or the image of my former neighbor. Occupied with my thoughts, I was startled as a mouse-faced vagrant approached me at the top of the stairs leading out of the station. My refusal to give him change willingly encouraged him to attempt to take my entire wallet forcefully. It wasn’t much of a struggle, as he took me quite by surprise. With one forceful shove, I was sent over the top stair. The coincidence was so absurd that I believe I let out a muffled laugh just before the bones in my neck shattered on the frigid and fatal stone.

There is nothing extraordinary about murder.