What have I done (Ad-hoc killer)

------inspired by real events------



With his hands shaking, he put on his shirt, before he went out his parents' house.
He just started to walk around the small town, his consciousness feeling numb, his body feeling like somebody else's. The sea would calm him down, put his thoughts and memory into place. So he reckoned, at least.It was four in the morning but the heat of the night wasn't territory one bit. Besides the nearby town of Ajaccio was a thriving port and nightlife centre. That must've kept the sparkling ''fire'' of the night alive.
There was no moon to be seen guarding the sky, so when he left the artificial lit streets he had to dabble in the dark till his eyes grew accustomed to it.
The beach felt cold and lonely, no more footprints hurting its body, no more cigarette butts burning its spirit, no more noisy kids, no more human invasion.The sea was calm and most likely sleeping its few hours of tranquility till the morning tourists would spoil and damage its integrity.
Despite the darkness he was swimming in, it was on the beach, looking at the sea, that he noticed that his hands were full of blood. He wasn't shaking anymore but was still in shock.
And the bigger shock camewhen, little by little, bits of his memory came back to his brain, painting the whole perfect picture of what had just happened.
''What have I done?'' was the first thought that crossed his mind. He wanted to go back to his house, see if it was true, but he hidn't find the courage to.Instead he preffered to take another stroll under the same trance-like state he'd been in when he left the house.He felt he didn't have to explain the situation to himself, but to someone else. He wouldn't understand his own actions, but maybe a neutral part would be wiser in terms of advising him.Thus he turned to one of his friends who lived close enough to the streets where he was now losing touch with reality.His heavy zombie-like feet brought him slowly to his friend's house where he phoned him.
-Listen, Jacques, I can't understand a word you're saying...just come up and we'll talk.
At 5 in the morning his friend didn't find it the right time to discuss, if only was it for serious things.And this was some serious matter. Worth to wake up a friend or anybody else, for that matter.
His friend brought him to his room and by the time he actually opened the door, he noticed his hands and felt a shiver down his spine.
-Merde, is that blood on your hands, Jacques?
His tanned face turned pale. Jacques was still under shock and it wasn't until he sat down and rested his once again shaking hands that one could get in ''touch'' with him.The happenings came back to him and he could make proper understandable sentenses.
-I killed my family, Phillippe...
He didn't look his friend in his eyes while saying it, instead his stare wandered on his parents and brother invisible presences that he must've felt.
A lonesome tear came down his cheek.
-Don't give me this shit, Jacques. I'm gonna call your house right now.
Four calls and a dozen rings later and still no answer. Phillippe turned to Jacques. He hadn't taken his eyes off him since he noticed the bloody hands but now he was ready to take him seriously and hear the facts.
-I want you to be sincere with me, tell me what happened. None of the family murder stuff. What did you do? Kill a rat, a goat, a weasel, what?
It took Jacques a couple of moments to begin his story-telling.
-I woke up at 2 in the morning and...
-Wait, don't leave me outside till half way through the story. There must be something else before that.
-No, phillippe, there isn't, I'm telling you the truth.
Phillippe gave him an unconvinced gaze.
-Go on...
-I woke up, couldn't sleep. I felt trapped in this dream. A dream I couldn't escape.
-A nightmare?..
-Not really. Just a dream.
-What was it about, this dream?
-Nothing.
-What the fuck do you mean nothing? First you tell me about a dream, feeling trapped in it and now you give me the bollocks it wasn't about anything. What was it, a blank screen of a dream?
-I went downstairs and took the biggest knife we had in the house. It shined in the dark, making the way to my brother's room much easyer.I was standing there,looking at him, with the knife in my hand...It didn't take me more than half a minute till I started punching him with it. He'd never wake up......Then I heard my mom had been waking up. I didn't make any noise, mind you, but I reckon she must've felt something terrible had happened, so I rushed to my parents' room and there she was, trying to wake up my dad. She saw me and asked me if anything was wrong. I said no. Then I wispered to her ear ''Marco's gone'' and hugged her. At the same time the blade made its way into her back, she didn't even have time to struggle.As you know, my dad had a few drinks before bed and remained there , snoring, feeling nothing whatsoever. So, I took a cushion and shoved it on his face and kept putting pressure on it for about a couple of minute. I wasn't sure I had the job right, he wasn't moving or anything but he rarely does when sleeping so I had to use my knife once again. I kept staring at their bodies afterwards, feeling proud of what I'd acccomplished. I don't remember if I cried or not....Then I went out, shocked, but not because I had just murdered my family, but more cause I'd seen them dead.I can't tell you why I've done it....truth is at the moment, I don't know the reason myself.....
Without looking at Jacques, Phillippe rose from his chair and called the police.
-Send a car at Rue de Letieres, 16, please, it's urgent!
He felt more than deranged, he had let in his friend to discuss at first, now he had listened a killer voice his murders....

London, here he comes...

My older brother has just left for London, after ten years in Rome. New life, new chances, new hopes. Just wanna take this opportunity to wish him all the best with his endeavour, goona miss the fights with him....
T.

Domestic violence

I was riding the tram yesterday, as rarely I do, going to work , when a woman passed in front of me. Yes, I know, you see those every corner of every street, but not all of them are like this one was.She was wearing shorts and the bruises(read scars and the whole nine yard) were quite visible on her legs. Now, I'm not gonna assume she's into that line of work or that her presumed pimp or clients hit her. She was in her late thirties, for bloody sake. Why should she be working that job, or anybody else, for that matter.
Now, I hate the ''I fell on the stairs'' or ''a rabid dog chsed me and bit me in the process'' type of stupid explanations to cover up what's crystal clear to Stevie Wonder himself:men violence on women.
I can't grasp the concept of a woman being harrased, beaten, hit, whatever and still hang out with the attacker or love him.Cause I'd need to take a deep breath before I could start naming all the cases I know or heard about about doemstic violence and whatnot.
One other thing I was interested in pointing out was that lots of these abused women, may they be wives or not, don't even complain. I don't understand their state of submission. I ain't saying the abused shoud turn into vigilantes and shit, but for fuck sake girls, have a bit more pride. Cause the vicious cycle goes like this ''he hits you, you don't do shit-he hits you, you can't leave him-he hits you, you won't leave him-he hits you, you love him''. Ain't that a bitch!?
I understand how love goes(don't we all think likewise?) and all that but still, how can they put up with it.I mean, on one side you've got the feminist movement, but on the other side the reverse of the medal shows another face to it.
A few months ago, while I was returning from my home country back to Rome, I had the pleasure to meet two gals(aren't I the charmer?!) whom with I chatted the whole two and half hours flight.Besides non-sense we got ourselves in a threesome conversation about cheating and shit.One of them was married and expecting a baby, too.(She was 25yo, though)
And she said that in case she found out, and I mean literally found her husband with another woman she wouldn't dump him.Not only that, but she'd think she was part of the motive why he'd cheat, due to her not fullfilling her wife duties, whichever are those.Now, what about that? Could anything be more fucked-up than that?
Ah, I'm already tired of the subject for now. I'll be back with new ideas as soon as i feel the need to re-open the topic. Until then, if I see a woman with bruises I'll ask what king of job she's got.


T.