📷 by Henry Be on Unsplash.com
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he ceiling could crash down at any moment, and Mike wouldn't mind. He couldn't stand any longer the plain stillness of his life. It had an unequivocal contrast with the revolting chaos inside him. He had grown to hate almost every detail of his routine. His job, his worn-out denim jacket, the house that didn't feel like a home. Lying on the bed, staring at the stains and spots on the painting, he realized he needed a change. A drastic one, for good.
Thirteen years in the past...
A young boy was hiding among the bushes, the ones behind the rusty trailer. As a chased animal, crouched, folding into himself to go unseen. Trying to stop the tears, he was holding a blouse and smelling the perfume on it. Why did you have to leave me, mom? Angrily, triggered by his thoughts, a fourteen years old Mike had begun to tear up the fabric. Mom wants to be in jail? Fine! Let her be. I'll be ok. I can take care of myself. Spread on the soil, the abandoned pieces of the mother-son love eventually lost her scent.
Back in the present...
Over the Formica laminate of the table, Mike was resting his forehead. In front of him, a lousy chocolate cake with the number 27 on it and a single candle, lit. Of the 365 days, this was usually the worst every year. It was both the anniversary of his mom's imprisonment and his birth. Time had passed, but the anger had remained the same. As any shrink would testify, the weight of a self-given upbringing and a criminal, absent mother had taken its toll on his mental health. Was he normal? He couldn't tell the difference.
Raising his head with tired movements, he now reclined on the chair's backrest. His eyes had an empty semblance. A puppet with one or two broken strings would have looked just the same. In an automaton gesture, Mike pulled his phone out of the jacket's pocket and browsed carelessly on the apps' market. Suddenly, one of them caught his attention. The flame-ish logo stood as a promise of the much-needed change. Tinder, huh? What the hell is this thing about?
With a pinch of curiosity, Mike downloaded the app. Not without choosing first a few photos from an acquaintance's private Instagram, he created a profile. The supplanted guy was handsome as fuck. Surely that could attract a few promising bonds. The description was mostly truthful, though. He was indeed a loner, searching for a warm-smiled woman, able to maintain a pleasant conversation. The troubled life issue was to be left out intentionally, of course.
That night flies got to enjoy the cake unwatched. Mike spent hours swiping left and right on the phone, barely changing positions on the kitchen's chair. A name and a smirk shook the sleepiness out of him. Sophie... The prettiest so far. Straightening, fully awake, he swiped right, this time to find a sparkling "You Have A Match!" message popping up. Oh, shit! For some long five minutes, Mike stared blankly at the chat window, thinking about a smart way to start the talk. Surprisingly, she texted first. Butterflies were all over his stomach by then.
Three weeks later...
Sophie was everything he could expect and more, and they were finally going to meet. Mike was sure he had done the right thing by using someone else's photos. That way, he would be able to observe for a while before approaching her. It was a first for Mike; everything was to be taken care of neatly.
The day before, he had dedicated it to a thorough cleaning of the whole house. At 2 p.m. of the expected day, he carefully chose his clothes, before taking a meticulous bath. Then, after packing some gear he would need later in the black bag, he was ready.
Sitting in front of the wheel, on the parked van, Mike was struggling to control the flow of emotions. Trying to reassure his mind, he went over the packed up gear. Ropes, check. Handkerchief, check. Bottle, check. Oh, and the knife. A beautiful Victorinox 10" rosewood chef's knife. Holding it, he felt its weight, the balance, the comfortable wooden handle. He returned it to the bag. Clenching his fists several times, Mike nerved himself to get out of the car.
Sophie waited for hours on the bar's stool, glancing every other minute through the darkened, fancy window of the local. She had an appletini, then another one. Examining the dress she had decided to wear, the navy blue one that enhanced her skin so graciously, she searched for something wrong or maybe unappealing.
At 11:01 p.m., she realized he wasn't coming. Disappointment filled her mind. She got up and exited the place. A few steps further, near the alley, she stopped and bent down to remove the creamy colored heels off her feet. An oncoming shadow made her freeze. Mike took his chance and pressed the cloth, soaked in chloroform, against her nose and mouth, both silencing and numbing her as he held her tight. Lights went out for Sophie.
Mike's story was born a few years ago and posted on my previous blog. It started as nothing more than a short story, but I always had the desire of revising it and making it the first chapter of many. What are your thoughts on the story? What would you like to happen? Let me know in the comment box!
