The First Kill

By

HUDA Ansari

The pain from his shackled arms woke him up. The numbness had moved further down from the tips of his fingers to the wrists of his hands. But he could still feel the rusty metal clasps digging into the flesh of his skin. Blood from the earlier torture episode had crusted on his forehead. His vision was blurry but he could make out the faint light seeping through the bottom of the door.

Pain couldn't describe what his body felt anymore. Pain is pleasure he would tell his victims. Not for them, but surely it was so from his perspective. The gurgling sound of life leaving their hollow shells at his whim left him feeling perfectly satisfied. Some would say he was a sadist but he never considered himself one. He knew he didn't take pleasure from their suffering, his pleasure came from his total control over their existence. He could decide their fate at the snap of his fingers. He knew he was not God but he felt he sure came pretty close.

He knew it was his time now. He had played around in this filthy business long enough to know when someone was no longer useful. He knew he had stirred enough trouble for himself over the years, he knew his friends would be the ones to mark his end, he knew the fate that awaited him.

He wasn't scared. He knew the rules and he knew he broke them and he knew he would pay the price for this. What intrigued him was how would he be paying this price? Would they torture him till he was left lifeless? Would they shoot him dead in the middle of the night? Would they starve him to death?

He had subjected his victims to each of those and more and as he sat there screwing his eyes trying to make out his surroundings, he started reminiscing his innumerable kills. Some were short and sweet, some went on for weeks, some were exciting, some were routine.

But by far, his favourite was his first kill. He couldn't forget it, none of the ones after compared to it, and it forever held a special place in his heart. Or whatever dark pit of emptiness that lay in his chest instead of a heart, for he had been told many times, by enemies and friends alike that he possessed none.

He wondered if his captors would do the same to him. He wondered if somewhere a young boy was preparing a gunny bag for his remains. Maybe they'd incinerate his remains and have a bonfire to celebrate his end. Or perhaps dispose him off chopped up just the way he did so many of his victims.

As he watched the wounds on his legs ooze from infection, he wondered how poignant it would be if he were to meet his Maker in the way he shoved his first victim to - it'd almost be like a circle of life, or death in this case. The only difference would be she was innocent and would probably have met her Maker. He was everything the opposite of that, and he didn't gratify himself with vision of Eternal gardens. To him, he had enjoyed his gardens on Earth and if hell were to be real, he knew there'd be a nook in there with his name singed on it.

He never felt any remorse, nor did he feel guilt. But he did often think about her. He could always remember how feel soft her skin had felt under his being. She was an inconvenience for someone and removing her was getting him easy money. He just had to take care of her but he had gone beyond the call of duty to finish this particular job. He wasn't trying to impress his boss - he was always a conceited over-confident man - to him it was about the purposelessness of her delicate existence. He couldn't remember her face or her name for that matter, but he remembered that she was the most beautiful thing he ever saw. Just ending her life seemed like a shame to him. No, he had to take his time with her. He always considered himself a purveyor of beauty. She couldn't die looking like she did, she couldn't die beautiful. But somehow, even at the very end, as her helpless bare figure writhed from all forms of indignities and tortures he had subjected her to, she somehow still looked more pleasing to him than any woman he had before or after her. He remembered her with a degree of fondness that couldn't be defined by words. Did he love her? Of course not. But she was much like a first love: she was his first kill.

He was smiling to himself as the cellar door creakingly opened. He had just finished thinking about re-living his first kill. Remembering watching her breathe her final breath always made him smile with satisfaction.

His captor now stood by his feet. He couldn't make out his face but he could tell that it was well-built young man and that the remainder of his existence was left at his whim. He romanticised the idea of being his first, being forever imprinted in his captor's memory, being the start of his journey of power, lust, sin, money, and death. He continued smiling maniacally as he watched his captor gesture for the door to be shut.

The door slowly creaked shut, blocking away almost all the light. The darkness within soaked whatever else remained.

Silent Encounters

by
HUDA Ansari

“Rats!”

She had stepped into a puddle again. And her gorgeous new pink shoes were now covered in mud. She knew she shouldn’t have worn them out on such a rainy Monday morning. But Nick had bought them for her from his first salary at his big office job and they were so pretty and perfectly complimented her little pink skirt. She did look like quite a doll if one were to ignore the mud stains. Petite frame, slender legs, flawless skin, big green eyes, blonde curly locks – it couldn’t get prettier than this.

She fumbled through the thousand contents of her handbag and finally found a tissue paper. She brushed her pink shoes off, and hurried on to the bus-stop.

“I can’t believe they are ruined. Oh Nick will be so disappointed in me! Why am I so clumsy?” she whined to herself as she waited at the bus-stop. And suddenly he was there, smiling and suddenly the mud on her fine shoes didn’t seem to matter.

The bus pulled over, there were only two seats left on it. Her heart fluttered as she hopped on inside, looking back to make sure he’d climb aboard too. He didn’t. He gave way to an elderly lady instead. She saddened a little. He told the driver he’d take the next bus. He smiled at her from outside as the bus sped off.

She reached home and put her wet umbrella and shoes away.

“Nick will want a nice cup of tea!” she thought to herself. So she put the kettle on the stove to boil, before running into the shower. Oh how she needed that hot shower! She came out of the steamy room in a little white towel that barely covered the essentials. She sat down in front of the mirror lost in her thoughts, just as a strong hand reached for her waist and a soft kiss caressed her neck.

“Oh Nick,” she whispered.

----------

“Wake-up! Nick! We’ll be late,” she said nudging him.

“Don’t be a bad wife Anne,” he replied as he pulled her back into bed. “Sleep.”

“No, no, no, I’ll be late for the day-care. You know how I don’t like parents dropping off their kids late. It wouldn’t look good if I am late myself,” cried Anne as she struggled out of his grip.

“Then don’t go at all,” he whispered, carelessly playing with her negligee, pressing down soft kisses on her lips.

“But if I don’t go, I won’t see...” she struggled.

“Then you won’t soil your shoes waiting in the rain for your bus,” he joked, as he pinned her against the pillows.

“But Nick... I want to go...”

He lavished kisses down her bosom. “But I want you to stay.”

“Oh Nick.”

----------

Every day she waited for the bus. Every day, twice a day she saw him there. For some reason, it was the highlight of her day. He always smiled with that genial smile of his at her. She daren’t smile back at him; she was too timid for that, but somehow seeing him smile at her made her feel warm inside.

----------

The joy of being a newlywed still graced Anne. She loved him ever so much – she did what pleased him, listened to him, obeyed him – he was her world. Life was good otherwise too, Anne was enjoying taking care of her day-care toddlers; Nick was getting promoted faster than ever at his job. He had started off as an accounting clerk but was now a senior accounting executive. His new workplace really was appreciating his talents it seemed. He had received four promotions in one year. Even though he started spending long hours at work, he told her it was worth it.

“I knew you’d make it big!” she cried as he came home with the news of his latest promotion.

“That’s why you married me, isn’t it?”

“You know that’s not true. I married you because I love you,” she exclaimed as she hung his coat in the cupboard.

He only responded with an uncertain smile.

----------

A lot of things change as time passes. Some for the better, and some not so much so.

She still saw him daily at the bus-stop. But their twice daily encounters were reduced to a daily morning encounter only. He no longer looked happy. His smile wasn’t the same. It was half-hearted. There were secrets in it. It wasn’t pure.  It was tainted with untimely cares.

----------

“Come on Jack, finish your juice. Daddy will get angry otherwise,” she cried as she pulled him to send him off to his bus. The toddler took his own sweet time much to the frustration of his mother.

“What’s taking so LONG?” screamed Nick from outside the door.

“We’ll be out soon,” cried Anne.

“Stupid woman. Taking forever. She thinks everyone’s work is as ridiculous as hers. Some of us actually make money to pay for your frivolous expenses!”

“I’m sorry Nick. I really am. I will try to be up another 5 minutes earlier tomorrow.”

“At the rate you get dressed, you might as well not sleep.”

Anne held back a little sob as she let Jack out of the door. She leaned in to kiss Nick and apologise but he shrugged her off, and walked past her. She grabbed her purse and walked out behind him.

She made her way to the bus-stop. He was there. But he wasn’t smiling. He didn’t look happy. She knew she wouldn’t have a good day.

----------

It was lunch-time. She couldn’t take this anymore. Her marriage was failing, she knew that, but she also knew she could save it.

“Cover for me please,” she told her colleague. “I have a personal call to make. And it can’t wait.”

She hailed a cab, made a stop at his favourite bakery and grabbed some cupcakes. She made another stop at her favourite clothing store. She picked out a deep red décolleté, out it on threw with her jacket over it. She then told the cabbie to take her to Nick’s workplace.

“I just need to show him I am more than just a mother and his wife. I love him. I can please him more. I'll be better. I can do this. I’ll just walk into his office and surprise him.”

She paid the cabbie and walked into the office.

“Okay so I will go into his office, I will tell him... no... I’ll show him my dress... but... maybe I will...”

She turned the handle on the door. And she was in his office. And his table was a mess. And there was a woman on it. And she wasn’t dressed for work. Not the kind for an office anyway.

“Oh Nick!” She cried.

----------

“Do you love her, Nick?”

“I had to do it. You and your demands and your measly job and the kid. I told you I didn’t want the kid, but you had to get yourself knocked-up. Someone had to get the money. So I sleep with her. Big deal. She keeps to her word. She gave me the promotions!”

She dusted the family portrait on top of the stairs.

“Does she love you, Nick?”

She dusted off their wedding photo frame.

“Why does that matter?”

For the first time, she noticed her in the background of their wedding shot by the cake.

“Didn’t you start working with her three months after we got married?” she asked as her hands started dusting to the porcelain vase which his boss had given him on their first anniversary.

“What? Yes, but why are you even asking me that? It is your fault I had to sell myself out.”

She stopped dusting, her hands still resting on the vase. She turned around and stared into his eyes.

“Did you ever love me, Nick?”

“Who cares? I’d do you all the same.”

And suddenly, just like that, she lost grip of the gifted vase and it went cascading down the stairs, taking with it its intended recipient.

“Oh how clumsy am I! I have made a huge mess. Nick wouldn’t like it, I should go clean it up,” she said to herself as she took out the broom to clean up the porcelain remnants of the vase, slowly but definitely soaking up the red.

----------

“It’s okay Jack. Take your time. Daddy’s not going to be around today to scold us. Now shall we go?”

She held the little boy’s hand and he climbed into his bus. She saw him off and walked down to the bus-stop herself. As she stood there she waited for the bus, she knew he wasn’t there. She knew he’d never be there again. But it was okay – because for the first time in her life, she smiled for herself.

----------

Damaged

By
HUDA Ansari

The sound of his phone beeping woke him up.

“I hate it that you have to work late even on our anniversary. But it’s okay! I already put the kids to bed and let’s just say… your present is waiting ;)”

The message annoyed him.  He sat up in bed, with just his shirt on, fumbling around for his boxers. It was wedged under her passed out figure. He forcefully pulled it from under her naked belly. She didn’t budge. He didn’t expect her to. He had ravished her flesh like a hungry beast. It often surprised him how it didn’t kill them.

He put on his boxers and made his way to the grimy washroom at the corner of the room. The toilet bowl was leaking and the place reeked of filth, but he was no stranger to a place like this. He relieved himself in the mucky and putrid excuse for a loo and proceeded to wash off the remains of the night from himself under the creaking shower.

The water was cold and smelled rusty, but it didn’t bother him. It somehow felt better than the comforts of his en suite at home. He stood there for a long time with his eyes closed, cold water streaming down his body, almost cleansing him of the sins of the flesh. He breathed heavily and finally opened his eyes; his one hand reached for the grubby shower handle and the other for his shirt and boxers he had left on the encrusted sink. He pulled on his boxers over his dripping member and exited the bathroom.

She had roused from her stupor and sat up on the broken chair at the far end of the room, looking out of the tiny window. The room was dark but he could see the burning embers of her cigarette.

He turned on the lights to look for his clothes. The sharp light caused her to impulsively knit her eyes and lower her face. Her sudden movement made him look at her – for the first time in the night. She had unremarkable features, her complexion was tanned, and the only thing attractive about her was her long curly hair, but of course the job had left them lustreless and coarse. One could see the events of the night had taken its toll on them too. She just had a shirt over her shoulders; he could see she had not bothered to button it up – her semi-naked heaving bosom was in clear sight of him. She had pulled on her half-ripped stained panties underneath.

He stared at her for a while and then started putting his shirt on.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Vodka,” she murmured

“I meant your real name?”

“What is your wife’s name?”

He got his answer. He buttoned his shirt up. His phone beeped again. She was still waiting for him.

“Supper awaits: In case you are hungry when you get back! Sorry if I am bothering you – I just miss youJ ”

Attached was a picture of steaming hot pasta and meatballs.

He put his phone back on the table. She was still staring out of the window. She had stopped smoking. Her arm hung limply off the back of the chair exposing her ample bosom. She didn’t seem to care. A blasé attitude was the free gift the profession brought.

He pulled out the cash tip for the night from his wallet. He sat down on the ruffled bed as he put the money on the side table. His wedding photo was staring him in the face from his wallet.

“Jade.”

He looked up at her, feeling a little lost.

“My name… Jade… because of the eyes.”

He tried to remember if they were indeed green. He couldn’t recall. Relief was the only thing on his mind. He took her word for it.

“Does she not give you sex?”

He was quiet. He contemplated lying. What it worth the fibs? She was a paid one-night stand for him. He always had a different one each time. He’d never see her again.

“She does, she loves me. I just like doing whores.”

The answer didn’t trigger a response. She pushed her hair off her face as she lit another cigarette.

“You are a pig,” she muttered as she blew off a whiff of smoke.

He didn’t object. He knew he was a cheating excuse for a husband. He just continued staring at her. He thought she looked repulsive and uncouth. There was even a tattoo on her arm.

“Why the “C”?” he asked pointing at the tattoo.

“For Chris… my brother.”

He laughed mockingly. “Incest?!? And I thought I was messed up.”

She turned her head to look at his face. Her eyes were indeed green. She stared at him for a moment as he snickering laughter filled the empty room and then went back to staring outside the window.

“He is dead. Shot himself in front of me.”

He stopped laughing. He felt ashamed of his earlier comment. She got off the chair and started buttoning up her shirt.

“Is that why you became a prostitute?”

No one had made that connection before. It made her uneasy.

“What is it to you? You didn’t come here to be a shrink.”

She lit another cigarette. He went back to staring at his wedding picture.

“I love her. I can’t not love her… she’s so perfect. But I can’t change me.”

She extinguished her cigarette and looked at his pathetic form. She didn’t feel anything. She had made herself incapable of feeling anything.

“I got in the business when my boyfriend made me sleep with his bosses for extra commissions,” she said as she bent down next to him to reach for her skirt under the bed.

“Your brother… he didn’t… stop you?”

She pulled on her skirt. “He was long dead,” she mockingly laughed to herself. “He wanted me to be a doctor. Took the easy way out himself.”

She picked up the tip money from the table. His phone buzzed again. A picture of a very attractive woman dressed in a white negligee came up with the message, “White, because it’s your favourite.”

Angelic white. “So perfect,” he whispered under his breath. A slight smile lingered on his thin lips but it was soon followed by the knitting of his brows. “Too perfect!” He was annoyed again: at her perfection, at his wretched damaged self, and at possessing everything a man could ask for.

She was indifferent to his mumbling. She knew they were all messed up beyond repair. If they weren’t, she’d be out of a job. “You know the way out?” She asked as she grabbed the tacky door handle.

He was mesmerised by the picture. His hand instinctively reached for his manhood. He looked up at her. “Are you interested in an extra shift?”

She looked at his hand clutching the phone. “I’m done for the night.”

“Okay, get Prat to send someone up here. I’ll settle the account after.”

She slammed the door shut as he sat on the bed, staring at the picture, waiting for his next relief.