"13"
By Jason Granado
Day #1: Divine Intervention
Eyes twitch, legs shake, mouths dry and thoughts wander; such is the infinite moment I am forced to relive over and over. Precious time clocking down, until the inevitable end when all answers will be revealed and the true level of my hatred will be unleashed upon those who have been begged for this to happen.
Ben Harpers cover of a Rolling Stones song plays in my head, and with a mock smile I whisper the words, "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometime, you just might find, you get what you need." Humming the rest, I sit at the table, where a pad and pencil sit perfectly perpendicular to each other, one of my many habits that seem to drive everyone insane. Since I was a small child I always had a need, no, an urge to straighten things out when they were just a tad bit crooked. Call it a compulsive urge if you want to label it that, I just like things in order.
Slowly opening the book while bobbing my head to the song endlessly playing in my head, I turn to the 13th page. Written across the top in bold blue and black lettering is "To-do List", followed by a smiley face. Deep down I know that it probably isn’t a good idea to keep a list like this where anyone can find it, but ever since I saw Kill Bill, it just seemed right. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that the movie provoked me to do the list, it just seemed like the perfect way to keep things in order.
Looking down at the list, I check to make sure that everything is correct. A frown covers my face, as the first name gets scratched off; nature and fate having already completed that task with the help of a drunk driver. I don’t mind so much anyway, honestly I’m glad it turned out this way because I didn’t really want to add her to this list anyway. She’s definitely a part of it, but somehow I just never felt like she deserved this fate. Divine intervention seems to have solved my moral dilemma anyway, so life goes on and so does the list. With a shrug, I go down the list, name after name bringing the purest of hate up to the surface. The final name, etched in gold ink upon the white paper, the pot of Gold at the end of the rainbow.
Fire burns in my eyes as I see this most hated person, and a sense of calm fills me as I know he will be dealt with soon. Picking up the red marker, I draw a happy little smiley face after the final name on the list, number 13; the beginning to all this pain, and the end.
Rising from my table, I grab my bag of goodies and exit the apartment, taking great care to turn off the light before I shut the door. The apartment is left silent, but speaking volumes as the journey begins, the fight to kill number 13, myself.
Day #2 – The Ignorance of Man
Exiting the building, I traveled down the quiet street, the sun having not yet risen in the East to bring life and light to this part of the world. Footsteps echoing in the night are as the ticking of a clock winding down to the end.
Traveling through the streets alone, confident that I will succeed in the end, no matter what happens nothing shall get in my way. I see him, walking alone in the dark alley, the sound of water dripping from an air conditioner, a cat rummaging through the trash, the only signs of life in this god forbidden place. The smell of urine and garbage hang heavy in the air, as my steps mimic his own, pace for pace.
The man does not notice the extra steps following behind him. “Mr. oblivious to the world around him”, doesn’t even notice that he is being followed just like he fails to notice that his wife is screwing his so called best friend. The man who failed to realize that his world has been crumbling at his feet for the last 10 years of his life, all because he has been too busy with his work. For him nothing is out of the ordinary, another typical day has ended.
My steps quicken behind him, slowly breaching the gap between us, hate my driving force. As I reach him, I grab him by the shoulder and quickly turn him around to face me. Caught off balance he falls to the ground, landing in a pool of water too filthy for any living creature to drink but at the same time brimming with life. Shock and bewilderment cover his face, the very air from his lungs too frightened to escape from him.
A car passing by grants him the light needed to view his attacker, and it is with a sigh of relief that he finally breathes. Feeling embarrassed for having been scared so easily in this obvious prank from an old friend, a smile and a slight chuckle escape him as his “friend” reveals the knife hidden behind his back. “Hank, you really scared me with that one buddy, come on help me up.” A smug expression fills his face as he extends his hand to his friend for help, but that expression is quickly changed to one of curiosity as he wonders what knew prank his friend is playing on him and it isn’t until Hank’s hand grasps him by his throat, tightly choking the breath from him, that he begins to wonder if this is no prank after all. Mr. Oblivious still deserving of his name.
He is slowly risen up to face his friend, his mind racing a million miles per second in a feeble attempt to bring logic to the situation. He tries to smile, thinking that this is completely a game, and that smile is broken when the knife penetrates his flesh.
Ignorant Man tries to speak but can’t seem to manage more than a moan of pain as the knife digs deep within his chest. Hank’s expression mimics the very smile that Ignorant Man has on his face just moments before. Methodically thrusting his knife into the ribs of his friend, a final turn of the blade completes the transfer, as a look of utter horror and pain cover Ignorant Man’s face.
Ignorant Man’s white shirt turns pink as it soaks up the blood pouring out of the stab wounds. His world seems to fade from under him as he struggles to focus on his attacker in one final plea of mercy. The plea goes un answered as Hank jabs the blade upward towards Ignorant Man’s heart. The sound of snapping ribs are the last sound Ignorant Man ever hears as the blade slides through the heart like a hot knife through butter. To stare into the eyes of Ignorance as it finally becomes aware, as if peering into the eyes of God herself… a perfect moment of understanding.
Ignorance’s eyes remain that way long after the life has been stolen from them, the windows to his soul left open to the perversion of the world he never noticed was in front of him. Long ago he dropped to the cold puddle of blood and water; another stain in the alleyway of life.
And as the sun begins to rise to warm the lives down below, the shadows of the night begin to crawl; silent reminders of the past, a darkness that will never be silenced nor forgotten. Somewhere in another part of the city, Ignorant Man’s wife is finishing up her business with Dan, hoping that her husband will come home early for once and break out of his normal routine. Maybe then he’ll realize that she is unhappy… day’s later when his body has already grown cold from the recent snow falling a police officer will give her the small box that her husband was carrying, inside she will find a diamond anniversary ring engraved with the words “I’m sorry.”
Day #3: The Broken Heart:
The music blares through the door like a formless mist, invading every inch of the yellowish lighted hallway. This same mist can be hear and felt at the same time everyday, always at 3 in the afternoon. If ever the music was not to play the entire population of the second floor would think that something had happened to Hank. Routine is trivial until it is broken, only then does silence remain like a heavy burden on the back of an overworked Ox.
This afternoon’s melody is a mix of Death and Industrial metal bands ranging from Acid Bath to Kimiara, music to obliterate a person’s last shred of calm and patience. Sitting in front of his computer screen, the sound of Hank’s typing is drowned out by the bass coming off the speakers.
Usually no one complains about the music because hank is the go-to guy in the building. Not having much else to do since he lost his job, he spends most of the day running errands for the elderly of the building as well as making basic repairs to the apartments. The landlord of course never wants to pay him for his time, although Hank does all the work on his own time and from his own pocket. Only once did they offer to pay him, a crappy twenty dollars for painting an entire floor… Hank just told them to keep their money since they were obviously hung up for cash.
So they let him play his music weekday from 3 in the afternoon until 6 in the evening. Today though, someone is knocking on his door to complain; a familiar face to Hank that haunts him at night. “Hank Hun, I normally don’t complain about your music, but I have guest over today and I was hoping you would understand and not play your music quite so loud.” Without even waiting for a response she turns and walks next door to her apartment. Keeping quiet as normal he just quietly says “sure, I’d be glad to.” With a sigh he just closes his door and lowers the music somewhat so she won’t complain anymore.
Jennifer has never hesitated to knock on Hank’s door when she needed something from him. From the very first day that she moved into the apartment building, that first night she knocked on his door to borrow some milk and sugar for coffee, simply because she didn’t want to bother herself with going downstairs to the grocery store right across the street from the building. Hank of course had no problem offering the last milk and sugar he had in his kitchen, nor did he mind when his Mother showed up for dinner uninvited and wanted some coffee, nor did he mind making that very trip to the store that Jennifer didn’t want to bother herself to make. Kind hearted like the cowardly Lion, that’s Hank in a nut-shell.
At first glance one would not assume Hank to be such a pushover. 5 ft , 11 ½ inches, 185 pounds of muscle, Hank is a power house with no where to use that power. He’s the kind of person that wouldn’t harm a fly, unless of course it was about to buzz into someone else’s eyeball or something to that extent. Quiet, kind-hearted, and friendly; that’s basically Hank in three words or less. It didn’t surprise Jennifer that he would be accommodating with her request, nor would he complain later on that night when her bedpost was banging against his wall. She also knew he would not complain when her moans would travel through the walls much like his music travels down the halls.
That night, Hank sat and remembered the one night that she invited him over for dinner. It was in August and the night had just started to grow cool and calm for the fall. The evening went very well, and Hank truly hoped that she would want a little more than just dinner. Little by little Hank had been trying to spark up small talk with her each time they met in the hall ways, and as the months fluttered by he learned more about who she really is… or at least the person she allowed people to see.
For months they flirted off and on like passing ships briefly brushing bows in the darkness of the night. All this led up to the night when he entered her apartment for dinner. A pasta dinner served with Italian bread and garlic sauce, followed by some ice cream sundae’s for dessert. After dinner they sat and talked for a long time, which led to a passionate kiss that only broke when they reached the bedroom. That night he didn’t mind the moaning, or the banging of the bedpost against the adjoining wall. Breakfast in the morning topped the visit, and that was the last time she even spoke a word to Hank.
Since that night, she refused to speak for more than a few words of greeting or inquiry. Hank had naively thought that their night meant something, when in reality it was nothing more than a booty call with dinner. He would not have minded the event so much if she had not turned so cold hearted towards him, and since that night the sounds coming from her bedroom at night just remind him of just how much of a bitch she is.
Thoughts of his broken-heart surface to his mind as the sounds of her moaning, urging her lover to thrust deeper into her. Try as he might, the sound carries far into his thoughts, and follow him even to his dreams. In the morning, he will find his covers and pillow on the floor from all the tossing and turning… along with a wet spot on the mattress.
