Night in the city

night in the city
bY paul f savage

Immanent shadows lurked behind the glowing masks of the streetlights.
Each pool of yellow neon held a lonely trace of memory's sickness.
Pacing through this jaundiced light, Kal Jeffer resembled a troubled
adventurer through the desert, each ragged oasis of neon casting ugly
shadows beneath his brow. His mind whirled with dark thoughts indeed,
for Kal had been pushed too far by the society he had come to loathe,
and now the time had come for retribution.
'Oh yeah,' he thought, 'I will be their monkey wrench indeed, and I
ain't gonna fuck it up subconsciously like I read in that book that one
time, man i don't really know what they will do. But man they are gonna
freak! Yeah, this'll be a blast.'
This stream of continuous thought raged inside his fevered brain. A
Literature Student passed, and came away with a distinct and admiring
impression of Raskolnikov, the deranged student in Dostoyevsky's story.
The Literature student, being somewhat of a Romantic, imagined himself
to be wandering through a cold Russian city, the slush beneath his feet
becoming thick snow, and somehow sensual too. He smiled and kicked at
the slush as he made his way to the local Communists Are Our Friends
meeting. The companion of this Literature student did not smile
however, knowing that somewhere in the city lurked the Derry Killer,
the serial killer who had evaded capture for over six months.
The young Kal Jeffer, indeed ill-kempt and in need of a shave,
continued his semi-coherent mind-conversation as he stumbled around a
corner, and into the tightly packed terrace street that is called
Retchmond Avenue. His steps through the slush mirrored his inner
machinations at that moment - somewhat unrhythmical, a little
fractured, and also, quite amusingly to the cold-hearted dwellers
amongst us, his gait made his body bob up and down like a stricken
dinghy. In fact, a student of films passed by Kal Jeffer at that
moment. Having just smoked three or was it four joints of the finest
rocky whilst watching that most intriguing of films, The Langoliers, he
found the topsy-turvy step to be so intrinsically amusing that he could
not disguise his mirth. Thus he burst into a fit of giggles there and
then, before suddenly fearing that public laughter made him seem like a
madman. And weren't those hedges just a little bit suspicious. Hmm. I
better get home to safety before anything happens to me.
The inner workings of Kal Jeffer's mind at that moment would be most
satisfying to a student of psychology. But fortunately, the
psychologists were engaged elsewhere at the Your Head Or Mine (YHOM)
convention, out of town, so none passed by to add a new layer of
perception of this intriguing young gentleman.
'Damn fools laughed at me at the crucial moment, and now look at me!"
thought the pitiful and self-pitying Kal Jeffer. 'I guess they won't be
laughing when i have killed them all! Ha! And no pigs will ever catch
me! I am far too smart for those motherfucking straight cocksuckers!
Yeah! You bet!'
From this snippet of thought, it seems clear to even the most
ill-educated and under-brained reader, that murderous feelings had
infested poor Kal Jeffer's soul, and even now he plotted the murders of
various people that had wronged him in life. Mrs Kudrup, his old maths
teacher certainly would have quaked if she had known that Kal Jeffer
included her in his hit list.
Indeed, at this moment, Kal's thoughts had turned from school kids who
had once bullied him, and he now dwelt upon the related subject of the
teachers who had besmirched him. How had they failed to see his
intelligence? How had they the courage to have put him in the lower
classes amongst the rabble? Fury bubbled inside, and his mental list
grew alongside his anger.
And once all the names on his hit-list had been struck out of life's
game, then he would turn his attention to the rest of society. Indeed,
he would become the greatest serial killer that this country had ever
known.
'My name,' he thought to himself, 'will be revered...my name will be
on that website I visited once...and i will feature in an issue of
Murder Casebook too, whenever that series comes out again...you
bet....'
As he began getting sexually aroused at such murderous thoughts,
feeling a little ashamed at his penis committing the social faux pas of
becoming erect in public, the local serial killer launched out of those
immanent shadows and slit the throat of Kal Jeffer.
Slumping to the floor, blood seeping out of his cut throat, the final
thoughts of Kal Jeffer's human existed floated through his head and out
into the cosmos.
'Typical, stupid society...look where it got me...'