Confessions Of A Criminal

I am a murderer, a cold blooded murderer. I had meticulously planned this crime. I had procured the tools, innocently, from the super market. Not that I was innocent when I was out buying them. I was plotting the murder even then. I only covered as well as I could, my malevolent desire, masked my ruthlessness with a charade of goodness, all along the way.

When I got onto the bus, I flashed a smile at the driver. He flashed one back. Perfunctory actions, a necessity of this civilized world. Should we agree with Rousseau and go back to a more primitive existence where all this exterior sham of decorum and goodness can be abandoned? Ah well, it was not the time for deep thoughts. I had murder on my mind. The sham worked perfectly for me, who would suspect the girl with the friendly smile. 

I sat on an empty seat, casually looked around to see what kind of people I was surrounded by. There was a lady in a carefully ironed shirt and plaid skirt, facing me. I felt her eyes examining me. Could she see through me, I wondered. Could she discern the evil in my eyes?

To give myself something to do, I slid my hand into my sling bag. I always wear sling bags as they keep my hands free. Free to carry shopping bags, free to take calls on my phone, free to shake hands. This particular sling bag was green. I must confess that the color choice was not pre-mediated, but it worked well for the task at hand. You see, green is the color of innocence. Well, maybe not the color of innocence, perhaps white is better suited for that, but green is a safe color. There is something about green that makes people at ease. It reminds people of grass and meadows and lemons!  

So into the green sling bag, which was a happy coincidence for me, I slid my hand, rummaged a little, and pulled out my cell phone. Then I slid it back in and pulled out my white Samsung earphones. Out with the earphone, coiled with the cord, came a key-chain with a single key on it. I am always frustrated when my earphone cord winds around the little objects that lie in my bag. Sometimes I pull out a comb, sometimes a pen, sometimes a half eaten bar of chocolate, sometimes an empty wrapper, all neatly wound up by the cord. Anyway, it was not the place and day to be frustrated. I dropped back the key chain back into the bag and plugged the earphones to my ear. To the onlooker, I would appear to be a casual traveller. Well, that was the plan and it was working perfectly well.

Emboldened by the success of my plan this far, I scoured my eyes along the length of the bus. It was a very long bus, three small buses joined together by those connector thingies. Apart from the neat lady who sat opposite me, were two little boys. Their mother was sitting on the seat in front of them. The boys were quiet, engrossed in something. Were they plotting something too? Was there a sinister plan in their little minds? Then, I saw a fan of cards in one boy's hand. They were playing cards! Well, you cannot blame me for arriving at the evil conclusion that I had. My mind was preoccupied with all things treacherous and it reflected in everything around me.

To be fair to myself, I must say that I am not an evil person by nature. Well, at least I haven't been in many circumstances that would bring out the evil in me. I say this because I have read somewhere that all humans have evil in them. It just needs the right situation to bring it out. Power, greed, hunger, fear are all great motivators for evil. So, I guess I am just the average person with a decent job and a good family. I enjoy the company of my few friends, who like me are average people.

But sometimes there is just so much a person can bear. You go on enduring it, telling yourself that it will be over soon. But it bothers you, deep inside. And while you keep your façade cool, your insides are simmering. It doesn't stop, it pesters you and gnaws at you. It starts boiling, the hate rising and crashing, like angry waves in a storm, until you cross all thresholds of control. Then you erupt, like a volcano, hot revenge pouring out. In that state, you no longer understand good or evil. Murder is the only thing you can think of. And it must be done fast, before you lose steam. Because you know that you can sink back once again into that torpor where you do nothing and then the simmering and festering will again grow inside you, once again, until the cycle repeats.

You need the tools, you don't have them at home. It has to be done professionally. No room for a mistake. You may not have a second chance.

I had heard those fly squatters sold in the super market were very effective.