"Deep within the corners of my mind..."

My small neighborhood.
Terrorized by a murderer.
If they only knew who it was, I knew, somehow I knew.
His main targets: pets.
Night after night a dog or a cat was found gruesomely killed and tortured.
I knew who I'd point my finger to.
I knew who would get sure mere amusement of such a disgusting thing.

He wasn't young or old. 56.
Name, unknown.
Gray beard. Thin.
In a green button-up shirt smeared with dry blood.
Khaki pants which have been torn by days and days of use.
Friendly until you read "his book" not only his "front cover".

22nd of October, cold and quiet night.
Moon plain in sight through the pure white clouds.
The smell of emptiness surrounded the streets.
The touch of fog came upon us slowly but surely.
As the night progressed, as I entered my sacred home of relaxation, there he was.
Sitting in a bar stool across my reach.
Looking down at a small kitten comfortably laying in his hand. Petting it with the other.
The kittens ears, cut off. But still held joy to be in the hands of his owner.

Hands covered with blood.
Never acknowledged my presence.
Saw the room as it was, nothing more, nothing less.
He stood from his previous position.
He stood there watching me.
Focused on my hands and feet.
Suddenly the kitten disappeared.

The rush of adrenaline excited my nerve endings. Numb.
You never know the feeling until you get it...
at that moment I became a murderer.
I began to beat him endlessly. Without any remorse.
Without a sense of being human.

The only words that would dare slip out his mouth were, "I'm just the beginning...", up until my foot hit with full force breaking his sternum and fracturing the lower part of his ribs.
The break of his sternum made his words disappear into harsh grunts.
He laid on the floor.
He kept softly uttering the words, "I'm just the beginning...".
I stepped back. Catched my breath.

As I step back I see what appears to be a wooden baseball bat, a Louisville Slugger, leaning against a white wall.
An idea.
A few steps arrived me to the bat. I held it in my hands.
The rush of adrenaline, disgusted excitement and of vendetta came from within me.

He's still there. Lying there.
Justice in my own hands?
I lifted the bat high above my head, took a step back, the bat broke the air and landed on his muscle-covered femur. Bruising it instantly.
Grunt after grunt was followed after each painful crack of bone.

I stood over him.
Above his back. Looking down at him.
An advantage. The Louisville Slugger nicely fitted in my hands.
The perfect opportunity. To relieve from his "duties" forever.
I held the bat high above my head so it will land straight on his skull.
As I held it high, the bat broke my grip and fell into the floor.

Becoming a monster wasn't in my future.
I gave up my physical strength to show my weakness, my inner strength.
I couldn't sink lower than the 56 year old murderer.


And this is where my dream decided to end its book.
Very interesting, creepy none the less.