The Death Bringer

I drag her body to the back forty of our property. It has rained hard for the last three days. Tonight though, the sky is clear as I drag her body. Her attempts at screaming fill the autumn air, and warn the neighbors that something is wrong. I brought a shovel and a pickaxe with us tonight. They will do most of the work tonight, but only with my help. I drop her leg and toss the shovel to my left make sure she can’t reach it. I take the pickaxe into both of my hand and raise it high above my head. She lets out a whimper afraid I will use it on her. Not yet sweetie. I bring the pickaxe down with everything I’ve got over and over, loosening the ground even more in to a sunken hole. That I will dig out soon with the shovel. She’s still breathing, but she is in no condition to get up and start running. Broken bones will do that. The ground makes a strange noise as I pull the pickaxe out of it. She begins to moan with every hammering thud of the pickaxe. I only imagine what it is she is thinking.

It should come as no surprise that I’m digging her grave tonight. She tries to roll over, but it’s hard with broken ribs. She grips the grass digging her nails into the dirt as she tries to pull away from her new home in the ground. Her attempts are useless she’s only hurting herself on her own now. She uses all her strength to scream again. With each one of her screams I can hear her pain and I like it. I take the shovel now and dig out the loosened ground piling it next to her. I throw chunks of earth on her face to give her a taste of her new home and to give her whining a rest even if it is only for a moment. She tries to spit the mud out of her mouth. She can’t get it all. The outline of the hole isn’t rather large, but I don’t need it to be I can fit her body anyway I need. After what seems like a life time of building up her final resting place it is big enough to fit her broken body. I pick her up and she tries to bite my neck and scratch my shirtless back. The mud on her nails doesn’t allow her the pleasure of hurting me. She slams on to her back as I throw her into her grave. “What do you know a perfect fit,” I spit into her face. She cries out, but it only hurts to cry at this point. She musters up the strength to say, “You’ll never get away with this you piece of shit.” I slam the pickaxe down one last time silencing her one last attempt to piss me off. “I know, but that’s all right,” I tell her dying body.

I leave the pickaxe sitting in her forehead and pick up the shovel. The removed earth splashes against her dead face. Falling into her open mouth and covering her opened eyes. It would look beautiful, but my mind is in another place. “Your world is dead to me. Your laws mean nothing,” I scream at her dead body as I fill her grave. The cops will arrive in the morning thanks to the concerned neighbors, but it’s too late and it doesn’t matter. No one will be a hero for taking me in. Someone will try to become one though. They will write a shitty book about their heroic actions at the scene, made up lies told in attempt to make a dollar off my actions tonight. They will give me some catchy name like Pickaxe Murderer or the Death Bringer or something fake and stupid. All the while I rotten in some jail cell waiting to die, but I’m already dead inside.

They will try to retire off my name and become a legend, but what they don’t realize is that they will only make my legend grow in the mindless sheep of the world. I finish burying her body and smooth over the dirt on top. The handle of the pickax is still sticking out of the dirt pointing to the house. I figure this is a good enough grave maker if any. Wonder how long it will take to “find” me I think as I walk back to the house. I open the side door and walk to the recliner next to the sofa. I pull the lever to release the leg rest and lean back. It’s going to be a long day, so I better rest up.

I don’t like to comment on stories and there is no reason for that, but… This one is actually part of a series of stories… The story actually doesn’t follow one character, but several in an attempt to explore the evolution of murder…. I think that this story and each part can hold up on its own, but if you’d like to read the others they are available in my book Drinking Bleach….

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