THE GOOD SAMARITAN OF DEATH..A MERCY KILLING

THE GOOD SAMARITAN OF DEATH..A MERCY KILLING

I knew he was perfect by the lost but compassionate look in his eyes, but his desperation would be just strong enough to get the job done. I watched him in his habitat for days, silently watching and patiently waiting. I knew after my long tiring search, he was THE one. He would end my infernal suffering, he would be my guardian angel and my executioner all in one. I had watched a lot of crime shows so there had to be no witnesses, no trace that he and I had ever even talked. I would prey on his desperation and he would take my life. It was the perfect trade. He would be a hero, maybe not to anyone or even himself, but he would be to me. He would have slain the evil dragon that had held me captive for so many years. He would be the exorcist who would dispel all the demons that have plagued my tortured soul for longer than I can remember. Perhaps he might even kill the unspeakable evil that was lurking and growing deep inside of me. I always had a fear that when I finally snapped that I would not have any control of who I was or what I might become, but I knew that the years of loneliness, desperation, and desolation had created a monster so fearsome, so gruesome, so incredibly hideous that there was no telling what despicable terror it could unleash. Could I kill? Would I go on a postal rampage and claim the lives of hundreds or even thousands of innocent people. One thing was certain, the evil had to be destroyed in order to never have to find out the answer to this and so many diabolical questions. This poor, wretched man would be my savior. I have waited for him all my life. I have waited for his beautiful, dark, deep tender kiss. I often laid awake at night and imagined what it might feel like. Such a delicious kiss, so soft yet so eternal. The kiss I had waited for, begged for night after agonizing night would finally be placed on my waiting lips. The perfect kiss, the kiss of death. I had planned it out so well, thought of every last detail. He would be protected from the law, no one would ever know, except a higher power that might judge him harshly, but i could not be selfless this time. This was about ME. I needed to be a heartless, selfish, self absorbed bastard in order to carry out the perfect murder. My murder. M-U-R-D-E-R is such a nasty and unpleasant word for such a beautiful and noble, even heroic act, but in the eyes of the law and of God, it would be cheapened to murder. A homicide. Not a beautiful final act to an exquisite and romantic play, like Romeo & Juliette. No it was dirty, filthy, unforgiving murder. If I had written my savior a permission slip it would not even be admissible in a court of law. If I had granted my angel of mercy permission to happily and gladly take my life, arguing that it was a "mercy killing". They would paint my killer as a horrible , monster, an evil heartless villain. No one would ever have seen that he gave me the most perfect gift that anyone could ever give me, the gift of death, sweet death, the gift of eternal sleep and blissful peace. I couldn't think about him or anyone else anymore. I had tried so many times to take my own pathetic life, but I am a loser, a coward, a damned fool. I could not take another day of hoping and praying that God will have mercy on my and strike me dead in my tracks. I knew that if I did not succeed that my life would be ten times worse than it is now. I had to do something crazy, something drastic and something immediate. I cleaned out every last bloody dime I had left to my name in my bank account. Three fucking hundred dollars. Three hundred dollars, was that all I was worth. 40 fucking years of life and all I had to show for my miserable existence was three hundred measly fucking dollars. It was all I had and I knew I had to make it work. I went back to that dark damp place and I found him propped up against a brick wall with a needle in his arm and an almost empty bottle of Jack next to his side. He kept tapping the syringe hoping that the last drop of life would somehow multiply and flow through his veins like a raging river, but it didn't and it never would. I stood there watching him silently. I was embarrassed at the pleasure I was getting from watching him suffer. His torment was a bitter pill I had to swallow. I wanted to hurt him, make him pay for what he was about to do to me. I wanted this murderer to die a slow, painful, agonizing death. How dare he kill me. Who the hell did he think he was to take my life. To honor the twisted thoughts of a broken man in his desperate hours. At the same time I could feel my hand lightly graze my crotch. I could feel my flesh harden through my jeans. The thought of making love to this filthy, dirty, disgusting, ugly evil man almost made me cream myself instantly. I didn't care what he looked like or smelled like on the outside. This beautiful, fucked up, strung out piece of human excrement was going to give me the most intense, passionate and precious act of love that any human could give another. He was going to finally release me from my pain. I laughed to myself as I thought about what a fool I sounded like and what a field day therapists would have with the parade of dark and twisted thoughts that marched around in my head. I knew the time had come. He saw me, I think I was more startled than he was. He looked me over with his deep sunken eyes. I felt like he was baring a hole into my very soul. His eyes pierced me like a knife and I knew he could somehow read my mind. I watched as a wicked scowl came across his face. He did KNOW what I was thinking. It was like words , a whole conversation filled with words had been exchanged, but yet we both remained in silence. For a small fleeting moment I felt remorse, regret and intense unrelenting fear. I knew I had to act now or I would never get up the nerve to do it. I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out only a guttural moan. He started to look away. He had lost interest and whatever drop of poison that had actually penetrated his blood stream was starting to kick in. I knew it was now or never I was losing him. I couldn't even open up with my well thought out and carefully rehearsed monologue. It was now or never. I was losing him and losing him fast.Adrenaline was rushing through every nerve in my body and my blood was coursing through my veins, I felt a verbal orgasm was about to explode and I couldn't keep in in any longer for fear I'd implode from the pure intensity of it all. I almost screamed out in a painful yelp. "I'll pay you".. but just as the words reached my lips, the swift cutting sword of sanity threatened to cut my tongue clean out of my mouth..It was too late, I got his attention. He slowly cocked his head in my direction, never missing a beat and said in the driest raspiest voice I swear I had ever heard, "you'll pay me?" he said it again but with even more fervor now, "you'll pay ME".. in an almost accusatory tone. "You'll pay me for WHAT?".. My knees buckled and my body shook like a tree in a violent storm. I felt sick. I felt like there was a large boulder in the pit of my stomach. I thought I was going to vomit. I trembled in inexplicable fear. I knew I had to speak but the words wouldn't come. I knew I couldn't turn back now. I had one more chance to make this right, to get this back on track. I summoned up all of the courage I could muster deep within myself and I said. "I want..", "I mean, I NEED you to kill me." There I said it, I felt like I had spontaneously combusted as I fell lifelessly to the ground on my knees. He picked up his Jack and took a deep long swig, put it back down by his side and took his arm and wiped the alcohol from his lips. he rolled his eyes up in the back of his head and let out one of the most unnerving and cankerous cackles that sent chills to every bone in my body. After he finished mocking me with his grunts and diabolical laughter, he said' Get the fuck outta my face you fuckin crazy faggot. What the fuck do you think you are doing. Who the fuck do you think you are. You have some nerve coming down here from your posh, comfortable life, to ask some total idiot degenerate, down on his luck, desperate ass mother fucker to kill a little puny, maggot like you". .. He then took a longer swig of his Jack, took out a half smoked dirty cigarette, lit it with a broken lighter and took a long deep drag. He blew the smoke in my face and took a deep sigh. He finally spoke.. "how much you got?"  I was terrified. I wished I had more. I wished I was Rockefeller, I wanted to cry, in fact I did. I totally broke down right at his feet and produced the only money I had left in the world three hundred dollars. He took the small amount of crumpled $20 dollar bills in his hand and he laughed another deep and throaty laugh. "He must be fucking joking" he sarcastically said as if only to himself. "You want me to risk it all for three hundred fucking dollars. You must really be crazier than you look." That was it!  I had had it. Somehow I found the strength deep inside of me and I shouted "fuck you then!" as I took the money back. "Rot out here in hell then. No money, no booze, no cigs no fix. Fuck you you fucking fuck! I can get anyone else who doesn't give a shit about themselves or about life to kill me for cheaper. In fact, fuck you, I don't want your ugly mug to be the last thing I see before I die. Just go crawl back into your hole and die!". I preyed on his desperation and his shattered ego. I walked away quickly as he shouted.."STOP!".. In a inquisitive yet compassionate voice he spoke again "You really want to die? What is so goddamned bad in your little pathetic life that you need to kill yourself or worse yet, hire some stranger to do the deed?" I told him about my 40 years and extremely agonizing loneliness, self loathing, failure and crippling depression. He shared his life story with me. We cried together. His machismo flew out of the window when he weaved his own tale of woe. His mother died when he was only two, he never knew his father who left him and his mother shortly after he was born. His uncle and Grandmother raised him and took care of him. They lived a life of poverty in the projects of Harlem. His uncle molested him and murdered his Grandmother for the insurance money, now his father was rotting away in some jail cell. He told me how he couldn't keep a job or a woman. He had fathered two children, one of whom he had never even met, and the other that died in his arms from a drive by shooting at only age 5. He turned to drinking and drugs. He lost his job, lost his home and inevitably he  lost his mind. I wanted to make love to him right there. I wanted to comfort him. I bathed in his misery because it was all too familiar to me. He said he didn't want my money, he didn't want my blood on his hands or staining his soul. I knew this was the man that had to kill me I knew it would have to be him.  I said a quick prayer to God and asked him to make it as quick and painless as he could. I asked him to forgive me and protect my soul. Without another thought I simultaneously grabbed his cock though his loose pants and firmly planted my lips on his lips and thrust my tongue down his throat. He was so freaked out and taking aback that he repeatedly punched me in the face and chest. I knew this would only give me a good ass beating so I hurled racial slurs at him. "C'mon you dirty Niger, show me the kind of man you really are". I remembered the story of how he was molested by his uncle for so many horrific years of his life and I used it as a weapon against him. I taunted him. "You know you want it faggot, you know you want to fuck me. C'mon nigger faggot fuck me like your uncle fucked you, you worthless piece of faggot shit". He stopped punching me and began strangling me . I could see the rage and hatred in his eyes. He wanted to kill me. All of his weight was on top of me. He was much bigger and much stronger than me, but I knew he would be the one. He would be the one. Though naturally, instinctively, I fought him off and gasped for air, he just tightened his grip around my throat harder and he dug his dirty nails deeper into my flesh. I could feel the blood pouring out of my neck. My eyes rolled back in my head from the pain and shock and I felt lightheaded. The blood vessels in my eyes exploded and all I could see was darkness. I begged him please "if you have any mercy, if you have a heart, if you have a soul, just one kiss, one perfect kiss before I die, I beg of you!". He tightened his death grip around my throat and I could feel his beard rub up against my face, he was holding me, strangling me, crushing my helpless body. His coarse, dry, chapped lips fused with a mixture of booze, saliva and vomit pressed deeply into mine. His breath could have melted steel, but I didn't care I was dying. I could feels pools of wetness all over my face. It was his tears, he was crushing the life out of me, he was kissing me deeply and he was bawling at the same time. He stopped grunting and moaning and was silent for a few seconds, he then said the very last words I would ever hear... Now you can be free.. just then I heard a loud crack and felt the last of my life-force slowly drain out of my body...I got my kiss, the perfect kiss, the kiss of death. My mercy killing from my good Samaritan.

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