Crowded Spaces

The canal runs east-west through my neighborhood and was full of murky rainwater from the recent flood. I was walking along the embankment, trying to keep my boots steady on slippery ground. I carried with me a large burlap sack, and several times I almost slid down into the water as I tried to keep my balance. My arms were getting sore and my back hurt from the short walk from my home to the ditch, but I reached my destination before the sun awakened.

My Tinder date and I had gone out for sushi the night before. She’d taken an Uber, which was convenient for me as it was less hassle, and I also paid the dinner in cash to avoid a paper trail. Later, we’d traveled back to my place for a second helping of fish.

I enjoy killing, if I must confess. The sound of a blunt object against a skull. It makes a deeper thud than hitting a watermelon, which are good for practice. And quite juicy!

The first time I hit another human with the sturdy piece of oak I keep under my bed, I was taken aback by how much force it took to knock someone dead. Usually they come around more quickly than you’d expect. If you want them out permanently, you gotta bash them hard and bash them repeatedly.

Which brings me back to my Tinder date. She was cute. A red head. My favorite type. Petite with freckles and a little ass she liked to shake while she walked around in a tight-fitting black skirt.

My dick was hard the moment I met her. I didn’t bother to hide it through my khaki pants. She had this strawberry chap stick on that I could smell, and it aroused in me a great desire for violence and control. My brain zeroed in on the slightest detail of hair falling across her face during dinner. It was like a photograph of fixation burned into my brain.

This is when I knew I was ready to go. I call it The Summoning. The moment I suspend the present and fantasize about the future. That first blow that’s coming. That original thud.

Tinder girl put up a decent struggle. If I don’t connect right away with the wood, that’ll happen. You’d be surprised how hard a 95-pound young woman can fight!

After destroying her brain and her left eye socket, I figured I’d just throw her underneath the floorboards like usual, but the crawl space is getting crowded, so I took her down to the ditch. I didn’t bother to weigh her body down as I’d already scrubbed her in my bathtub, removing my DNA. I cut off her fingers, tossed them in the trash, and dragged her body through the night frost and into the swiftly flowing water, watching as the burlap sack bobbed and twirled like a child’s toy in a bathtub, and then I continued about my day, erect and satisfied.