The Killing

They were everywhere! John's yard was being taken over by a large army of his enemies. John had never seen so many show up in such a short time. He looked out his living room window at the gathering on his front lawn. How did they all get there? They were coming to kill his sweet little Rosie, John just knew it! Rose was his baby... He alone had raised her for the last year, and no one was going to take her away from him.

“Should I call the authorities? What if they don't make it here in time?”

John decided it was time to take matters into his own hands. Grabbing the sharpest tools he could find, John ran outside into the fierce evening battle. They grabbed at John, stabbing him with needles, or cutting him with sharp blades. John yanked and dug at his opponents, pulling and chopping them into pieces. It seemed like every time he'd killed one, another would appear in it's place, cutting and stabbing at him. John fought hard until finally, they were all dead. His baby was safe.

“I did it!” John shouted before catching himself.

“I did it.” He said again, this time his voice softer.

John sat down in his lawn, exhausted after such a weary experience. It had taken him hours to complete the task, and now his low back and right shoulder were sore, along with a few areas that were bleeding from his opponents attack. His gaze finally rested on the dismembered pieces that covered his yard.

What will the neighbors think? Will they report me to the authorities? If I get reported, who's gonna take care of Rose?

Nervous, John grabbed a nearby black garbage bag and stuffed the dead parts inside. John had to be careful, his dead adversaries still had their weapons, and he was in bad enough shape as is, he didn't need to add new injuries to the ones they'd already given him. One by one he filled the bags, his body still bleeding and sore, making excuses and trying to justify his actions with each piece he painfully stuffed in.

“They were going to attack.” Shove.

“It was only a matter of time before they reached Rose, and then she'd be a goner.” Grunt.

He was almost done, but his conscience wasn't clear yet. In fact, he felt even more guilty than when he'd started the killing spree.

“It was self-defense, they'd attacked him too.” Huff.

“Didn't he have a right to protect his family and his property?” Groan.

“There.” he exclaimed after the clean up was done. A few small parts lay scattered about, but nothing was obvious enough to suggest something had happened there. John was in the clear, for now. Grabbing the now full garbage bags, he rushed to his trash can on the street. John pulled a bag out off the top, shoved the incriminating bags in, then replaced the normal bag back on top.

“Now, John thought, “if any of my neighbors should get suspicious and search my garbage, they'll have to dig pretty deep to find anything.”

John walked quietly to the side of his house, and grabbed the garden hose he'd kept there. He turned the water on low, hoping that if anyone should hear it, they would think it was only the sprinkler system. He sprayed his entire lawn, willing any small pieces down into the gutter, into the sewer. Satisfied he'd washed it all away, though not able to really see in the dim light coming from the street lights, John put the hose away.

He wiped his hands on his pants, and finally went to check on Rose. She was peaceful, no signs of stress, or of what might have happened, had the intruders reached her. John relaxed a little, and headed to the kitchen for a drink. Flicking on the kitchen light, John realized the mess he was in. His pants and shirt were stained, an clear sign of a struggle, and the blood bath he'd just caused. Stripping off the convicting clothes, John opted for a shower first.

Standing under the hot shower spray, John let it all go. The almost scalding water soothed his sore muscles, and sterilized his wounds. The water did nothing for his soul. After what was most likely the longest shower he'd ever taken, John toweled off, patched up his wounds and got dressed. John checked on Rose once more, fearful one had slipped past him and was choking her while he'd showered. She was still safe.

John grabbed the half-drank bottle of Vodka out of his liquor cabinet, and sat down on the couch. They'd come close... too close. He'd swore that they would never get close enough to harm her, and they almost did. It was his own fault. He should have never trusted his neighbor to watch her while he went to Las Vegas for a week with his buddies.

He took a swig from his bottle and closed his eyes for just a second. Tires squealing from bad breaks forced John to open his eyes again. It was morning. Frantically, John jumped off the couch and peered out the window. An unmarked car was parked in front of his house. Two men in uniform were stepping out of the car, a pen and pad in each hand. They jot down notes, pointing at John's yard, and that's when he saw it... the true blood bath that still remained from the night before. Despite his thorough cleaning, his lawn still showed remains from last nights battle.

The lid on his trash can snapped open, drawing his eyes away from the yard. One of the officers was using the tip of their pen to peer in his trash. John got angry. They didn't have a right to dig through his garbage! Just then John remembered something he'd seen on the crime shows he loved to watch. Once you discarded something, and put your trash on the public street corner, it was no longer your property. It was public property.

John hadn't noticed he was still staring out the window until he saw the two officers start to walk up the drive. He jumped back, hoping they hadn't seen him, but he wasn't quick enough. They had seen him; they knew he was home.

A sharp rap on his door seemed to echo throughout his house. John took a deep breath. He was about to open the door when they knocked again, this time harder.

“We know you are in there!” they shouted, “We just want to talk!”

John knew he was caught. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say except maybe blame someone else, and even that was a lame excuse.

“It wasn't me! It was someone else! No, I don't recall who, but when I remember, I'm suing for damages!”

No. They would see right through that. Cornered, John saw no other option. He slowly opened the door. The two men on the other side stood tall, their badges held high. John sucked in, and somehow he knew that there was no way he could have pulled this off. At the time, he'd been thinking of only Rose, but now, he was thinking of only himself.

Finally, the shorter man spoke, “Hi sir, we are with the Homeowners Association. We have reason to believe you've been doing your own yard work.”