Classical music, Beethoven, played from my vintage 1957 AMI H Jukebox.
I slowly slit open her throat. She couldn't move nor shout because of the drugs so only her pretty black eyes showed her struggle. They shone like obsidian jewels, so expressive. Through her gaze I felt like I was experiencing her true pain, anguish, and most of all fear, as I moved my blade up and down, making slow precise cuts.
The wounds I made on her were shallow enough to make sure she bled out slowly yet deep enough for her to be in agony and just neat enough not to cause too much of a mess.
The floor was wrapped in plastic and the incinerator was raring to go, but it was always good not to make too much of a splash. Allowing her to bleed out slowly was better, it also made collecting the blood more simple. When I cut her, the blood would drip down through the holes of the metal table she lay on and into the silver tray underneath, and then from that silver tray, her blood was drained into glass beakers for nice cool storage.
The process went on for a few hours, there was no rush, I wanted to be delicate. She would be my last ever victim. I was getting too old for all of this.
Age was when mistakes were made and I didn't like making mistakes, I wanted to end my legacy as a perfectionist. It was time to give up my favourite hobby, time for the fun to stop.
I really felt my age kicking in when I had to tip her body into the incinerator, it used to be so easy. A decade ago I could do it in seconds all it took was a bit of muscle power, but now my hands were shaking, the liver spots on my skin were so ugly, but it's only natural. Age is a sign from the Divine that we're all equal before Death, even the finest of predators.
I wheezed as I cleaned up my workshop, even breathing was a chore at this age. It used to take me only an hour to inspect everything, clean every nook and cranny, methodically process all of it with clean bleach, but now it took me three. 3 hours to make sure that any trace of this woman's existence, besides the blood-filled jars, was gone.
I slowly covered her belongings and clothes with petrol. All she'd had on her was a worn rucksack, a mobile device, suitcase and passport. I began burning all of them one by one, there was no reason to keep them. Only idiots kept souvenirs of their victims, idiots that wanted to be caught and remembered for all their crimes. I don't kill for a trophy, or fame, no in fact the act itself gave me pleasure. Nothing made me more relaxed than taking the life of another. I was an animal, only doing my part in nature since God made me this way. I was only fulfilling my purpose in life, yes, the purpose to make others suffer.
The thought of my hundreds upon hundreds of victims over the years made me smile. I had lived quite a life, a life known by few and only appreciated by the Devil.
As I emptied the contents of her suitcase a pile of paper fell out. I picked it up and to my surprise, it was a manuscript, some kind of novel. Come to think of it, when I picked her up while she was hitchhiking, she had mentioned something about writing.
She had gone on a journey of self-discovery across the world after leaving South Korea, she had failed to debut as a writer, and had hoped travelling would lead to some type of inspiration for her work.
"Inspiration" I mumbled with slight laughter, well I hoped the afterlife gave her some inspiration.
I was about to throw the papers into the fire, but suddenly I changed my mind. I wanted to see how good she really was. I would be her first and final reader.
The story was written in Korean, but I didn't mind that, I spoke many languages fluently and Korean was one of them. The title was "Overcoming Obstacles".
"Overcoming Obstacles" was rather 'meh' and incomplete.
It was based in South Korea, Seoul. The story was about a young teen named Song Jae. Jae came from a poor family with not much else in life except for each other, despite that they were happy.
Even though each family member went through their fair share of hardships; from his Father having to be submissive to his abusive boss, to his Mother being sexually harassed at her place of work, and his little sister having to suffer from excessive bullying at school; but despite it all, they made it through, together, as a strong family unit. And at its centre was Song Jae; he helped his Dad get a better job and aided him in reporting his bad boss to the Labour Union, he beat up the man that was sexually harassing his Mum and even saved his sister from her bullies.
I didn't have the emotional capacity to care for these characters but I understood human nature enough to know that some might find the story heart-warming.
The dilemma in the plot began when Song Jae encountered Kang Ho, a student at his Highschool. Kang Ho was a third-generation chaebol and had everything that Song Jae lacked, but the one thing he didn't have was love. His family was cruel, cold, and abusive. Kang Ho hated Song Jae, his jealousy drove him crazy until bullying Song Jae at school could no longer placate him. So he hired a hitman and set them after Song Jae's family.
Miraculously, Song Jae survived the murder attempt but his family did not. He reported it to the police, but they were obviously corrupt. No one would listen to him, and the murder was covered up as an accidental fire. Driven by grief he promised to get revenge.
He disappears and a few years later he comes back as a rich CEO to a corporation that rivals Kang Ho's and he is ready to make Kang Ho's life miserable.
The writing stopped just at the revenge arc, but I could easily predict where it was going. Song Jae would take everything from Kang Ho, including his riches, he would find a way to reveal the truth behind his family's murder and other crimes Kang Ho and his family were responsible for, and then, instead of killing them, typically he would send them and the corrupt officials behind them, to jail. Allowing justice to solve things while he then went on with his life, possibly with some romantic partner.
Truly dull.
There was no excitement. No thrill. Song Jae was written well, but he was such an inherently good-natured person that I knew the revenge part would be boring with minimal deaths. Most disappointing was the villain, Kang Ho. He wasn't really evil, more like a spoiled baby with too much power and not enough discipline.
If I was Kang Ho, I wouldn't have sent someone after Song Jae. I would have broken him myself, made him useless, taken away all that optimism. I would have turned him vile and rotten, and fully dependent on me, and then I would have killed him, in a personal and agonising way.
The story had been better when it was about the family overcoming daily obstacles, it became tedious once Kang Ho was introduced since a story is only as good as its villain, and if the villain is third-rate so is the tale.
With that final thought, I threw the manuscript into the fire and I left my workshop while whistling.