Turn Left

         The wind blowing through my skin, gently brushing against me like a harpist. It all seemed so calm, so beautiful, so right. It seemed what I had done would solve everything, but it only occluded the uncertainties of my life. The fact was that I was in no better shape than I was before. Now I've made a mess of things, both literally and figuratively. All over the floor, splayed out like a used a disgusting piece of meat. The grass is a new shade of crimson thanks to the improvised paintbrush that we commonly call a knife. I would prefer this color than the one God had chosen for us, but I cannot control nature.

In a way, however, I do find it rather humorous that I would bring that up seeing as how I had, at that moment, committed an act that only God was allowed to do. It's not my job to decide how long one gets to live for, yet I took it upon myself and went ahead and ended something so precious and cosmically so short. Within the blink of the galactic eye, who she once was was no longer important. Non-existent, gone, forgotten, at least she will be once the sobbing stops and the legality of it all is established. Yes, any moment now and there will be a police car coming from either side of the street of my suburban neighborhood, ironically disturbing the peace with it's flashing blue and red lights and loud obnoxious siren, almost as if it demands everyone to bear witness the greatness that is "authority".

I will make this easy. I will not struggle, nor will I talk. I will not interrupt the good officers, and I will follow ever meticulous instruction they give me, no matter how trivial it may seem. I will be jovial, but not so much that I will disturb them; enough so that I may please them and hopefully brighten their day. They're only doing their job after all. As well as the attorney I will be given. I will be courteous and I will be to the point.

"Yes," I would say, "I killed her. That knife you are showing me; that is the instrument I used for my crime". I would painstakingly give them every detail they'd need to make it a quick and decisive verdict. I'd tell them the dress she was wearing was the one I got her for her birthday, I would tell them that I gashed her arm at an attempt to stab her chest, then I'd say that I cut her heels as she ran up the stairs as to stop her from running any further. I'd tell them that the room she was killed in was the bathroom, and that the face she held was one of confusion and sorrow. I'd tell them that I stabbed her at least nine or possible twelve times, and that I promptly carried her corpse and threw it on our front yard so that everyone may see my latest achievement. I would tell them that her name was once Erica, and that the last exciting thing she ever did to please me was when she had a haircut just two nights before.


"Why," they would ask "why did you kill your wife, Mr. Buckley? Weren't you happy? Weren't you happy, Mr. Buckley?" Well of course I was happy, I had a very beautiful wife who saw past my imperfections, and I had a lovely house that sheltered us from every natural hazard God had to throw at us. The neighbors we lived next to were wonderful people. The Oswald family brought us a fruit basket the very first day we moved in. It was such an incredibly gesture, one that I would never forget. It made us feel oh so loved, and it warmed our hearts. Such generosity is not so common nowadays. We would always be smiling, Erica and I. Every time I'd see her face my heart would skip a beat.

"That's my wife" I would say. I felt like such a lucky man. The job I had was also endowed my financial endeavours nicely. I was a well payed man with good friends and a gorgeous wife. It all became so slow though. I began to think outside of my comfort zone. I was thinking of what things would be like if I had taken a few steps to the left instead of forwards. I had been walking this plane of existence for my entire life without ever taking a risk, without ever having to look back. I was too busy looking at what was ahead of me, and what I saw was nothing but a pure gold road leading towards a cliff. In the end that's what awaits me, nothing. It all seemed so pointless. Why bother walking on the road of righteousness when what I had awaiting me was nothing? No point in rewarding those who would soon be forgotten.

The road I walked on was straight; no turns, no cracks, no risks, nothing. I realized something immediately; why walk straight when God hath blessed me with free will? I am a free man, a man who can walk in whichever way I please to walk. But it's not just me, anyone can walk to the left or to the right if they so choose to! It made me happy. To think I was so foolish to live a tedious life full of emptiness when I could have chosen a different path! A path that will take me to new adventures and to witness new things! No longer shall I be a man of simplicity, from this day forward I would become a man of notoriety! If only my poor wife would have been enlightened by this idea sooner, but I have her time.

I gave her several days to think about it. I wanted to observe her, see if she could see what I had already known. Yet the days went by and not a single footstep had changed from her regular pathing. She was just the same dolly following the tracks that she had laid down for herself. Nothing had changed, everything would be the same for her, and nothing would ever change her mind. She was too comfortable, too weak to understand. Warm and snugged in the blanket she calls life, while her husband would think of ways to change his own world.

While it does make my heart heavy, I must thank Erika. If it weren't for her, I would never have found a way to change my life. It's true that I had to take a life away just so I may establish my rebirth, and in some ways that may be considered a tad selfish, yet I feel Erika would understand. I think she would be happy to know that even after death she would, in turn, be able to make me the happiest man alive. I am a brand new man.


I hear the sirens in the distance, and to that very sound I drop my knife. The neighbors all look at me, most with their eyes wide open, many with mouths agape, some even visibly shaking. Thankfully the children are still asleep; it's too early for such energetic children to be up. I look at every single one of their faces. James, Charlie, Mary, Franklin, Debra, Mr. and Mrs. Oswald, Sammy, Philip, Sarah, Caroline, they all look at me, obviously shocked yet not one of them says a word. So I decided to break the silence with a smile. I make eye contact with each and every one of them, smiling their way so they'd know that everything was going to be alright. That all of this was planned, and that they can live freely too if they just try hard enough. It was easy for me, I do hope they find it easy too.


The cops are finally in front of my house, pointing their guns at my head, giving me instructions, to which I happily comply. A burly looking man with reddish skin roughly grab me by the scruff, pushes me face down to the ground and hastily equips my wrists with rather rusty looking handcuffs. His palms were rather sweaty and, I may be mistaken, but his hands felt as thought they were trembling. He seemed nervous, and he only proves to me his nervousness when he begins to read me my rights and fumbles and stutters every now and again. Was it the sight of my dead wife that made him so weary? Or perhaps he was just a rookie? Either way, this was far too exciting for me. I begin to chuckle, I was giddy and happy. I was prepared for my new life.


It's a shame that Erika won't be joining me. The thought of her being gone has me a bit down. My chuckles and smile quickly vanish when I sat down in the back of the patrol vehicle and I see my poor Erika lying down in the pool of her own blood. I never even got to compliment her on her new haircut. It was a rather cute cut. It made her look young again. It made me realize how much I really loved her. Yet all of it is gone now. I won't feel the warmth of her body next to mine any longer. I won't ever be able to taste her cooking, nor will I hear her soft delicate voice. Why didn't I make this quicker? Why didn't I kill her the day I realized I needed to change? Why did I have to wait...why?

Why...? .................................I miss her.