Instinct

Instinct


"There will be killing till the score is paid."
Homer,The Odyssey


She traveled through the stacks of library shelves searching for a novel to absolve her of the current mood. Like a taco shell that seeks to wilt the lettuce inside, Sasha hoped to fold herself between the pages of good book. It was the release of pent up anger and dissatisfaction of life that she longed to disperse. There was no definitive reason that the dark cloud had visited in recent days. Her mother had once dubbed it as a Lady's Funk, having nothing to do with a circled day on the calendar, but more to do with a needed refueling. Sasha believed that in order to be all that she could be to others she had to allow her mind an escape or a temporary oasis from life. Among the books in front of her by her favorite authors, she sought refuge.

Sasha thumbed through the pages of many books but remained uninspired. Finding the perfect read was proving to be more difficult than naming a newly born child. It served only to add to the darkness that enveloped her. Randomly she selected a hardcover from the shelf in front of her and plopped down on a nearby plastic lounger. She was seduced by the antiquity of the book. The worn and dated cover was a dulled mint green popular in the 60's., with no gracing picture to hint at premise. Print, bold and blocky, greeted the reader. The title, "Killer Born", intrigued her. Her chosen opus was an obscure manual on how to become a killer.

The first line was framed as a quote from Voltaire, "It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets." Sasha found truth in the message as she mulled over the history of Christianity. The label of a murderer is the stigma of a society. Cause follows the tide and is acceptable with purpose and approval.

Sasha scrunched down further into her seat to feel the comfort of the chair and the lightening of her mood. She was suddenly captivated by the manifesto. She breathed in the words like the air she needed for survival. Within the pages Sasha found a dark outline of the steps required to commit your first murder. She thought it odd that the first step was defined as people watching. It was billed as naming thy victim and discovering all the qualities that elicit hatred. Emotional reactions should be limited to the long term and not born in the transitory moment. Wrath plays no success in the stability of a career murderer.

She tossed her book to the side of her and began to people watch. First she eyed the man standing in front of her. He was a thin balding man in his forties with nondescript attire and characterless facial features. His bland appearance did not descend from the passages of great authors He inspired only boredom in Sasha.

She looked into the small crowd inhabiting the library to find a mother tucked in the corner. reading a book to a small child. Her ebony hair with blonde highlights possessed a shimmer. Her features were refined and cultured with athleticism to her physique. Her eyes were a misty blue that mirrored clarity of life. Sasha felt the gentle caress of jealousy. Sasha long to relive the days spent with her children. She envied the woman's quiet confidence. Sasha wondered if the green eyed monster would visit again or if the feeling was as fleeting as the odor of flatulence.

Her eyes passed to the librarian behind the desk, an elderly woman of frump and wrinkles. Her weathered amenities. such as the furrowed brow and creases of indent spoke of stress and a beating down of life, all of the characteristics that Sasha despised. Sasha battled against aging and believed in presenting a powerful and positive image. It was more an emotion of pity and disappointment than hate that gripped her. Surely, murder should not be wasted on the dowdy.

Her gaze moved to a trio of teenagers, all freckled faced and boisterous in their movements. Pained expressions hung like an anchor about them as a tell tale sign of a forced school project and the dismal prospect of confinement within the brick walls of the library on a sunshiny day. They evoked only a sense of memory for carefree days and a sorrowful lack of wisdom. The teenage years were thrust with uncertainty and failed expectations. Sasha wanted never to redo that era of her life. .

Sasha was disillusioned with her newly acquired people watching skills and picked up her book once more. She thirsted for more input in finding her potential victim.An inner rage sufficient to commit murder had eluded her. She perused further into the pages of scripted death. She soon noted a recurring theme within the passages. Raw instinct is the basis upon which a murderer is birthed. Understanding washed over Sasha and the dark clouds of her previous mood had retreated. Her Lady's day of funk had turned to an instinctual psychosis.

She placed the book on the lounger and allowed herself to be filled with the baser instincts of humanity. Like a lioness in search of food, she hungered for the prey. She could feel the hairs at the nape of her neck rising in preparation of the hunt. Her canine teeth seemed to sharpen and her fingernails morphed into the talons of an eagle. She sensed the thickening of her body hair, ruffled and in full erection. Sasha could smell the sweet aroma of blood in the air. Almost as if in a trance, she moved towards the front door of the library.

The line from her favorite writer, J.K. Rowling, played in her head as she sought to minimize the chaotic nature of murder, "Killing is not so easy as the innocent believe." Plans must be strong and sure, just as force must be concise. There shall be no forgiveness for the relenting of momentum. Mentally she chose the execution order of her victims like grapes from a vine. The child and its mother would be the first to die, because they represented the path to least resistance. The others would fall in the attack of surprise and vulnerability. In the distance a bell sounded, Sasha heeded it as a call into the prize fighters ring.
"The dumber people think you are, the most surprised they're going to be when you kill them."
- William Clayton

The librarian answered the phone ringing at the desk. Sasha noted the nodding of her head and the calm assurances to the caller on the other end. The frump of the woman seemed to evaporate with each word of the one-sided conversation. It puzzled Sasha, and momentarily she hovered in place by the door. She waited for the woman to cradle the receiver. It was as if Sasha's next actions hung on the librarian's next deeds, with the dowdy woman being the holder of the cards.

"Honey, I can't let you leave just now. It's not safe! Everyone, please gather round." The librarian called loudly, as she moved towards the front door.

With quiet of the library broken, she waved the patrons toward her. .She had a message to great importance to share with them and the rules of the library were excused.

"That call I just received was from the police. There has been an escape made from the Mental Heath Facility up the road. She is believed to be armed and dangerous. They warned me against any engagement with the individual. Her name is Sasha Warren and was responsible for the brutal killing of her family. The police recommend that we remain in place for our safety until they arrive, because she was recently seen in the area," the librarian said in her newly found take charge voice.

The librarian turned to the door and bolted the lock holding them all in place. Silently in the deep recesses of her mind, Sasha cheered. Her instinct for the hunt was renewed.

"While we are being fascinated by the tales of famous serial killers and how they were brought to justice, the real serial killer goes about his business with hardly a thought to being caught." Pat Brown


Word Count 1404




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