Why

I committed a murder; a murder of a woman. She was beautiful, with blonde curls that danced behind her as the wind kissed her round face. She was coming from the college homecoming game, the night I decided to take her life. She was young, helpless, and clueless.

It was so easy to coax her into the backseat of my car that night. I had my briefcase and other business portfolios sitting in the passenger seat. That was my excuse to convince her to get into the back. She thanked me in an innocent voice. It almost convinced me to let her go. We began to talk about our families, and if our fellow hometown team won. Of course we won. Watching her in the rearview mirror, I noticed the colors of purple and gold still painted on her cheeks wrinkled, as the corners of her mouth rose. She gave me the most basic directions to her new home. On the last street to turn on, I continued to go straight. She told me that I had missed the turn. I replied that it was okay, I knew another way to get back. She didn’t think anything of it. There was no reason to be terrified of a man like me.

I remembered how I ended her life that night. It made my body tingle with pleasure. I can still feel her blood run between my fingers. The memory of the delicious scarlet liquid is still on my taste buds. It leaves me grinning, when I remember how frightened she was. She should be thanking me. Now she has no worries. No stress, no parents, no pressure…none. I still cannot fathom of a reason why I would take her away from her beloved family.

She wasn’t worried about where we were headed, because she knew the neighborhood like the back of her hand. I parked my car in the driveway. I decided I wanted to treat her like a princess, so I opened the door for her. She thanked me once again. I was slightly embarrassed by the way my home looked. The paint was peeling off the edges of my house, and the weeds were overgrown in the yard. The rose bush that my wife and I planted years ago couldn’t even be seen. She walks into my house with ease. The blonde woman didn’t have anything to worry about. She thought she was safe in my home. We sat down on the couch, and turned on the T.V to block out some of the silence that hung in the air. I didn’t want to hurt her, but she was going to my easiest target.

It took me awhile to get to where I am now; to know how to commit the perfect murder. After I watched CSI a few times, it got me thinking that maybe I could be one of the lucky few to get away. I needed to find someone to take. The hard part is, getting to know the schedule of the person. It is so simple to slaughter innocent people, without getting caught. It’s confusing to me why more people are not getting away with murders.

I asked her politely what she would like to drink. She told me not to worry about it, and that she would get it herself. As a compromise, we went downstairs together. I let her go in front of me, because that is what a gentleman would have done. Ladies first. About midway, my hand reached out and shoved. Her body tumbled and landed at the bottom with her arms and legs at odd angles. She cried for my help, but I simply ignored her. I lay down next to her, and smiled. She stared back at me with fear in her baby blue eyes. Her eyes pulled me in throughout the entire night. I had to ignore those beautiful, innocent eyes, if I wanted to finish early. I grabbed my pocket knife, and placed it in her line of sight. Her eyes widen as she begins to realize what is about to happen. She tried to open her mouth to let words out, but I saw that she was having difficulties in the position she was in. I imagined what she wanted to say.

“Why, Uncle? I trusted you. Why?”