Tap

Tap.
Tap again.
More tapping.
A few more taps for good measure.
The only thing I thought to do when the blood reached my feet was to tap my toes.
Disbelief? Maybe. Indifference? Perhaps.
Horton – always mumbling, always ready to die, too yellow to end it himself. Always talked about it, always said it himself. I never thought he'd take it this far. Never thought he'd have the guts. But here they are. Right in front of me.
Cold.
Cold floor, cold bathroom, cold everything. Heat long gone. Heater long busted. The real culprit of the cold though is Horton. His soulless corpse, cooling off on the filthy tiles. Effortlessly exerting his existence from his epidermis.
There's no sign of struggle here. No broken glass. No scratches on walls. No scuff marks. No other wounds one might receive from resisting death.
Nada.
A blessing, really.
Makes my job easier.
Looks like he accepted his fate, even embraced it. A warm welcome on the toilet, so to speak.
An easy day for Death is an easy day for me, I guess. I could leave right now, slipping through the cracks and shadows and no one would be the wiser. I could, however, stay and stage something just for kicks and giggles. Create a spectacle, a story, a theme. Give some cops some meaning. We all know they're all looking for it; that's why they chose the field. Either someone important in their life made them feel like a hero too often or not often enough.
Daddy. Mommy. Grandma. A touchy uncle.
Funny how the job attracts both sides of the same coin – pathetic punks, desperate for admiration and approval and at all costs. Violating rights of citizens, violating laws of the United States Constitution.
“Protect and serve”.
What a joke.
Those words were never meant for you or me. They never were.
Protect the State.
Serve the Badge.
That's the real mantra.
Horton's dead eyes look dead at me as if they're appalled by my cynical thoughts on police enrollment and I can't help but let out a little chuckle.
Whatever. Back to work.