My Confession to an Officer

          It all began with her. Women are the root of all the troubles of men. Well, perhaps I shouldn’t say that, but when she is upset with you, nothing seems to go your way. It’s as though they were secretly allied against me, she and the world. If I brought down the wrath of one, the other was sure to follow. Though perhaps I would be able to dodge the world’s wrath, this time.
          "We’d had a fight."
          It was over no trivial thing. This was a fight, not where the dark things are muttered or whispered or merely thought, only to be forgotten in the moments after. No, the dark things were screamed and shouted, tossed backed and forth, almost as bright and tangible as the curling lighting and magma pitched between gods in some great war of Destiny.
          "I left. Where? Well, I just started walking. I didn’t really have a destination in mind. I just needed to cool down."
          I think she broke the door when she slammed it. I know the neighbors heard her shriek in derision; the whole building was stunned by the curse. I could feel the sudden silence of it, as though it wasn’t sure that what had been said had really been said. My clothes were scattered up and down the stairway. I didn’t pick them up. The clothes smelled like the apartment. The apartment smelled like her. I’d just get new clothes.
          "It was dark when I left the apartment. I ended up at the Park. I don’t know. I think I pretty much went straight there. It always relaxes me, the Park."
          I kicked a dog on the way there. Some lady’s dolled up pure breed. It yipped at me. The woman didn’t see me do it. She was too busy trying to button up some ridiculously expensive fur coat. Her back was turned, and she thought it was another man in a shabby blue coat. She began to beat him with her purse. I smiled as I continued walking.
          "I think I was there for about an hour, but I can’t be sure because I forgot my watch back at the apartment."
          I sat next to a pond, digging a stick into scum that floated on the surface, the dross formed by the metallurgy of the great Blacksmith Earth. She broke my watch. She threw it at me along with my clothes. I remember cringing as its face shattered on the wall behind me. It left a dent in the wall. That could have been my face. I slashed at the water hard with the stick and started walking again. Doodling in the pond wasn't the reason I had gotten the stick the first place.
          "I was walking on the East Track, you know, by that grove of willows. The light was out so I couldn’t see very well."
          That soothed the anger. It was very satisfying to see that bike wreck. The man bounced on the pavement like a mannequin. I think he skinned his nose. I didn’t have a chance to recover my stick from the spokes of his wheel, so I went and found another.
          "He stepped out from behind a tree. I didn’t really know what he had in his hand at first, but I was still wary. What he had? The gun of course."
          I saw him before he saw me. He was what I had been looking for. A vagrant. No life, no family, no love. Just like me. Nothing to be missed. I came from behind, silent and fast, like when the lions jumped from the shadows at the "unwary" zebra on all those nature shows.
          "He told me to hand over my wallet. ‘Or else,’ he said. And pointed the gun at me...Yes, that’s when I realized it was a gun. No, I don’t really know what type of gun. Don’t you have it? Couldn’t you look it up or something? Oh. Next? Well, I had been carrying this stick with me. Why? Well, I had been throwing them into the pond. I know that the East Track isn’t near the pond. I just forgot to put it down. My mind was really out of it, from the fight and all."
          I bludgeoned him. I always wanted to use that word. It is just one of those words that begs for enactment. It was a soft crushing sound, kind of like when you drop a melon, pleasing to the ear when mixed with his grunt as he dropped to the ground. That’s when I saw the gun. It fell from his pocket. Three or four wallets were lying next to it. Fortunes smiled on me. I picked up the gun, caressing its silver barrel, the stick long forgotten. He moaned. I pointed the gun at him, like in the movies, holding it on its side.
          "I don’t know what came over me, but I swung the stick at him, panic I guess. I hit him, too; he dropped the gun. We were both stunned for that moment, him from my strike, and I in shock of my action. Then we dove for the gun. I got to it first, and he came at me, so I shot him."
          I shot him. Damn her. She brought me to this. The police wouldn’t have come until the body was found. The release, though, oh, the release! I was set free. What a grand moment! I have never been loosed from my anger like that before!
          "And that’s when the officer from the park showed up. Yes, him. Well, I was checking to see if he was still alive. I know I shot him in the face. I’ve never shot anyone before. No, I’ve never owned a gun. Yes, I still live there. She’s my girlfriend. You know, the one I had the fight with. Yes, I’ll stay in town. You can reach me at the apartment. No, thank you."
          I wonder if my brother is still looking for a room mate. I hear Vancouver is nice.