By Idris Fatima Zahra U12MM1009
You can almost swear he is asleep on his bed. There is no rhythm to his chest though, and his hands are cold, you feel it through the gloves covering your hands. It is done. He is at peace now, you are at peace too. Sometimes you try to deny that this is more for you than it is for them. You feel the pleasure wash over you, like rain washes earth. You can feel the blood in your veins flow more freely, all that tension in you had vanished. You gently remove his hand from urs and place it on his chest, as he maintains his faceup position. You take your souvenir; a picture of him for your photo collection.
You think about his daughter as you slip out the back door. This is the time you usually rationalize your actions. The poor girl should be grateful, after all you did help her. She would have come home now to a father in pain, while cursing as the message in her mail tells her that she is still on a long wait for a healthy heart for her dad. You smile at yourself, you have ended both their suffering now. They should be grateful.
As you walk down the street, a noise catches your ear. You recognise the voice, its the old coach who had once spanked you as a kid. He is confined to a chair and yet seems to posses the strength to scold the lights out of his son and grand son. You see your face in the face of the little boy, you see him suppressing a cry as his grandfather continues to scold him over a fallen ice cream. You never did like the old football coach, no one ever really did. It was now left to you. You and only you would decide how he dies, it was what you knew how to do best.
You conclude his death has to be slow and painful. He must pay for all the tears he had spilled. You know you won’t prick him with the poisoned needle as you did the sweet dead man, minutes ago. That poison led him from sleep to death because he earned it as a kind and humble janitor. He did not deserve pain. The coach deserved pain. He sure did.
As his voice becomes faint in the distant, your excitement increases at the thought of how his death would be. You can barely contain your excitement. And you wonder how long you can continue to help these old people die. An idea suddenly hits you; surely, your dad won’t mind you opening an elderly home, he had the money. You had the zeal.