Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Raining Blood - Body Count 7

Insomnia plagued me again last night. I decided to take the train to the Loop and walk around. That was a huge mistake. The smell of the cattle was nauseating from the moment I stepped onto the platform. They were everywhere. Running around playing slap and tickle with each other in a loud, drunken haze. It's amazing that this group represents the pinnacle of higher education. A half hour into my stroll it started to rain. The feeling of the precipitation against my skin made my flesh crawl. I took refuge in what I thought would be a quiet cafe. In my haste to get out of the weather I neglected to notice the poetry slam advertisement in the window. Young pretentious, moronic cattle as far as the eye could see. I zeroed in on the one on stage. It was unshaven and generally unkempt as is the norm of this area. It spoke of heartache and loss in a nasally, whiny monotone voice. Occasionally the voice broke into primal screaming to convey the depths of anguish and despair it spoke of. Looking around at the mesmerized crowd it became clearly evident to me that the "poet" must die. It needed to feel real pain. I was able to bear through the other rabble and get a bead on the "poet". It was surrounded by a collection of groupies. Getting to it would prove to be difficult. Around midnight the crowd started to die down as the cafe was closing. The "poet" hung around seeing off its friends and talked to the manager about the evenings events. I made my way outside to lay in wait. The rain had turned into a torrential down pour. I almost missed the "poet" leaving. I quickly caught up to it with the intention of pulling it into an alley to quietly bleed it. Unfortunately when I reached for it my hands slipped of its wet clothing. It turned around and yelled out of surprise. Reacting on instinct I shoved my blade into it's throat. Over the din of the rain I was able to hear a few distant cries from the scarce foot traffic still about. I turned and ran down an alley which luckily wasn't a dead end. I circled around the cafe and headed towards the train. I cut through a small neighborhood to dispose of the knife. After wiping it down I threw it into a storm sewer and continued towards the station. Instead of boarding at the Loop I walked two miles to the next station on Laclede. By the time I got there I looked like a drowned rat. I rode home in quiet contemplation. I did an utterly stupid thing. Did any of the cattle see me? Will any of the cattle on the train remember me?

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