Skip to main content

The Serial Killer

There are some people whom you know are odd. By odd I don't mean with 3 eyes or stuff like that, that is quite normal. I mean people who lead normal lives but one look at them and you know they are mass murderers, serial killers or compulsive sex offenders etc. The unsympathetic eyes, the I don't give a f attitude and the staying aloof - all give you the signals you need. When you see these things in a person, and also add to that the 1000 yard gaze they have, sitting alone, all busy to themselves. Of course they won't have friends or even anyone to talk to. Know why? You know why - because they are serial killers at a minimum, they have their dark passengers. They kill and feel nothing and the life that you see in front of your eyes is just a facade they put up to cover their darker side.

Look at the guy on the extreme left in this image - that's the stare I am talking about.

So we have a serial killer in our office. I wish I could give you his name but well, then he would kill me and perhaps everyone else in this office. Serial killers are paranoid about getting caught. So let's keep his name a secret. The rest I can tell.

So how is he?

Pretty normal, except that he has no friends, never talks, never smiles and walks as if he is limping without any disability. Yes I checked - he has no disability. The limp was also temporary, probably due to a fight with a stronger victim who bit his legs? Perhaps. So anyway, other than that he is normal, but for the lack of empathy that is painted all over his face. It is a miracle he has not yet been signed up for any movie as a serial killer. I guess its because real serial killers don't act as serial killers in movies.

So how does he kill? That's tough to say, but going by his nature and lack of physical strength it seems that he traps his victims in some booby trap of some kind and then slits his throat or something like that. Perhaps he likes to look at some of his mails as his victim bleeds out. The disposal of the body is perhaps handled simply by the good old method of cannibalizing. No one visits his desk let alone his home, so I guess his refrigerator is filled with you know what.

So yeah, this was gory but I had to let go of this off my chest. I am sure he will be on the prowl again. Why don't I go to the police? I am not sure why, but that is partly because...oh chuck it. Gives me creeps - the thought of having to see him tomorrow again, looking at me with the blank stare, as if I do not exist.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Good Day

I have a beautiful small house in the hills. It is about 3 km from Manali, in Himachal Pradesh. It is not much. Probably calling it a cottage is stretching it too far. I have got a couple of bedrooms, a small drawing room cum kitchen where we dine as well. There is storage and a small garage that is mostly empty. I have got another small room with just a single bed and a study built on the first floor. It is just about ten feet by ten feet but it has got a retractable ceiling and a wall made of glass with the rest of the roof being something of a balcony. This is the place where I like to spend most of my time.
In the front, there is a garden with some flowers in the front and trees lining the boundary wall. My mother has planted a few vegetables in the back that we regularly use in the kitchen. We mostly require only rice and eggs from the market.

A typical day starts with me waking up and going for a morning stroll. I often spend my nights in the room on the roof. So the first thing I…

My Little Wife

Amar choto bou chole bake bake... If you are looking for some meaning in the words written above - please stop. It is of no use.

This is a short dedicated to my wife whom I did not get to marry.

Being typically Bengali, she is puchu to me.

If you are reading this, please keep in my mind that I am not one bit drunk. And I don't particularly feel like writing either. This you see here is not prose. Just an open faucet. Or a gaping wound sp... okay. Scratch that. Open faucet it is.

She has got a small round face. Her eyes are symmetrical. A bit like almonds. They look lively and restless when open and calm or serene when closed. The nose is neither pointed not large. It sits right in the middle of the face with even elevations on both sides. It is not too small to notice nor is it too large to get in the way. Her lips are small, but not thin. There is an amount of volume to them that you would not usually expect.

Her face looks normal something from a distance. It looks small from c…

Fallen - Based on a true story (almost)

A group of young guys had gathered around a lifeless body on the road. A minivan had just hit a girl and sped off. The girl bounced on the road and rolled around once and came to a stop. The rest of the girls on the street scattered. A couple of guys came to check on the girl. A crowd gathered and collected what little valuables she had left with her.

A girl saw it all from her second floor window on Sheil road, Liverpool. Natalie was aware of the hazards of what she used to do. She knew the roads were dangerous, especially at night. But then, day or night - she was never truly safe. Her escape was only in heroin. She did not dare to build a world of her own by her own means. She tried before. It never worked out. So she had transferred the responsibility to what society calls ‘substance’. Heroin gave her a cushion, her sleep and let her keep her sanity. Or so she used to think.

Natalie was alone. Her addiction was not. It came with dependence, depression, homelessness and rejection. He…