I traipsed across the kitchen. I was looking for something. I had killed him, but it didn't bother me like I thought it would.
I began to think that perhaps I was a sociopath or a psychopath. Maybe it didn't bother me that I'd killed him, because he was such an asshole. Still, he was a human being and everyone says it should bother me for that alone.
Then I wondered-would a real sociopath, or psychopath wonder if he was or wasn't one. It seems that wondering about such a thing excluded me from that association. No matter.
Why'd he have to do that anyway? I was just minding my own business. It was no business of his, snooping like he was.
Doesn't a person have a right to be left alone anymore? It's my property; does he think he can just come onto it and insult me like that? Where's the respect, the common courtesy?
I found what I was looking for under the kitchen sink. I flapped it open and placed a couple parts into it. I thought of a movie I'd seen-funny to watch, but sure is messy in real life. I grabbed some bleach, a stiff scrub brush, and went out to the garage.
"I have every right to be on your property!" The kid had said to me.
"Did you hear what you said young man? Y-O-U-R property. That's right, my property. It's my property; I asked you twice politely to go; now I'm telling you-get the hell out!" I had said impressing my point with a flailing finger in his obnoxious face.
"I'm just doing my job old man; mind your own god damned business," he said as he turned to read the gas meter.
I was furious. Old man? I'll show this punk who's an old man. I grabbed a pickax from my tool rack, raised it over my head, and swung it down.
"Thuck!" It sounded like the pick had hit a coconut. The guy didn't even scream or moan; he simply dropped dead right there. I'd heard that head wounds bleed a lot, but it really wasn't that bad. I suppose it had to do with the circulation stopping upon death or something like that.
I opened the fridge and grabbed a caffeine-free diet coke. That hit the spot. I went into the house. I'd needed a bag and some cleaning supplies. Mind my own business-the little punk!