One quick blow to the head should kill him instantly, I thought. Holding the axe with both hands, I let loose with a fierce swing. At the last minute I closed my eyes to shield myself from any blood splatter and missed him; the axe just grazed him. I tried again, striking at him with the blunt end of the axe and missed again. Determined to finish him off, I let loose with another hard swing and struck his head; splattering my face with blood. Finally, after several forceful strikes to the head, I landed the fatal blow.
I knelt beside him to catch my breath. I slowly wiped the mixture of sweat and blood from my face and briefly pondered the gruesomeness of the act I had just I committed.
I didn't intend to make him suffer. I wanted his death to be quick. And it would have been quick and maybe even painless if he hadn't moved. But he did move. He suffered a slow and brutal death and I had become his cold-blooded, tormentor.
I had done this before and had everything I needed to get rid of his body. I had planned for this. I was ready. I began gathering the items I would need to contain his corpse. I had the container and bleach bottle, the rope to secure his body, the knife, concrete blocks to weight down the body, the preservative to dump on his body to keep it from rotting. With everything ready, it was time to begin this macabre preparation.
.
The smell of death quickly summoned flies of every type. By the time I got back to his body, the flies were in a feasting frenzy. I swatted at them repeatedly but it was a waste of time Time was running out. I had to move fast.
I dragged his lifeless body to an area I had prepared and began the grizzly task of hacking his body into pieces. With each whack of the axe, I could feel his bones crunch and break.
Over and over I swung the axe until his body lay in pieces. With a small knife, I began making small slits on each piece which, later, would enable me to secure each body piece to the rope.
The humidity was unbearable; blinding beads of sweat trickled from my forehead burning my eyes while an army of Horse flies accosted me, quenching their thirst with the sweat from my face and neck.
Unbearable as the conditions were, I began the tedious job of entwining the carved remains to the rope. Twisting the rope tight after each chunk was attached. Once all the chunks had been secured to the line of rope, it was time to place the rope into the container and begin the preservation process.
Layering the rope in the container carefully now, keeping the line free of tangles, would make the process of disposal much easier and quicker later on. After each layer of rope, I dumped the white granular powder over the body pieces attached to the rope. Layer after layer, twisting and turning the rope to conform to the circular container, until there was no more line. Before closing the lid, I dumped the remains of the white granular powder onto the mangled remains. The hard part was over. In a few days the unrecognizable, fetid remains would be gone forever.....
It was 4 am. The distant sound of the boat motor grew louder as my friend pulled his small wooden boat beside the pier. He was a trusted friend who was aware of the gruesome act I had committed days earlier. He understood the necessity for the killing; for him it was a natural way of life in the estuary.
We loaded the boat with the bleach bottle, the concrete blocks and a few other items we would need. The heavy plastic container that held the remains would be to difficult to load onto the boat. We decided to transfer the contents of the container into a basket which would be much lighter.
While my friend tried to locate a basket, I began tugging on the lid of the container. It was stuck. I struggled with all my might and the lid broke loose.
The putrid odor of decay permeated my nostrils causing me to gag. His contorted, mangled body lay in a soupy brine which did little to delay decomposition . It was a gruesome site. A ghastly mixture of blood, salt, and slime coated my hands as I grabbed the rope. My skin was on fire. I tried desperately to wash the mixture from my hands, but the tenacious, slime adhered to my skin despite my efforts. Was this punishment for the terrible act I committed?
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