Content warning
This story may contain sensitive material or discuss topics that some readers may find distressing. Reader discretion is advised. The views and opinions expressed in this story are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Vocal.
It's a Hell of a Thing
flash fiction
I killed a man with my bare hands. That’s not something I tell too many people and I’m not completely sure why I’m telling you now. There’s something in your eyes, I guess. It’s not that you look so much like someone I can trust. No, I don’t think that’s exactly it. You just strike me as the kind of person who wouldn’t care.
Understand, I don’t mean that in a bad way. I don’t think you’re indifferent to such things. I imagine you’re a bit taken aback by it. You’re a sane, reasonable human being, best I can tell. Not the sort of sociopath that reacts no differently to being told I strangled a man to death than you would if I told you I take creamer in my coffee. Of course, that’s not the best analogy. I don’t actually take creamer in my coffee. Black. That’s how I drink it. I did strangle that guy, though. That part’s true.
Saying you wouldn’t care isn’t right. I didn’t word that well. What I’m trying to say is that you don’t seem like the sort of person who would just rush to judgment. Like I can sit here and tell you that I killed a man with my bare hands and, sure, you’d be shocked by it, but you wouldn’t flip out, or make some hasty judgment. You’re not going to panic and assume that I’d kill you. Would you? No, of course not. You wouldn’t. I shouldn’t have asked that.
Since I brought it up, though, I want to be clear that I have no plans to kill you. I mean, I wouldn’t do that. You’re safe with me, is all I’m saying. Not that I had any plans to kill anyone that night. Not originally, anyway. By the time I did it, yeah. It wasn’t an accident. What I mean to say is that I didn’t set out to kill anybody. I wish it wouldn’t have come to that, really, but when it came down to it, I felt it had to be done. I suppose that’s how everybody feels when it happens. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be nearly as much killing going on. Don’t you think?
Am I sorry I did it? That’s what you want to know, isn’t it? Most people go straight to asking why, but that’s not really the question they want to ask. What they want to know is if I’m sorry I did it. Remorse. You know. That’s the burning question, but they don’t want to ask it. What if I said no? Well, that’d sure put them on edge, wouldn’t it? If I wasn’t sorry, then I’m liable to just pick up this coffee mug and bash you in the head. Isn’t that the way people think?
I am sorry. Every day. It’s a hell of a thing to kill a man.
About the Creator
Randy Baker
Poet, author, essayist.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Keep reading
More stories from Randy Baker and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Simone's Duppy
[Author's Note: duppy means ghost in Jamaican Patois] Simone never like to be alone, but that’s how she spend much of her time. After walking home from school, she would play alone in her room until someone else come home. Her mother, Andrea, did work at the patty shop, down the hill in the village. Basil only did work some of the time. Most of the time him was just lookin’ likkle work, or so him did say. Most times him was spending Andrea’s money down the rum bar.
By Randy Baker5 months ago in Fiction
The Love Ballad of Beatrice and Bartholomew
Nestled deep within a valley kissed by the sun, lived Beatrice, a woman with a spirit as bright as the sunflowers that adorned her cottage. Her days were filled with the earthy scent of blooming lavender and the gentle rhythm of tending to her beloved donkeys. There was Barnaby, the wise elder with eyes that held stories of countless sunrises, and Clementine, the spirited younger one, forever eager for an adventure.
By Moharif Yulianto7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
Ohhh...loved this Randy, sir! That's perhaps a reflection on my taste for darker shades in fiction lol. Nevertheless...love how this felt almost interactive...the way you wrote it was like the narrator/other person was talking to me, confessing to me. I love the assuredness of his character and towards the end I did wonder if he was going to be remorseless...but it gives the character greater grounding and realism by him feeling remorse...Just stirring stuff...love the air of tension...even though all he was doing was talking and drinking coffee...very clever. Thank you for sharing this as part of my challenge! Loved it!
This is wild. As the reader, I feel like your character is talking directly to me, and I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him. Really well done.
Yeah... I think we can put this one right up there in the disturbing category. haha... It's probably why I enjoyed it.