On love

She left, leaving behind her just the barest hint of jasmine; a faint reminder of what had been, and could never be again. The door closed, leaving him alone with only melancholy for company. And pain. Pain, that had insidiously grown within him like a malignant tumour, growing as she left; a dull, omnipresent throbbing agony that was by now the familiar backdrop to everyday life. Just like that, she vanished from his life, remaining in nothing but his bittersweet recollections, and increasingly sour and pained thoughts.

It had been a while now, months, steeped in pain and acrimony, in seclusion, as well as vitriol. He sat, unmoving, looking out the window, upon the playground; listening, as peals of laughter rose from below. Kids. Children, who were running about the playground, shouting, screaming and squealing in hilarity and ecstasy. Damned flies. Annoying little pricks buzzing in concentric circles about his head, taunting him, making an infernal racket he could not quash. Idiots, who whispered about him, about the weirdo on the 5^th floor who was rude, and creepy. Fools, who mocked him for his pain, and smirked at his misfortune. How he hated them. How he hated these pricks, these idiots, these fools! And most of all, how he hated her, the woman that had turned him into this wreck, into this doppelganger of his previous self, and made him live this shadow of a life. It was all her fault. She had to pay for this. She would pay.

He got up from his perch. With long meaningful strides, he walked to the counter, picked up the knife and slipped it into his pocket. He knew where she would be on this Thursday afternoon. He knew what she would be doing and when she would come into the open. He knew exactly when, and where to get her.

The table tennis club building loomed before him. It was here, that he had first met her; that he had first held her hand, and taught her how to play the sport. It was here, that she had finally beaten him; that she had walked out on him, for the first and last time.

She emerged at 4pm, exactly when he expected her to. A turn into a small alley around the corner provided him with ample opportunity; he struck. At knife point, he forced her to do what she had once so willingly done for him, to satiate his need, his craving, and his lust for her.

As he savoured his revenge, she slapped him, and struggled to her feet. He could not let her get away; he could not let her call the police!

He lashed out.

She crumpled.

The cops came some minutes later, dragging away a bare and unresisting figure, kneeling in a pool of blood. At the mouth of the alley, a faint breeze brought a hint of jasmine, a reminder of what was, and never again could be.

He closed his eyes, and whispered “I love you”.