Me
Rust
Window
City
Candle
TreeFeatured Story
The Essay
People called it murder. It was so messy, though, so grotesquely sickening, that a word harsher than murder felt slightly more appropriate.
"It seemed only logical," Prosely stated, wan and whimsically smiling with either disbelief or dishonesty. "I did nothing wrong."
In a way, murder was a necessity. Logical, if not conventional and kind. He simply killed. One little light, one slight life, gone out of the world in a way that even living people should not be subject to. But you see-
The room was very dark, a lack of light penetrated the still air with an uncomfortable clarity. An owl hooted, perhaps for artistic effect. Maybe it was hungry.
A dark shape appeared through the crack under the door, slithering along in a world and dimension apart from ours. It was not there; its existence was not something to fathom about. A breath, a shiver, and a loud clunk that disturbed stillness and life. He was clumsy, and he was something borderline stupid. He had to, though. He had to kill.
"The person was alive," he said unnecessarily loudly, and his hands twisted in his lap. "But he had to be dead." A faint smile formed on his face.
"But why?" the interrogator said.
"Because he was alive," Prosely slowly answered, looking mildly at the queasily colored tiles incarcerating him.
The noon sun was at its usual place high up in the sky when the essay was assigned. "I want an essay," the teacher said sweetly, smiling at the adoring faces gazing up at her with the same brilliance as the sun outside. "But remember, you must do this essay on someone famous who is already dead. Doing it on someone alive is not allowed." One lone face in the crowd fell into a disappointed, deep pondering.
"That's when the race started," Prosely explained serenely, making eye-contact with the interrogator; it was only polite to do so.
The door opened suspiciously slowly and released an overflowing flood of darkness. There was nothing there. But you see-
He was sprawled on his bed, sleeping a cheerful sleep. No darkness haunted him, and only sunshine existed in the realm beyond his eyelids. Laughter rang like a morning bell: birds fluttering and trees glittering.
Prosely raised the knife and all was over.
"He was alive."
He smiled.
"But he had to be dead."