He sat in his comfortable chair with his back to the television and the view of the window still caught the programming. He thought about guilt and he tried to wash it away. It was eating at him and he couldn't understand why. There was no need for a madman to feel guilty. There was no need whatsoever.
He gripped the arms of his chair trying to balance the thoughts attacking his mind. He wanted no guilt inside him when the police crash through the doors. He wanted to be seen in pure insanity. There wasn't going to be an ounce of remorse spilling onto the floor. Not one single ounce.
He looked up at the programming through the window and felt sick to his stomach. There was a commercial on featuring small children laughing while their mothers changed their diapers. The smiles pulled at him, and that's what he didn't want. He wanted the anger to fill his thoughts. He wanted the punishment of being a murderer to concentrate in his mind. He deserved no pity, and he wanted to dispense no pity either.
He closed his eyes hard and felt like screaming, but did not. His failures as a decent human Being filled his heart and the voices in his head was actually cataloging all of his sins. His life was a merry-go-round and he lived a life of horrific sin. He watched his mother die violently during a home invasion and he enjoyed the pain. His father hung himself in the basement and he rejoiced just as the devil would have. Of course he'd have moments of regret, but he knew it was just God trying to pull him out of the realm of purgatory. Hell was like Heaven to him. And in that statement, there was no doubt.
His dread deepened as the wait grew longer and longer. The police still have not broken down the door. There was no one shouting at him to get on the floor. There was no hungry detective waiting for him to do something stupid so that he could fill the madman with bullets. Just silence, which grew louder and louder in thought alone.
The madman wanted to be filled with panic, but anger is what rose up in him. Anger is what made him shout as he stood and turned toward the door. It was anger that took hold of his thoughts.
The police was suppose to be at his door arresting him so that he could make headlines. Grab the attention of the world while his trial dragged on. It was what he hoped for as the door remained intact.
“Where are you?” he shouted as loud as he could. “Where the hell are you?”
The memories of the murder he committed came rushing back like rats fleeing a basement after a pipe burst. He wanted to be judged by his peers and not by God. He wanted to be taken alive and he wanted to smile at the flashing lights. He wanted to be the update and the breaking news.
Then he noticed a figure standing by the kitchen door. It was a lone shadow. He couldn't tell if it was male or female, but what he did noticed was the gun.
“Don't take away my glory,” he whispered.
The shadow made him feel uncomfortable and he felt cheated and exposed.
The silence left after a single shot hit the target hung in the air
as long as it could.
© 2018 Frank Atanacio