I’m Ready Now - Gabrielle Washington

I’m ready now
Gabrielle Washington
“Are you Crazy?” The detective looked at the suspect with such vigor, wondering how such a thing could be done. How the killings went about, and why he decided to turn himself in.
There had been seven bodies. All severed at the limbs. The toe nails and fingernails had all been slowly peeled off and placed near the site of his capture. The shavings of skin from the arms and legs had been taking off in a way similar to a slab of meat and shredded like raw beef. The liver, heart, and lungs were taken from the inside of the decapitated body and placed neatly on a picnic blanket, ready for the takeover. He had made a perfect incision from the belly button up and down the abdominals tearing off every piece of fat to get to the organs. Using scissors he cut off the nipples of each body and used them as stamps, applying paint to the tips as a typed of decoration. Sitting patiently on the blanket right outside the gates of Marlborough cemetery, he waits patiently. The detective spots him and his eyes begin to water at not only the odor but at the obscure sight of body parts. Spelled out, with every finger and toe nail, reads, “I’m ready now.” On his blanket lay seven plates, each with a heart, two lungs, and a liver decorated in BBQ sauce. Having enough of this sight, he picks the man up and drives him to the interrogation where it began with the question: Are you crazy?
“Hello? Answer me. Do you think you are crazy? Do you know what is right or wrong?”
With a slight smirk, he opens his mouth to finally begin to speak. The most wanted man in Missouri was finally caught. “Now, what exactly do you expect me to say? Do you expect me to answer, ‘No I am not crazy’ and then you ask me why I did it, expecting once again another answer of ‘I don’t know,’ and we both walk away continuing our lives of meaninglessness? Is that what you expect?”
The officer looked at the man, with a stern face attempting not to give off any emotion he could use.
“No, I don’t expect any answer.”
“Then officer, let me ask you a question…if you don’t mind of course?”
“What is it?”
“Do you think I am crazy?”
“Yes I do…everyone thinks you are crazy.”
“Well there it is then.”
“What do you mean Van; I am not playing games with you.”
“Oh neither am I. I don’t know why you asked me for an answer that you seemed to already have instilled in your mind.”
Looking confused and annoyed, the officer fixes himself in his chair and straightens up. “Ok what is your poi-“
“My point is this. You ask me, am I crazy thinking I have an answer to give, but the definition of crazy is really yet to be determined. Crazy could simply mean thinking or having behavior that is not considered normal, but being crazy, normal, weird. It is all socially reconstructed by people with little minds such as yourself to make other people feel inferior which creates barriers that make our social class today. ‘Am I crazy?’ you might think so, but in my mind, I am perfectly ‘normal.’ Everyone’s ‘normal’ is different. Subsequently, you will never ever be able to understand my ‘normal’ in by which, you won’t be able to catch people like me. Without understanding, education seems pointless because I’ve killed seven people and your master’s degree didn’t help you a square inch. Ha, I had to turn myself in.”
His arrogance seemed to belittle the officer’s authority, but still his argument seemed not to attest to his. The officer had yet one more question to ask: “Why did you do it?”
“Why did I turn myself in?”
“Yes.”
“As you know, I have a trade mark with every masterpiece I create. I follow each person for at least two weeks to account for their schedule, and to memorize the times they leave, times they come home, their detours, friends, where they go, why they go, their tendencies, etc. Anything possible I find out. Then one night when I know the mom will be home alone, I break through the garage and go through the back door. I then scour their bodies with cooking knives. It makes things cleaner. Their nails, limbs, skin, nipples, organs all removed and neatly lay out on the floor. Every person I kill is a single mother with only one child, by the way. No dad and very little family. Do you know why I do this?”
As he asks the question many thoughts pass through the officer’s mind. The poor child is being made at victim because of a sick man’s game.
“It’s because it’s a game to you…every part of this is a game.”
“Ah, close, but…no. It takes me two hours to finish going through a body. I’m exhausted afterwards, so then I sleep in her bed and wait till morning for their child to come home. Every child is at least eight or below. The routine usually consists of the child coming into the house and calling for their mother. At this time, I get out of the bed and use the bathroom so the children can hear the flush. The child then runs up the stairs to jump on mommy’s bed, but then finds her dead body lying on the floor, wide open for everyone to see. The child, then terrified, cries and sits on the floor not know what to do. I step out of the house and go to the neighbor’s door, and tell them there has been a murder. The neighbor then goes over, picks up the child and calls 911.”
“Ok? So why did you do it? Why are you telling me this?
He looks up with frustration seeing how the officer has no patience.
“Listen. When my mother was brutally murdered by a man with no after thought about what he was doing and about the lives he was changing, I stood there. I stood at the foot of my mother’s bed with nothing but a blank face and a sense of loneliness. I had felt the rush of hate despair, and anger boil down to my most inner sanctum of my soul. At age 8 I did not run, I did not sit down, I did not cry, but I did call the police. All they did was cover the body, send me away to an orphanage, gave up and put another story in as a cold case. As you will find out soon enough, there was one more woman who has recently been murdered. This time it was different. I had gone through the normal routine as I usually do but when the child had come in the room. He was silent. He did not sit down, he did not run, and he did not cry. He watched his dead mother be still. I walked out of the house and felt no need to tell the neighbor anything. Do you know where I went officer?”
Feeling weak in the knees his angle for being, and his reason had shined so bright the officer needed to take a moment to clean his eyes out that had almost filled with one single tear.
“You went to the cemetery.”
“Oh you’re finally catching on. Yes, I had went to the cemetery, with all the organs, with the nails, the skin, the nipples, everything. I then Lay out my blankets, set up my stage and put a report in for a murder.”
“You’re such a sick man.”
“Seeing the child’s face, I had known right away the feelings of resentment and despair he had running through his mind. His reaction had fulfilled my meaning of being who I am, and had finally put my rage and anger towards the human race at ease. He is now my successor. You my friend with everything you have been through have not looked close enough. He will be the one you will look for in 10 years. Yes I kill because of anger. Sometimes it gives me a sense of pleasure and joy, but I kill to create what you fail to understand. What the world has failed to understand. I kill to create people like myself. I could have a hit or miss on the seven children who will most probably be drug addicts, probable CEOs, problems to society, or even motivational speakers on how to rise and come above the turmoil of having your mother slaughtered, but as of now, I know one child who shall feel the anguish and continue expressing his anger and rage on the human race, and come up with his own trademark of the art. And for that reason, I turned myself in. For that reason I am ready for whatever punishment you decided to give me, although you will need me later on. You may want to remember that if you put me in the electric chair but either way, for that reason, I was ready. Actually, for that reason…I am ready now.”
 

 

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