Thanks to complications at my birth, I suffered from stunted growth.
The youngest of four siblings, it was clear that I was the runt of the litter, and my small stature was, no doubt, mirrored by my intelligence.
Mine was an unpleasant childhood: Brought up in an atmosphere of loathing and bitterness, yet – as they say – what doesn’t kill you, only makes you stronger.
I grew very strong.
And the killing… took place at my hands. First my brothers and sister, followed by my parents.
I got away with it, of course, thanks to my ‘stunted mental growth’.
I watched the steady drip into the bath, mesmerised by the swirling patterns formed by the confluence of blood and water. As each thick droplet of blood became diluted and pale, it felt as if my own evil misdeed was being washed away, leaving no taint upon my character.
It’s these quiet, reflective moments that I savour the most, especially considering what happens next…
Because there’s nothing mesmerising, quiet or reflective about hacking somebody’s flesh from their bones, rendering them down with acid, then cleaning up the mess when it’s all over.
And that’s precisely why I savour this moment.
People ask where my wickedness came from… I’m not sure, but there’s one day that clearly stands out in my mind.
It was the day the fair came to town, and the big, ugly brute at the ‘Try Your Strength’ machine laughed in my face when I asked for a go.
“This is a man’s game”, he said, “not for weak little girls like you”
That’s when I grabbed him by the balls and started to squeeze as hard as I could, and I didn’t stop until his screaming ceased, as he slumped unconscious to the floor.
Who needs strength?
They call me cupcake.
You’d think there was nothing nicer – sweet, cute, and so desirable – you just want to have me.
But there’s more to me than just looks – and just like the pastry cupcake – too much of a good thing can be very bad for you.
All that sugary sweetness can make you nauseous, rot your insides, and ruin your health. No matter how good it might look, or how delicious it may be, too much cupcake, over time, can kill you.
I don’t have the time to spare though, so I’ll stick to strychnine instead!
The instructions were simple and written clearly, in bold, on the note that I intended to pass to the cashier:
Do not raise the alarm
Completely fill the bag with unmarked notes
Do not move until I have left the building
I read through them again carefully. Clear, concise and unambiguous… but it seemed to me there was something missing.
I frowned and chewed thoughtfully on the end of my pen while I thought it through, and then it came to me, at last – the one vital instruction that I’d completely forgotten to add:
Please close my account.
She was late.
Chances were, she would miss her train; that had to be avoided at all costs.
A car horn outside.
At last, the taxi! She hurried out and told the driver to put his foot down, praying that they’d get to the station in time.
Finally they arrived. She threw a handful of cash through the cab window and ran inside.
Nearing the platform, she saw the train… She was going to make it, just, but only just!
At the platform edge, she watched it draw closer, smiled, took a deep breath before stepping right into its path.