Essence

by Nicholas Berns

I sit in the middle of the floor, legs crossed. My eyes are closed, but I am hyper-aware of my surroundings. A woman sits across from me; she leans against the wall. She is beautiful; her hair is a rich auburn color that shines in the sunlight streaming through the window. The sunshine puts a twinkle in her eyes, which seem to stare on forever. The sunlight warms the skin. Skin so soft, so smooth. There is just a touch of sadness in them. She is young; I hope that she will never change. It would be a curse if she would. That is why we are here. To make the most of our time together. I wait patiently. If no one comes, then I will leave, but I must wait. If I leave now, what I did would not be as satisfying. So, I sit, I listen, and I think. Oh, the thoughts that pass in and out of my conscious mind. Thoughts that you might think are weird or strange, but are perfectly normal to a person like me. Time passes slowly, and the sun dips. It no longer streams through the window to warm the room. It is almost time. Then, as if on cue, I feel her essence touch my hand; it was the woman who sits across from me. I slowly open my eyes to look at her. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness that now fills the room rather than the bright sunlight I had seen when my eyes were last open. There she is, still beautiful, even in the darkness. I look down at my hand and rub the fresh blood with my thumb and index finger. The sunlight had kept it warm, but now that night is upon us, it is getting colder and thicker. I look back at the girl who has not moved except for the blood, which oozes across the concrete floor. It seeps into every crack and crevasse, which puts a hint of a smile on my face. So satisfying. I am especially proud of the job I have done this time. I take my Polaroid camera out of my bag. A picture will not fully capture the woman’s new beauty. However, it will have to do. It will at least be a reminder of all the time that we spent together. I take the picture, put it safely in the binder with all the others, pack my bag up, and

leave. Part of me wants to look back one more time. Part of me always does. I have been told it is called sentiment. It does not stop me as I walk to my car. Thinking as someone on the outside of this purification looking in, as I do on occasion, you might ask: Ww…wh…why did he do that? To which I respond, for fun. I’m just a simple man, making my way in the world. Or perhaps you ask: Did he just call murder purification? Yes, yes, I certainly did. You might wonder, What is the point of waiting? Again, for fun and for a little extra thrill. Maybe, you just look on in abject horror, speechless, because of what I have accomplished. Maybe a few of you appreciate my work and think you should try something similar. In that case, I advise against replicating my work unless you are smart and know your way around the system. It is tricky not getting caught for as long as I have. You could argue that you are smarter than me; there are plenty of people who are, but in my book, experience outranks everything. As I calmly wipe the blood from my fingers, you may ask another fundamental question. Who am I? My answer is, I am no one, but I could be anyone, even you.