Sigh
Here it was. Now that Asaram Bapu's estate was in front of me, I couldn't help but feel the determination that had burned inside me on the flight to India start to fade, but I swallowed and stepped forward.
As I walked down the well maintained path, my thoughts flashed back to my friend Sarah, and my face contorted in a grimace of pain. Her sweet smile, her dedication to always helping others, the moment when she told me she would be going to India to volunteer with an orphanage...
I was finally at the door, and glanced around looking for a way in. With trembling hands I reached forward and turned the doorknob, locked of course. With nobody in sight I checked the windows, shut tight. Then I saw it. A speck in the distance, growing steadily. A car. That familiar white BMW, carrying the most despical cunt I've ever heard of, the man who owned every industry and policeman in this hell hole and who dragged Sarah out of the orphanage before brutually raping and murdering her, was driving around in his fucking BMW without a care in the world.
Breathing deeply, I let the air out in one long exhale. Calm down. It's time. Doing my best to plaster on a fake smile and look harmless, I waved like an idiot towards him as he slowed to a stop, his tires sliding in the gravel as he looked at me. Probably thought I was here on business, or a begger perhaps.
The door swung open and he got out slowly, cautiously, before approaching me slowly.
"Hello? Who are you?" He said in broken english. Still with my fake smile plastered on, I started walking briskly towards him, hyperaware of the feeling of the cold knife tucked into my waistband.
"Hello Sir, how are you?" I said, approaching him with my hand outstretched. My smile and handshake seemed to reassure him, as he took my hand in his.
"How can I help you?"
I could see beads of sweat dripping from his forehead from the hot indian sun beating down on us both. This man in front of me dressed in a hugo boss suit on his well manicured lawn seemed so far removed from the image I had in my head, the image of a savage. He looked like a respectable businessman, and he smiled at me as he repeated his question.
"How can I help you?"
I felt my resolve wavering. Suddenly where there was white hot hate I just felt defeated. Killing this man wouldn't bring Sarah back.
"I just, well, I had a question..."
He nodded and tilted his head quizzingly.
"Nevermind. I should go."
It wouldn't bring Sarah back, nothing would. Sarah, standing in her sundress framed in the sunlight. Timid Sarah who scoops spiders up and takes them outside because she doesn't want to harm them. Sarah who this man blamed for her own rape.
I fumbled for the knife in my waistband, and I could see the fear and panic in his eyes for a split second before I had it free and plunged it into his faggot throat, crying tears of rage and pain as I mutilated his face over and over, falling on top of him as he collapsed as I slipped the knife into him over and over, hot blood covering me completely. As suddenly as I attacked I stopped, dropping the knife. Automatically, without thinking, I reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. I picked up my backpack, which was already stuff with a change of clothes and stepped into the BMW, wrapping my fingers around the steering wheel. I had a flight to catch.