Time For A Killing   Gregory Jackson     © Copyright 2004 by Gregory Jackson

Photo (c) 2004 by Richard Loller.

“It’s time for a killing.” Jerry calmly announced to his wife as she struggled with the threaded rope he had tied tightly around her wrist
and ankles. This was a job over due he thought to himself. “Hell, I aint’ no coward. I could kill without even a blinking of an eye.” He
thought aloud as he paced the dirt floor of the tin roofed shed behind his grandfather’s house. Moans of his wife tussling with the rope
only quickened Jerry’s pace. She had tried screaming obscenities earlier, but Jerry had removed the bandana from around his dampened
forehead and tied her mouth shut with it. Over and over again his thoughts ruminated his refusal to believe that he could be considered a
coward. And to show those who thought he was, a killing would be needed to end all doubt.

“Jerry! You out there boy? Damnit, come here and help me up out of this dang blasted outhouse!” The scratchy voice of his grandfather
cursed. “Damn no good for nothing mongrel of a grandson.” The old man mumbled below his breath then spitting out tobacco juice,
which lined his bottom lip and angled below his chin and neck. Drunk, the old man tried wiping the spittle juice with one free hand and
mistakenly spread feces on the collar of his already worn shirt. “Damn! Jerry, get out here!”

Enclosed in the shed with his wife, Jerry was inspecting the sharpness of the ax in the light that emitted through the crevices of the
dilapidating shed. He was in a state of momentary bliss. Marveling at the glimmer of the blade as the light rays bounced off of its blade.
It was sharp enough to slice through bone, leaving not a fracture he thought.

“Where the hell are you boy? I done messed myself all over! Jerry!” The old man was relentless.

Interrupted in his train of thought, Jerry lowered the ax turned toward the door and responded. “Be there directly Pa’! Hold on to your
britches!” He looked at the struggling woman on the dirt floor and laughed. Kicking up dust with her bare feet, she was engulfed in a
cloud of dirt. Specks landed on her face and legs making her dusty and matted by the mixture of sweat and dirt solidifying on her hair
and skin. She banged her head against the wooden wall and tried to scream through the bandana. Jerry smiled at her and said,“ I told him
to hold on to his britches. Did you get it? That was a funny.” Wild eyed, the woman continued her struggle. The door closed behind
Jerry and she heard the lock secure.

“Hew wee Pa’ what in the hell did ya’ eat. Rotten coons? You is stanker than a field of slaughtered three day old possums.”

“Shut up you no good for nuthin waste of sperm.” His grandfather said as he wiped his feces covered hand along the interior wall of the
outhouse.

“That aint no way to talk Pa’, specially since I the one helping you off the shitter.”

“I’s drunk that’s all. Here pull up my britches” And when Jerry began to pull up the old man’s pants, urine sprayed Jerry ‘s forearms.
“Oopps.” Was all the old man said while enjoyed what he thought the humiliating to Jerry. He laughed some more then spit more
tobacco. Smiling, he revealed brown rotting teeth within the haggard face of generational poverty and hard times.

“You think that was funny, huh? Well how about this for laughs.” With his ax still in his back pocket, Jerry raised it from behind and
split the old man’s head in two.

The excitement was rapture to him and the repeated blows were as good as the first. After inspecting his work, he gathered the
dismembered parts of the old man and distributed them in the hog pen. Upon which the sourly beasts snorted and devoured the remains
of the human anatomy. Behind he could hear the woman trying to escape by forcing her weight against the locked door. This irritated
him to no end. For he felt she was becoming a bit too impatient. He raised his head and felt the warm sunshine landing on his face,
making him feel good and sweaty.

He then walked slowly toward the shed; ax in hand he pumped water into a pale from the nearby well. After cleaning the blood from
outhouse door and wetting the ground so that blood would not show, he made his way to where he heard the relentless pounding of his
wife’s body against the door of the shed. Already irritated by her, he opened the shed door quickly and she fell out with a rush crashing
her body into the hard ground. Yanking her up by the hair, Jerry stood her up against the rickety shed. One of the planks gave and he
maneuvered her to one that was sturdy. Holding her by the neck with one hand, and lifting her dress with other he inserted himself by
force inside her. Their pelvic regions met in raging thrusts, he eyed her with lust and disgust. “I told you it was time for a killing.” He
said through grunts of breath and sweat. “I said I wasn’t no, ugh, … coward.” At which point the woman managed to remove the
bandana tied around her mouth and said, “ But you didn’t let me see. You selfish bastard, you didn’t let me see.”
 

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