Let’s make the world burn - slice it clean with the sharpest and shiniest knife we can find and watch the oceans bleed, and leech into places it was never meant to go. Lacerate the crust, and make cuts so deep and divine to make those meagre veins we call rivers and canals petty and pointless. Let’s reach the melting core of the earth and watch as the firey orange pounces from beneath our feet to progress through farmland, through our streets, through our cities with the excitement and thrill of destruction and bloodlust in its path. What’s more exhilarating than hearing the shrill cries of those facing the inevitability of impending death?
Let’s take this world out one by one, inch by inch because our parents always told us that it’s all the little things that count, because twenty 5 cent coins make a dollar. Pay a visit to the used up old hag on the bottom floor of your building who wouldn’t let you leave your bike in the lobby. Remember the times when you were a kid, when you were only five and all you wanted to do was to make some noise, but when you saw her peering through the blinds with the stare of a jaded old bitch you’d shut up. You’d shut up because you equated age to authority, and authority to superiority. Think back to how she turned your childhood of purported freedom and joviality to a tale of caution and prudence, and how those years are years you will never relive. Grit your teeth, raid your kitchen drawer - maybe, perhaps for something sharp and reflective, and make sure she never has to see your bike in the lobby or hear your cordial cackle again - erase that thought, eye her with your most penetrating stare and chuckle so its the last thing she ever hears.
Devise a thorough plan to deal with her husband, make it intricate, refined and elegant because you value professionalism in everything you do - because your 11th grade math teacher forced you to take pride in your presentation. Laugh hysterically over the limp corpse of your ugly fat neighbour because you imagined a plan so exquisite and meticulous that you’d probably win an award if the world respected this art as much as you do. Rummage through your
neighbour’s ex-neighbour’s apartment in search for materials and equipment to fulfil the components of your flawless and beautiful plan. You find rope, an aerosol, unused slabs of wood in the laundry and pull out all the wires and cords from the admittedly impressive A/V system in the lounge. Beads of sweat congregate on your forehead, around your temple and behind your ears - your sweat glands reacting to your eagerness. It’s been a long time since you felt alive, because for once your endeavours feel purposeful and worthy of thrill. Lay your collection of materials strategically and with precision on the sweet cool tiles of the bathroom floor and howl with vehemence. Give a hypothetical high five to the life experiences that taught you to never do things half-assed.
Watch your plan fall into place, step by step and element by element as the man falls victim to your painstaking set up. Kick his walking stick violently out of the clutches of his hand because that wasn’t part of the plan, because it would ruin the integrity of the way you envisioned it. Push him with force and deliberation into your glorious trap and watch him stumble through the steps, with both excitement, exhilaration and frustration. The stupid old codger was meant to get his fingers sliced, sliced finely in the most exquisite linear fashion before having the aerosol can spray into his eyes. How will he see the damage? How will he see the meticulousness of your handiwork? He will only feel it. You need the appreciation of all five senses. Slam your fist with maniacal force onto the coffee table from irritation and watch as the cracks radiate from the epicentre of the impact. Watch as the blood from the wound of your enclosed hands trickles through the cracks of the broken glass like a vibrant red liquid filling a canal. Smile at the sight of destruction in its most artful form.
Return your concentration to the useless, and now dead, old man lying motionless in the most delightfully debilitating and crippling condition. Kick yourself because the man was too stupid to follow steps, because you don’t get a second chance, because when you were an ignorant teenager Steve Jobs taught you the value of being a perfectionist.
Grab what’s left of the man by the shoulders of his blood-stained corduroy blazer and drag him across the hallway leaving a trail of fresh blood for every inch he progresses across the rosewood floorboard. You’ll find the rest of his body parts later. Cackle at the notion that the man is now nothing more than a heavy wet paintbrush dispensing red - with the warm scent of copper and iron - paint through the apartment. Hold that thought, because you’re onto something. Whip out a paint brush after digging through the laundry cabinet and dip it into his open and exposed abdomen. Sigh, slightly disappointed at the runny consistency of his blood. It will have to do. Start painting the walls of the apartment because only now do you realise that this was what you always wanted - vibrant, red walls. You never cared for those drab half custard walls your parents painted in your room. Continue to paint, with the man’s open and mutilated body as your single-coloured palette and quietly weep for humanity, weep that nobody was clever enough to think of this ingenious and economical idea before. Thank the recycling company that visited your school in the fourth grade because they taught you how to reduce, reuse and recycle.
Finish painting the walls, the smell of metal lingering in the apartment. Step back, and stand at the doorway of the apartment and watch, admirably. Watch as the wet blood runs slowly in beads down the walls and drips intermittently from the ceiling. Stare at the morphed and still bodies of the two human beings you slaughtered, both decisively and elegantly and get satisfied by the fact that you had the power to do it. That you had the power to make a very small dent in the universe, that you left a mark and you’ll be remembered for something. You made a difference, and that’s all that counts in a world marred by irrelevance and also-rans.
The erie aura of death and stagnation lingers in this apartment only two floors below yours. Take one last glance at this vicious and stirring tableau - that’s enough satisfaction. For the day.