Edited By: Fiza Mishra
Well.
Here we are again.
Or well, I am. You’re just reading about this.
It’s not like I asked for this, you know. It just happened.
You know, kind of like getting that extra potato nugget in the mess during snacks? You wait for it, hungry. It happens. You wait for them to snatch it back – but they don’t! Now you have an extra nugget to enjoy.
It was the same for me too. I was waiting for it, irritated. It happened. I waited for that person to be alone— they did head out alone! Now I have a dead body to deal with.
***
You’re still reading this. Huh.
You do know you’re fait accompli right? You don’t know what that means? Well, me neither. I thought some Latin would make this high-class.
There’s nothing high-class about a dead body. They stink. So much. All that cologne makes jack shit of a difference when rigor mortis sets in.
And I am a neat person, okay? I was very careful with the blood. They looked very pretty— all white and pale, coffin-ready. No bruises, no bashed-in body parts.
Then I had to move them.
***
So, apparently dragging it down the stairs was a bad idea.
The head hit the stairs repeatedly. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, and then Burst!
Yeah, I didn’t know the human skull was that fragile.
So now, I’m crouching down, cleaning up all the brain and the guts and other bodily secretions. I’m pretty sure that if I leave some behind, it can pass off as Thursday night vomit.
***
The Documents Center dude is great. He easily gave away the paper slicer to me. I used the name of some club. It’s not like it matters. You never get into an Ashoka club.
The paper slicer is awfully sharp, you know. A big gleaming blade with a huge swing.
It made smooth work of the body.
Now, it’s packed in boxes from the tuck shop. I wish I had packing peanuts though. But I don’t.
The head lies in a box for Lays Chips. The limbs are tucked neatly into a Gone Mad box.
I take one of the trolleys.
They offer to help me with the packages. I feel like the smell of copper will give me away. Better not risk it.
It’s not like I take it right through Fuel Zone. Coffee is sacred.
A right turn near the tuck shop entrance leads me into the basement.
You do know that all the basements are interconnected right?
Off I go to the RH-5 basement.
***
No, I don’t hide it in the laundry room.
Do you know in what condition they return clothes? Bloody guts do not need to be added to the mix.
I need to hurry up. The blood is seeping through the cardboard packaging. I can’t just call it all period blood.
I stop the cart there. The lifts of the resident halls do not go down to the basement.
Now I wait. So do you, it seems.
***
It was awfully convenient to get garbage disposal bags.
I place each package in its separate green plastic bag. Why are garbage disposal bags made of plastic? Not very biodegradable of them. On the other hand, dead bodies are supremely biodegradable. Very convenient.
What is not convenient, is dragging the packages up. I drag them tio that shady little campus corner, after Dosai, and before the infirmary. I think I see greenhouses there.
No one goes to that greenhouse area. Or well, they do when they want plants for their rooms. Then, they forget to take care of it. The plant dies.
I haven’t forgotten to take care of my body. It’s already dead though.
I’m not burying it near the greenhouse. That’s just stupid. They’ll dig it up when they’re digging around to plant more plants. Then they’ll have to kill a killer.
But I am stupid— evidence being the chopped-up dead body I am carting around.
Should I just dump them there?
Should I have not skipped arm day at the gym?
Damn.
***
Have you ever been stupidly lucky?
Yeah, me too. A bit too many times, frankly.
Of course, the garbage collection truck came by right at that time.
Sure, I may have dislocated my shoulder while swinging the bags into the truck. Stealthily.
Not very stealthily when my arms actually started to hurt. I swear audibly. Oh well, whatever.
I’ll tell them that they were liquor bottles.
***
You’re still reading? You really do not want to write that essay, do you?
Well, I’ll have to disappoint you. I’m gonna stop now.
It’s not like this makes much sense either. Like your essay.
You don’t even know who I killed.
All the best in going through entire batch registries, sign-ins, and class attendance to find the dead person!