aurora | 1952

03

November 13th, 1952

The side of my nose flinches upwards as I pinch my temple with my free hand, the other hand carrying a black garbage bag. I probably have no excuse to be disgusted, after all I am on my way to hide a dead body.

Taking a deep inhale of nauseating air, I stare blankly at the expressionless body. It was only last night that I was being kicked out of that damn bar. Times a bitch. If only I could have more, and maybe I could sort something out..

My thoughts are broken with a tap on the window. My entire body shoots back, eyes squeezed tight, preparing for the worst.

My vision comes back blurry to see a big crow resting on my windowsill. "Oh, fuck off! Can't you tell I'm busy?" Hearing myself talk, I really do think I'm going up the wall. All within hours.

The bird flutters off, leaving me with an idiotic guilt.

My nose scrunches even more as I face my destruction. I can't tell if my headache is fading, or if I'm just getting used to it. Either way, the questions of whether or not I should feel like a jerk, or a strong, powerful jerk linger.

Just self-defense, right?

Mind whirring, I kneel beside the limp man, the red in his eyes becoming more prominent the closer I get. The stench, as well. Smells like dry blood and something even I can't name. And I live here, a peasant town, where things that'll give you the slightest adrenaline are passed around like candy.

Hesitantly, I walk over to switch on my television. It's better to face it and see if I'm all over the screens than to be taken by the cops before even I know what's going on, right?

The only thing that sucks is that I do know what's going on. A little too well for my own conscious.

Jesus, Aurora. Quit avoiding your thoughts.

Talking to myself? I really am bonkers. Might as well lean into it. I snap the garbage bag back and forth, the edges separating into a wide opening. Wide enough, shockingly.

Looking away, my head limp, I pull the bag around and over his leather shoes. The tacky shit rich guys spend their cash on is beyond me. The bag makes it up about half way to his torso, and I struggle with it, careful to not pull too far, yet far enough. Who would've thunk this would be hard work?

Constantly reminding myself, "It's just self defense, he would've killed you," I slip another bag from it's box, the television playing some 'elegant' violin. I approach the half-covered body, ignoring the fact I'm actually doing this. The orchestra goes up, up, up to a high, almost peircingly pleasing note.

Fitting.

Performing the same ritual, the look away in guilt, breathe, and wince, I pull another bag above the king's head. It covers his face like a blanket, and I almost worry about his breathing. I inhale slowly. Silly me.

Now he's like a garbage bag himself. I pull the strings of the bags, tightening them around his stomach. I slide two more from the box, just to be safe. As I cover him, my direction focuses to the television.

"Mysterious reports of King Jasper missing scatter about the villages. Not to worry, the Queen comforts that he'll be fine." The news reporters monotone yet pitchy voice runs through my mind. I don't have a lot of time.

I'm sure the villages know not to take the Queen's word for it. She hates Jasper's guts. Apparently, last year, he was caught in an affair with some young peasant, and Queen Florence been remarried since. Quite the dynasty.

I pat the bags, cringing at my work. It sucks that I did this. I almost hope they find the body. Better to be beheaded than in guilt.

Shockingly, this is the hard part.

I kneel down, hands laying flat on the floor. I quickly, not wanting to drag this on, shove my hands under what I think is his torso. Lifting up, he's not as heavy as I had expected. I guess all those pitiful comments boys left me about looking like man are coming in handy.

Not to say he isn't heavy, though. I leave my television running, figuring now isn't the best time to fret over my bill. That's tomorrow's work, if I make it to then. I somewhat barrel towards my window, wanting to avoiding people inside at all costs. I grab a green hat from a hook near the window, and bring it over my eyes. I guess the scarce sunlight will help me on that one. The past few days have been rainy, and according to the guy before the news orchestra, there isn't an end in near sight.How would they know?

I cautiously grab the covered body once again, heaving him onto the cool metal, slightly clattering as I set him down. Surprisingly enough, not too loud. Yet.

Following after, I step onto the ladder as well, my sneaker's impact echoing. I swiftly dart my hand to stop the obnoxious noise, eyes scanning windows. Nobody active so early, and for once, I'm grateful that this village is full of lazy people. I just hope they won't miss Jasper.

I slide my window shut quickly, the rubber squeaking. My head turns to the windows once again. This should be a thrill.

I heave the body upwards once again, very slowly dragging it towards the edge of the ladder. Climbing down myself, I plop onto the metal with a small bang. Oops.

I look over to a woman at her window. "Trash day!" I say with a fake grin, giving her a thumbs up. She rolls her eyes and shuts the curtains. What a treat.

I very slowly grab the bags, hands clenching as I wonder how someone ever would get away with this. I look down at the trashcan, thinking it would almost be easier to just chuck him.

Wait, would it be?

Sure, it'd be easier to track me down, but I don't have any photos of myself in my house, my landlord forgets about me, and I'm most likely get taken away anyways. What's the difference?

I look down at the garbage bin, legs slightly faltering at the height. And I though this would just be a 'light' challenge. The bins are open and full, but another bag wouldn't hurt, would it? I guess it just counts as cushioning. I hesitantly crawl back up the ladder, nudging the king with my foot.

Once again, I weakly pick him up, continuing to be amazed by his weight. He must be on some pretty potent shit to get this thin. I rest him against the railing, bracing myself.

"You ready?" I whisper, more to myself than anyone. Without thinking, I grab him by the feet and flip him over. He falls in what seems like slow motion, as I stand, anxious for the hit..

Shoosh, BANG!

He falls almost perfectly resting on top of the other bags. The last glimpse I get is an indistinguishable pile before the lid shuts after him. I did it.

Kind of.