Wasting a good body

7-Periods of clarity

The sun was just rising over the clouds as the morning broke free and fought off the night. It has been over twelve hours since Mark had visited Jack in the basement, he thought that the best way to teach him that it was better not to run was to simply isolate him. That, and Mark had gotten so drunk he had passed out on the couch. He had just woken up, feeling his headache hit again and the hunger for eggs came back, although the last thing he wanted to do was cook something.

So instead he stood and grabbed a beer from the fridge, hoping that the new fuzziness would battle off his pain and disorient him enough so he didn't notice how bad his stomach hurt. The man looked down to himself that he had been wearing the same clothes for around four days, he always tried to make a mental note to change his clothes every two days and he had nearly doubled that reminder.

Mark grumbled as he slammed the fridge, staggered towards the bathroom down the hall, managing to take a drunk, letting it burn on the way down his throat. The bathroom door opened with a creak and he stepped inside. The man began to shed his clothes as long as he had closed the door, his boots were left near the door while his clothes scattered across the floor.

The shower curtain was curled back and the water was turned on. He slipped into the lukewarm water and tried to let it wash away his worries. He had figured that he would have been arrested by now, judging by how there was an officer at his door the other day. However, no one had even come to question him again, maybe they just don't care.

" They probably haven't connected the pieces like I thought they would" Mark spoke to himself as he washed his hair.

Half an hour later he stepped out of the water feeling more refreshed than be had before. It was nice to feel clean for once in his life. His hair felt silky and soft, although it was still slightly matted and too long, nearly reaching his shoulders.

As Mark looked into the small foggy mirror he sighed. His facial hair still screamed homeless man as did his untrimmed locks. Although he was clean, he still felt dirty.

He took another gulp of beer and picked up the scissors sitting next to the sink. He first cut his sides shorter, the job was choppy, not that it would matter. He then grabbed the nearby shaver and cut his sides to small fuzz, liking how it made his ears free in a sense.

The hair at the top was cut until it was just long enough to fall into his eyes and then dyed the same red colour it had been when he had finished high school. His beard was trimmed back to some scruff and the edges were trimmed so that it didn't look too messy.

All in all, he felt like the man he had once been before he grew a liking to murder.

He quickly changed into a white shirt and black jeans, slipping on only socks and not bothering with shoes in his own home. He grabbed an extra towel, figuring that his guest downstairs would be cold or perhaps needed it for something else.

Mark opened the basement door and looked down the stairs into the darkness. He knew what the room looked like without light to help him see. He knew that there was still puddled of blood on the table and floor from his last kill. With his tools still thrown about and blooded badly. It all would have dried now which meant that he could scrape it off later. But that didn't change the fact that Jack had been forced to small the rotting remains all night and he may or may not have been placed next to a puddle in the first place.

"Jack?" Mark called out as he flipped the light switch on, not being able to see the other side of the room yet due to the roof.

The man went down the stairs to be greeted with a sight he knew was there, although, there wasn't as much blood left over as he thought there was. There was only a small puddle on the table and one under it.