Irony

"all in the game..." - Traditional, West Baltimore

Sunday:

“Stop resisting. It will be over soon.” He continued strangling the woman lying on the kitchen floor. The woman was dead. The man was making sure she was. He pretended to not notice the sharp tip of her umbrella, lodged in her. He gave up soon and walked into the living room.
The man wore a tweed jacket. It had Monday engraved on the lapel. He was called Monday. He glanced at his watch. It was about time someone showed up. He picked up his sawed off shotgun, poured some Scotch and sat in the chair, infront of the door.

Friday:

Monday was up on the roof of a brown brick. His binoculars focused on the park opposite. Kids ran in circles. Parents pretended that they were in control. Some conversed. His gaze sought out one man. Aquiline noise, sharp eyebrows, olive skin. Red jacket and a copy of Moby Dick in his hands. This one was called Bensharif for some reason. They all had names. Bensharif was not here with a kid. He was here to pick one up. Bensharif preyed on the little ones. Monday was not here to judge. He was here to plan. Bensharif would leave in half an hour. The route was tracked, the exits were marked. He would take him in the proverbial dark alley.

Wednesday:

Annie was a writer. She always had a pen with her. The pen was her. She was such a sweet soul. Monday never wanted to kill her. He had stalked her to the supermarket and seen her be nice to all the people there. Like a bottle of bottled sunshine. Bright, warm but never quite free. He had waited at her house patiently while she was out on one of her supermarket trips. He hid inside her closet. When she came back, he surprised her. With violent death.

Thursday:

The sky was yellow. The air reeked of pleasure derived from pain. Loco was a special man. He hurt people 

to make them happy. They even paid him for it. Monday never understood that concept. He did not get pleasure. Giving it was out of question. Loco was a big man who could take care of himself. But, Loco liked wearing his mask too much. And, Loco liked his boy toy Andre even more. All Monday had to do was hold Andre hostage. Loco came rushing in. Monday threw Andre aside and pumped a shot into Loco.

Tuesday:

He loved her brooch. It was delicate, effeminate yet so powerful in its simplicity. He liked her the best out of the seven. Mercy she was called. Did not ask for it even once. She was dying anyway. The injection did her in. As silent in death as in life, when her husband had beat her. Sometimes, close enough to feel death standing near. She was in a happy place now. He took the brooch. He shouldn’t have.

Saturday:

Stripes. Cop. Mean. Twirling his lighter. Stripes was investigating a series of murders across town. None of them connected to each other. Stripes was a good cop. He did his job, was only as dirty as everyone else. Stripes ate pork sandwiches, drank beer and shot some pool. He went home to a wife and a kid. He abused his wife and whacked his kid around. Even, broke the kid’s hand once.
He found a dead hotdog vendor that day, a bottle of gin inserted into his innards.

Stripes caught a homicide call late on Tuesday night. Mercy had cancer and a history of domestic violence. The brooch was missing. He had a photo of the brooch. The next day, he got Annie too. Annie, the writer, who drowned her own kid in the pool and wrote about it. She got money. She was found in her bathtub with thin perforations in her lungs. Dead as her dead kid. He would have usually dismissed the murder of a local thug as a gang shooting. But, the state the witness Andre was found in made him suspicious. Registered sex offender Bensharif was stabbed in the alley next to the park where Stripes had to take his kid the next day. He saw the man with the brooch running. He stared transfixed at the falling body and rose to action only when he heard mothers scream. The man had moved out of recollection by then. On his way home, on Saturday, Stripes found the dead guy near the police department. This was starting to get out of hand. Sunday when he heard noise of a scuffle between his neighbor Marge and a visitor, he grabbed his gun and decided to pay her a visit.

Monday:

The moment Stripes opened the door, Monday shot. Trust Stripes to not die so easily. He managed to get a shot off. He felt nothing initially. Feeling returned and realization dawned.

He had won the game. He was now free. He had finally managed to beat them all. He was better than all of them. @luckybroochm, @penannie, @maloco, @bensharif7, @atomichobo, @umbrellarge, @stripes 

were beaten.

The game was beaten. He was free. Dead on a Monday.