February 29, 2024 | Rome, Italy

I, Killer

By |2020-11-09T12:42:15+01:00November 9th, 2020|"Free-Range Kid"|
I was patient for a long, long time...

had to do it. I don’t care who knows. I can’t take any more of this questioning. I admit it. I’m a murderer! Are you happy now?

I never meant for it to go this far. Every step of the way I thought I could still fix things, I thought I was still in control. But that’s such a laughable notion now.

I had all these great plans for us, the times we’d spend together, the things we’d see. And now all those dreams are shattered, the hopes blurred by tragedy. They say that when we make plans, God laughs. I never believed that. I thought there was harmony in the world. I was sure I could be a good person, but in the end my true nature emerged.

I still remember when I first spotted you. You glowed in the sunlight, delicate and gracious. Gentleness poured forth from you and drew me to you. I could tell then and there that you were a humble soul. The others around you stood proud, looking preened and eager for attention. You merely existed, and yet you stole the spotlight. I knew you had something in you I wanted. At the time I thought I just wanted to learn from you, learn to be simple and comfortable; display what God gave us without wishing it were something else. Accepting the flaws and letting them show, knowing that as living things we weren’t made to be perfect but simply to exist. If only it had stayed that simple.

You glowed in the sunlight, delicate and gracious.

I was jealous. I know that now, but I didn’t back then. I now realize that my longing for you wasn’t borne out of admiration, but envy. I’d watch you, and nothing fazed you at first. As the world changed around us, you always knew what you needed and asked for it. You were so sure of yourself and your needs. I thought that was remarkable and I so desperately wanted to emulate you, but you never helped me out. You hoarded your secrets, you silently let me watch you thrive and move through life and didn’t make any effort to ease my mind. You withheld the secrets to your success and left me on the outside of your world when it would have taken so little to make me happy.

It’s your fault things turned out this way. All I wanted was to be like you and you didn’t let me in. And so my admiration soured, rotted away, and turned to resentment. Can you really blame me? I thought you were so easy-going. And I was so happy to please. I’d eagerly reply to all your needs. I’d even try to anticipate them, but soon that wasn’t enough for you.

What I offered wasn’t what you wanted, but you never tried to ease my burden by helping me help you. You played dirty mind games with me: you expected me to either guess what you wanted or you never explained your wants. Who did you think you were to toy with my mind like that? Why did you make things so hard for me when all I ever did was try to make things better for you?

I shared my oxygen with you, never complaining! I rearranged my life and my living space to accommodate your preferences, and all you did was let yourself waste away to teach me a lesson! People will say I was the evil one to inflict this slow death on you. They won’t see the weeks you let yourself wither into a shadow of yourself, all to make it weigh on me. I did my best until I couldn’t stand the sight of you anymore, the silent accusation as you decayed.

So, to answer your question, that’s why the gardenia is in the trash.

About the Author:

Manhattan-based Eleonora was born in Milan. She studied at schools in Italy, England, and the U.S. before earning her degree at Brown. When Eleonora is not acting, writing, or watching comedy, she spends her time drinking tea, worrying too much about everything, and spouting spoonerisms.