The Kiss: A Dismemberment Story

Simply put it was the kiss that did it for me. He leaned in just slightly. Enough to make it clear his intention; but not too much to overstep any boundaries. He kissed me gently at first. Almost hesitantly. It was nice. At first.

But, the hesitation gave way to an urgency that I didn't expect. As his lips pressed harder against mine, I fought against his strong embrace. His arms had gathered me up when I wasn't paying attention. While I was focused on his breath, hot against my mouth, he had placed his hands around my waist and held tightly onto me. A little too tight.

I tried to shove him away. I tried to move my head. Shaking it back and forth as if to say, "No. No I don't like this. Your breath is too hot. Your taste is stale."  But, he continued to hold on. Unrelenting in his kiss.

His hands never explored any other part of my body. They seemed content on staying put around my waist. He never let up. His hunger lacked passion. His grasp more an exercise in control than in intimacy.

I began to panic. Then the panic gave way to anger. The anger fueled my attempts to break free. I reached for anything I could get a hold of. It was easy to find a weapon. After all, we were standing in a tool shed.

My dad's tool shed.

I grabbed hold of a hammer. Without giving much thought to the the consequences of my actions, I hit him in the back of the neck as hard as I could. Once. He let go. Twice. He stood erect, dazed. He looked at me, questioning my actions, with glassy eyes. He stumbled. Fell. On his way down to the dusty cement floor, he hit his head on the steel work bench that sat behind us.

The neck makes an ugly sound as it cracks.

I didn't drop the hammer at first. I just stood over his body, contemplating my next move. I knew he was dead. A person's neck is not meant to turn in that direction. I crouched low enough to the ground to get a good look at him. His eyes were open, forever caught in the endless question of why. I laid the hammer, my murder weapon, down beside him.

"Now, what do I do with you," I asked him. His corpse lacked a reply.

Slowly, I grabbed him by the arms and began the arduous task of dragging him out of the shed. I knew, without much thought or plan, where I was taking him.

The lake was no more than a hundred paces from the tool shed. In the summer time, it was home to a host of snakes, snapping turtles, and other assortment of carnivorous creatures. As children, we were not allowed anywhere near its banks. Fishing was not permitted. Swimming was out of the question. The lake was simply a mirage. An illusion of tranquility and summer enjoyment. My dad liked to tell me there were at least a thousand different ways to die in there.

It was the perfect spot to dispose of the body.

I was only able to drag him a quarter of the way before I had to sit and rest. The sun was beginning to say goodbye on this eventful day, when I sensed the first rumblings of an animal off in the distance. I didn't want to be discovered by any of the animals that lived out that way after sunset. Managing his heavy body was proving to be more difficult than I had anticipated. Killing had been easy. But, with his dead weight, I was not making much headway. Reluctantly, I decided on an ulterior, yet messier, method of concealing my crime. I went back into the tool shed and fetched the axe that my dad used to chop wood with in the winter time. My plan was to cut off the limbs and throw them in the lake. With the extra weight taken off, I reasoned I should be able to maneuver his torso with better ease.

At least that was the plan.

Our bodies are made to stay intact; to carry us through life with the protection that we need to sustain it. After we die, our bodies refuse to give up the fight. Our hearts, even though they cease to pump, still receive electrical impulses from the brain signalling some form of movement. Our bones, once given the duty to hold us upright and to protect our more fragile organs, refuse to break even after we have exhaled our last breath. These are the moments, that as living creatures, we don't realize. The corpse, however, looking at me with his neck twisted at that unnatural angle, was all too aware.

I approached him stealthily with the axe in my hand. I held it over my head, ready to swing at the slightest movement. I knew he was dead. Yet, something in me didn't trust death to keep him down. I circled his carcass a few times, nudging him with the axe handle here and there, half way expecting a reaction. When none was displayed, I prepared myself for the dismemberment.

I had originally drug him to the spot on his belly. His head laid at such an angle, that if he were on his back, his face would be in the dirt. So, I kept him on his stomach and spread his arms and legs out. He resembled a twisted angel. He looked halfway up at the sky, still kept one eye on me; while the other watched the ground.

I decided to start with his arms, rather than his legs. I had no reason behind this action. It just seemed like a good place to begin.

With the axe raised over my head, I stood poised to bring it down as hard as I could. Taking deep breaths, I swung with all my might.

And completely missed.

Undaunted, I attempted the act a second time. On this go around, I caught the arm where it joins to the shoulder. I felt the axe ripped through the muscle and tissue as it meant resistance at the bone. Again, I lifted the axe over my head and swung down. The cracking sound let me know that I was at least somewhat successful.

The fourth time was undoubtedly the charm. The cracking of the bones and cartilage gave way to the axe sweeping clean through to the ground. Careful not to get too much blood on me, I picked the limb up by the elbow and carried it to the banks of the pond. Once there, I threw it as far as I could into the placid waters. I returned to the body to repeat the process three more times.

By the time I had thrown the last limb into the lake, the sun had set. Working by the light of the moon, I made my way back to the torso. Even in the night, I could see blood splattered everywhere. I imagined what I must look like in my jean shorts and t-shirt. I could smell his blood mixed with my sweat all over me. Wiping the beads of perspiration from my forehead, I grabbed him by what remained of his clothes, and proceeded to drag him the rest of the way to the lake.

A person's body weighs considerably less when it's missing appendages.

With each tug of his body, I became increasingly distressed. I was furious with this man. How dare he touch me in such a manner. How dare he presume to believe that I would want his pungent breath anywhere near me. True, I had originally looked forward to the kiss. Yet, it became immediately clear that he had no idea as to what he was doing.

Cursing under my breath, I took a moment to rest my weary muscles. I was so close to the lake that I could see the ripples that various animals created as they made their way into the water. I imagined them smelling the blood and looking for its source. I knew I needed to get out of there quickly.

Fueled by my fear of the unknown creatures lurking beyond the tree line and with a renewed sense of energy brought on by the sudden burst of anger, I picked up the bloody torso and began to drag him to the shore once more. I thought ugly thoughts about the man that I had flirted with no more than a few hours prior. Remembering the dryness of his mouth and stale taste of his tongue, gave me the extra nudge to finally get what remained of his body to the water's edge.

At that point, I was at a complete loss of what to do. I was nowhere near strong enough to throw him out into the water. With relatively few options, the only logical choice was to weigh him down with whatever rocks I could find. I pushed the body as far into the water as I could and hoped that whatever was wondering around in the trees, unseen by me, would finish what I had started.

The hundred feet back to the tool shed took an eternity to walk. I tried to clear my head of all the unpleasant business that had preoccupied me for most of the evening. There was no use in trying to clean up any blood spilled on the cement floor of the shed. It was too dark to see anything. I made my way back to my room and prayed that my parents were already asleep. I did not feel that I had the strength for any explanations.

Besides, I needed to get to bed. The next day was a school day.