how to kill a man.

the clock read "8:08" exactly. an older man picked up the last few items off his newly scrubbed floor, packed them in his oversized backpack and walked out the door. 

his paranoia caused him to check the lock, per usual. 

he wore oversized rags and looked rather filthy and thus made sure to not be seen by anyone in his apartment complex to avoid any suspicion that would arise from his choice of clothing.

he rushed down the stairs hoping that he wasn't too late. 

he wasn't. as soon as he reached the street, he saw the bus coming. pulling out his two dollars, he got on board and paid his fare. the driver grimaced and thumbed to the back of the bus. 

the man, holding onto the straps of his bag firmly, he walked to the very back of the bus. 

everyone contorted their faces as he passed. 

when he sat, the bag gave way just a little with a faint "squish" sound. 

he rode that bus for over two hours in one direction. east. 

everytime he would see or hear sirens pass the vehicle he'd tense up but then remember that theres no way he could be found out in this mass of people.

"hiding in plain sight."

by midnight, the was the last person on this particular bus. he saw no more houses and knew he had reached his destination.

he got off and walked the main road until the bus was far out of sight. 

the bag was heavy. certain parts poked him in the back. but he walked on. 

he walked to a place where the streetlights were no more then veered off the road and walked for another hour or so.

finally, he knew he had found the perfect place. 

he placed the bag on the ground and stripped glad to be free of the putrid stench. 

he unzipped and unbuckled the bag and the smell hit him in this throat forcing his gag reflex.

vomit spilled on his clothes. he took a match and tossed it on the vomit littered, wreaking clothes. they caught fire instantly and crackled loudly. 

he pulled the rest of the contents of the bag out.

an arm. leg. torso. another leg. arm and finally a head.

he placed them in the fire individually. carefully. 

the stench worsened. but he took comfort in the fact that only he could smell it. 

he watched cooly and emotionlessly as the meat charred and burned to ash. 

he, then, took the bloody bag and placed it on the fire to kill the fire and burn the bag itself. 

it died slowly but it died, just as the recently cremated man. 

in the stiff desert night the man stalked, then trotted, then walked then stalked again to another specific point not too far away. 

he saw a familiar car parked. when he got close enough the banged on trunk; it opened. 

inside, there lay fresh clothes, a bucket of mostly spilled cold water, soap and axe body spray. 

he washed quickly and got dressed. 

he made his way to the passenger side.

"thanks son."

"yeah..."

"whats that smell?"

there was a silence as stiff as the night itself. as stiff as the man's back from having carried 200 pounds of human weight. 

"we can go now."

"can we?"

"yes."

"great."

but the driver didn't start the car.

"what are you waiting on?"

the driver looked at the man blankly. as emotionless and void as the night around them. as plainly as the crime they had just committed. there was no soul in his eyes as he looked at his father. 

the man assumed that his son was in shock and began to get out to take the driver's seat. with his back toward his son and one foot out the door, the driver pulled a gun and shot the man in the connecting spot of his neck and head, aiming upward to make sure the bullet would disconnect the brain stem and exit through the forehead. 

blood and thought flew forward, not a drop on the inside of the car. 

the man fell limp next to the car. the driver reached in the back of the car, grabbed a red canister and poured some of its contents onto his father, struck a match, dropped it out the passenger door and drove off.

he stayed silent.

he missed his mother much more than he missed his father.