Confessions of a 5'1"

"It is not easy to cut through a human head with a hacksaw." from Travels by Michael Crichton.

Here I go. . .


It is not easy to cut through a human head with a hacksaw. In fact, using a semiautomatic would probably be more effective if one was hoping for a simpler method of disposing something or someone - as my accomplice, J, and I were doing one chilly October night. However, we were ill prepared and didn't have access to a hacksaw, much less a gun. Instead, my tools for that particular night consisted of a knife, an old sack, one rust caked shovel and -of course- the victim.

The night was strangely clear and the moon a slit in the stretching black above our heads. It was a night filled with unspoken mischief and actions motivated by adrenaline. Dim streetlights lined the road with their glowing hope for those afraid of the dark and a calm blanket had been extended over the neighborhood. Luckily, both J and I had outgrown our childish fears and were unbothered as we set out on our engagement.

J's eyes were craters on her face's shadow as she looked up at me in alarm. Flaring lights of red and blue colors moved in patterns across our thin frames bent over a half dug hole. They were quickly joined by the more common beams of golden flashlights and husky figures of hesitant men in blue. I cursed quietly under my breath as J and I faced the authorities through squinted eyes. Somebody had caught sight of us as we dragged the bulky bag down the boulevard though we kept to the darker spaces. This was unexpected and our plan was cut short as they took us in.

Earlier that night I had given my best friend an encouraging smile. It wasn't a daily thing for us to commit such a deed and our doubts needed to be subsided. She had scouted out the arranged area like planned and I had our subject. In a silence where an ant’s steps could be heard, we set to work. I heaved my collection in front of us and we instantly brought our knives down, penetrating the skin into flesh. Fluid stained our shaking hands as we tossed handfuls of the mutilated pieces into the sack, tying the opening off nicely.

We sat in another uncomfortable silence as the policeman drove without a word. A chuckle broke between my lips, growing in volume, as I contemplated over the night’s events. J’s snickering laugh soon mingled with mine. It could have been regarded as insanity from us both. The police didn’t mirror our amusement as they faced us from across the table, the evidence against our crime set between us. Dark stains where the fabric had absorbed the oozing liquid could be more clearly discerned in the lit room.

In approximately two hours later we were released from the police station. They didn’t appreciate our humor when we told them “Happy Halloween” after the chunks of an assortment of fresh fruit was found in the bag.