THE KILLING OF AN OFF-BROADWAY PRODUCER (an excerpt from MUSICAL THEATRE PUNK)
I would shake and cough and twitch in rehearsal. Maybe I gave myself away. The producer didn’t like me. She cut me from THE show. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten myself so emotionally attached.
She was my first victim.
I learned I didn’t like hearing them scream while I sliced them up, so; If I knew things were going to get A) Messy or B) Loud – I took precautions.
I wanted to make sure this woman suffered.. I wanted her to feel the pain of my rejection. I knew this was impossible. She could never feel the way I felt. How could she objectively see what she had done to me? She couldn’t. But at least I could still torture and kill her.
I stuffed her mouth full of crumpled up Playbills and Gaff taped her mouth shut. The tears were pouring down her wrinkled old face now. I didn’t like hearing her plead – it tugged at my conscience.
I had seen an ad on late night tv for the 'Butcher’s Boy Blade', a knife so sharp that it could "CUT THROUGH BONE" (according to the ad) so I decided to test it out on sweet cheeks over here.
I drew myself closer and closer to her face – shooting her with my eyes, drawing out the moment of anticipation as much as I could before I started smacking her around. It was fun toying with her. She couldn’t speak, but her eyes begged me to let her go.
I raised my blade high in the air and brought it down with swift vengeance. She shrieked like a banshee and blood spewed everywhere; but that’s what tarps and gags are for.
I picked up her hand and started smacking it against her face.
“Hey. Quit hittin’ yerself. Quit hittin’ yerself.” Hah.
I cut her up and down her wrinkled shriveled body. She bled. She cried.
“Slice, slice, snicker snack. Here’s a blade across your back.” I sliced her diagonally from shoulder blade to hip; and she bled.
For the next few minutes my victim drifted in and out of consciousness. And I realized I had a rehearsal to get to.
She was trying to say something.
“What? I’m sorry I can’t hear you with your mouth gagged like that.” I ripped off the gaff tape, along with her bottom lip.
“Please” she cried “I’m sorry. Please don’t!”
Sweat and blood poured from the old woman’s head. She had pissed herself several times already and the room was starting to smell.
“You’re sorry?” I joked “Really? You’re sorry.”
“I was wrong. I should have –“
“Yes you were wrong. Oh so very wrong. And now you’re sorry…” I let out a sarcastic sigh. “Let me hear you say you’re sorry again.”
“I’m sorry!” she screamed through blood and tears.
“Not good enough.” I plunged the blade into her chest and carved out her heart; making sure she lived long enough to watch it stop, beating.
I made a plan to burn her remains.
Ah Rehearsal.
I feel a pop in my brain; then a loud pinging sound. It grows louder by the second – Black blood courses through my veins – I feel my head pulsing. The pain gets worse. My left arms goes numb and my feet start to burn. I grind my teeth from side to side and wish for a new stomach. Someone get this monster out of my head.
It’s a low sky out tonight; Foggy and bitter, like a head-cold.
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