Mood: Happy

Music: Feel Good Inc., by the Gorillaz

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I have something big planned for tonight.

Can you guess?

No, it’s not a date, though it will happen at a play.

No, I’m not the lead.

She’s going to die, tonight.

No, before you ask, it’s not one of the ‘oh-I’ve-just-made-up-my-mind-that-I’ll-go-kill-someone’. Not at all. In fact, this girl’s death was decided three years ago.

And, once again, before you ask, no, I don’t dislike this girl because she stole my best friend or something. I just…hate her. Hate her voice, hate her walk, and hate her very existence here on earth. The hate was filling me up; I couldn’t sleep at night. I would lie in my bed, thinking of ways to kill this girl whose name I didn’t even know. But the solutions were all too idiotic; I would never be found out.

Then I heard she got a lead role in the musical. I was only a stagehand. I liked it back there; should I say ‘up there’? I worked above the stage, making sure all of the riggings were secure and such.

And my anger grew, but it became cold, colder than (at risk of sounding clichéd) ice. My mind became clear, and suddenly it occurred to me.

I worked on the top of the stage, invisible to everyone, and virtually silent as well. It was a simple matter of dropping something heavy---one of the every-present sandbags used as counter-weights---onto the precise place where she would be standing. Over the months, I memorized where she was standing for the large production. Wherever she would be, I would know, so that nothing could harm her.

Her death would be mine, and mine alone.

Of course, being the idiot that she was, she thought that I was seeking a love interest whenever I would caution her about staying safe on the streets. She began flirting with me. Patted my cheek, brought me drinks when I was busy painting backgrounds.

So of course, her death, which would have been a few weeks from now, changed times drastically. Up to tonight. The Grand Opening.

So here I am, crawling noiselessly around the top of the stage. She’s beginning her aria now, so she’ll die right after this number.

I can hardly contain myself. I’m as giddy and greedy as a small child christmas. A knife in hand, I start to saw eagerly away at the rope holding the sandbag perched above her head.

And the last note rings out from her throat.