Best Behavior
Title: Best Behavior
Fandom: N/A; Original
Rating: PG for theme of murder.
Other: Written for the August 2nd contest (a school of morality) in 31_days.
Best Behavior
The oppressive heat bothers him more than anything else. It’s almost a blanket, like the sort his mother used to pile on him. He won’t complain, though; things could be much worse. Fact is that aside from the heat, everything feels just right. The sky is blue, the grass is almost glowing, it’s so damned green. It is all almost numbingly real, the air fresh and the scent of blood fresher still.
It was easier than he’d thought it would be. He is vaguely glad of this.
And better still, he doesn’t hurt at all. Doesn’t feel a thing from it. He could almost forget that it happened, were the body not laying in front of him. He’ll have to take care of that soon, so he can’t forget about it. Disposal is a high priority rule. So long as he follows the rule, he should be safe. Always follow the rules, they said. So far as he can tell, they know what they’re talking about.
The thought of a cigarette tempts him. He hasn’t had a smoke since, what, four in the morning? Yeah, that sounds right. His fingers twitch at the thought, begin to move toward his pocket. He stops himself only by remembering the rules. No unnecessary activities before the job is entirely done. He isn’t done until the body’s gone and until he’s out of there, himself. So no smoking, not yet.
He distracts himself from the habit. What else is there? Well, the thing on the ground. He thinks that the thing on the ground looks like a discarded monkey, and he laughs at that. Delivering a swift kick to its side improves his mood, but he only allows himself one shot. Anything more and he risks being labeled a loiterer. The rules they gave tell him to beware of that. His watch, upon consultation, tells him that he should be getting on soon.
What was it first? Find the man. Yes, he’d done that. Bag him. Finished. Drive out to a deserted are. Check. Shoot him. Done and done. Stash the gun. Absolutely. This is the order set by the rules. Easy enough. What’s left, then? He needs to pick up the body, clean the area, then cut up, scatter, and toss said body.
Fine. It’s easiest to get the whole thing over with, anyway. He’s got a nice day ahead of him. Bit of a nap, a trip to the grocer, and dinner with a fabulous bit of a woman. And a smoke before any of that. He thinks himself lucky to have finished this early. There’s nothing like the feeling of a fresh day ahead.
As he looks down at the body, the thing, the whatever it is, the man mulls over the best way to pick him up. There is another voice in his mind, too, and its his mother again. He wonders if she comes with the hot blanket of air, thinks that maybe she wrapped him in it. She asks if this is right, says what she always did, “You’d best be on your best behavior.” She never explained that, though, and he didn’t like the way she said it. He likes to have everything explained nicely. When he was younger, he used to wonder what his “best” was, anyway. She hadn’t told him.
Now he knows. They told him when they went over the rules. To be on his “best” behavior was to follow every rule through. So long as he did that, he was working the right way. Everything was functional, everything was jolly, so long as he followed the rules.
And he has followed them down to the last detail. The man smiles. Yes, he knows what his “best” is, now. The warm blanket has nothing to do with it. The details have everything to do with it. He knows the best. And what’s more, he has figured out how best to move this body.
Fandom: N/A; Original
Rating: PG for theme of murder.
Other: Written for the August 2nd contest (a school of morality) in 31_days.
Best Behavior
The oppressive heat bothers him more than anything else. It’s almost a blanket, like the sort his mother used to pile on him. He won’t complain, though; things could be much worse. Fact is that aside from the heat, everything feels just right. The sky is blue, the grass is almost glowing, it’s so damned green. It is all almost numbingly real, the air fresh and the scent of blood fresher still.
It was easier than he’d thought it would be. He is vaguely glad of this.
And better still, he doesn’t hurt at all. Doesn’t feel a thing from it. He could almost forget that it happened, were the body not laying in front of him. He’ll have to take care of that soon, so he can’t forget about it. Disposal is a high priority rule. So long as he follows the rule, he should be safe. Always follow the rules, they said. So far as he can tell, they know what they’re talking about.
The thought of a cigarette tempts him. He hasn’t had a smoke since, what, four in the morning? Yeah, that sounds right. His fingers twitch at the thought, begin to move toward his pocket. He stops himself only by remembering the rules. No unnecessary activities before the job is entirely done. He isn’t done until the body’s gone and until he’s out of there, himself. So no smoking, not yet.
He distracts himself from the habit. What else is there? Well, the thing on the ground. He thinks that the thing on the ground looks like a discarded monkey, and he laughs at that. Delivering a swift kick to its side improves his mood, but he only allows himself one shot. Anything more and he risks being labeled a loiterer. The rules they gave tell him to beware of that. His watch, upon consultation, tells him that he should be getting on soon.
What was it first? Find the man. Yes, he’d done that. Bag him. Finished. Drive out to a deserted are. Check. Shoot him. Done and done. Stash the gun. Absolutely. This is the order set by the rules. Easy enough. What’s left, then? He needs to pick up the body, clean the area, then cut up, scatter, and toss said body.
Fine. It’s easiest to get the whole thing over with, anyway. He’s got a nice day ahead of him. Bit of a nap, a trip to the grocer, and dinner with a fabulous bit of a woman. And a smoke before any of that. He thinks himself lucky to have finished this early. There’s nothing like the feeling of a fresh day ahead.
As he looks down at the body, the thing, the whatever it is, the man mulls over the best way to pick him up. There is another voice in his mind, too, and its his mother again. He wonders if she comes with the hot blanket of air, thinks that maybe she wrapped him in it. She asks if this is right, says what she always did, “You’d best be on your best behavior.” She never explained that, though, and he didn’t like the way she said it. He likes to have everything explained nicely. When he was younger, he used to wonder what his “best” was, anyway. She hadn’t told him.
Now he knows. They told him when they went over the rules. To be on his “best” behavior was to follow every rule through. So long as he did that, he was working the right way. Everything was functional, everything was jolly, so long as he followed the rules.
And he has followed them down to the last detail. The man smiles. Yes, he knows what his “best” is, now. The warm blanket has nothing to do with it. The details have everything to do with it. He knows the best. And what’s more, he has figured out how best to move this body.