Shamir, Messiah.

The last time dealer from the main city came by, I had plenty of money ready for him.

I had the funds available, cobbled together from- what else, carpentry, and masonry, the occupations I was forced into and have little joy in, but at least it allows me plenty of money. I am one of four in the village who do it and the need for work and furniture is always high, as are homes. My pocketbook is quite stuffed with funds for my wonderful workspace in the guts of the desert.

However, the item I lusted for in the back of my mind wasn’t a cattle prod or a shining new knife or a burdizzo or any other wondrous toy to use on the denizens of the desert that I catch in my fingers- it is a rock.

Well, I suppose it’s more of a brick. Resin. That dazzling grey-brown hunk of pure raw opium. I wanted it. I needed it. I will use it for nothing but good.

Oh, Goddess, no! I won’t consume it myself. It is for him.

Once a week I return to the man who took care of me as a youth, Sa’Ludim. I no longer live in his home, but I go and prepare a meal for him every Sunday, right after work, and I leave my tools right there by the table. His wives leave so we may be alone, a man and his former ward. We sit and we talk about the things in our lives, and I am much more quiet than he.

Oh, but this Sunday, he should be quiet indeed. As docile as a baby lamb. Lovingly into his food it’ll be shaved, and what an easy task it would be as he is one of the few who doubts my darkness- at least he does sometimes.

Thick chunks of resin melted into the cream sauce. Thin slivers added to the chocolate he’ll drink. He’s so damned old I have doubts that he will taste it, though I must admit I have no idea how it tastes. Hopefully better than it smells.

I’d wait until he was hazy, and my hands would be shaking in anticipation for the moment when they went for his damned throat. I see it now, the inglorious fuck leaning over his plate, about to flop into it, and I spring life back into him as my fingers enclose around his neck. I’d squeeze until my fingers left indents and bruises. I’d go until I heard it crack, and I’d go even if he struggled, I’d fight through his fingers clawing at my hands and his legs kicking impotent back and forth and I’d watch in delight as his eyes rolled back into his skull, shimmering as the black orbs spun in the light.

I’m not sure if I’m going to leave him dead that way, though, or simply incapacitated. It’s not as if he will truly feel it, anyway. I’ve seen how the humans gets when they are given it, though only in my workspace. I feel uncomfortable consuming them after, with how listless they become, loose and floppy like dolls as they fall onto the floor. He’d never notice as I pick up the sledgehammer I use to clear ground when building house foundations.

He’d never notice as I grunt, hefting it over my shoulders, my body much thicker, and much stronger than his own.

And he’d especially never notice as I swing it forward with all my might and splinter his chest. Would you notice it, Sa’Ludim? Would you notice? Fuck, no, you wouldn’t, you dried up husk! You have never noticed anything, have you!

His ribcage would shatter into a thousand fucking fragments of bone and I’d relish its crunching. He’d perhaps release a dying grunt, a groan, as his lungs are pressed flat like the flowers the softer ones press between building bricks for luck as we build. Are you still breathing, Ludim?

Answer me, wretch! You will answer your ward!

I’d take my cigar and burn patches of his skin just to see if I could get a reaction. Would he yelp? Would he not even notice? Or would the pain pooled in his chest simply outweigh it? I see you drowning, Sa’Ludim.

Your disgusting, rusty old blood is cloudy in your chest hole and you choke on it, don’t you? Oh, Ludim, I’ve never been happier in my life than I am right now.

I’d strike again- I’d strike again, and again, until I’d smashed your entire torso to a paste, flattening it beneath the cloth of your shift. I’d even continue until your spines were shattered, as difficult as that is to do, but I am certain I have the strength to do it. What are you now, Ludim? A pile of flesh, like everything else, oh Sa, that is what you are. You’re lower than a meat man, do you understand? You’re lower than the ones I catch in the desert because at least they have a purpose! You, Ludim, you are a waste of meat, judgemental cretin!

You aren’t even good for eating.

Who are you to call me ill? Who are you to accuse me of being sick? All you are now are limbs, a head, and an unused, shriveled set of genitals. You have wives but they never seem to show you affection, Ludim. How much effort is it really to get them to suck your wrinkled, unwise little knob?

Oh, and how upset I am sure they’ll be when they come home to see your ruined body. They aren’t as foolish as you. They’ll know what I’ve done.

But I can’t be done there. He must be destroyed. I don’t want him to see him anymore.

His kneecaps break easily. As do his arms, smashed like making powder from glass. His hands I take extra care on as I use my wire cutters, the ones I saved for months to obtain from the dealer, to snip apart each digit and to score your hands. They were crafted in England, I believe, or one of those countries in Europe. They can withstand it. I’ll expose the tendons, and tug them from you, unspooling them like ribbons. I’ll see how far they stretch before they snap.

Call me mad, do you? Reform my disturbed mind, will you?

I’m not even hard, Ludim. That’s how vile you are.

But there is one thing left to do: I must destroy that smug face beyond all recognition.

It’s glorious! The splattering! The shaking of the very foundation of the house, my hammer shattering the remaining fragments of his skull, turning his wretched face and deep grey matter into a sticky goo. It’s brilliant! It’s cathartic! Teeth are knocked from his jaw. One eye pops from the socket and is crushed into milky goo seconds later by another swing of my tool. I’m not sure anyone will recognize you this way, Ludim- how can they tell its you without your condescending sneer and that petulant gaze that you always have in your eye?

Clearly I couldn’t return to the city, and I’ve prepared for that in my shelter. I’d have to hurry before the other found me and punished me for something they unfairly consider a crime, but I’m already packed to leave. I’d just have to run and grab my bundle, and then make off. Perhaps I could head to that oasis the firebirds are in, several kilometres away from here- I’m sure they fry up nice, and there will be nice, clean water to drink.

Oh, such is the plan, and I can taste it as I foresee what will come.

I realized how easy it would be last week, when I was making his meal, as while he waits for it, he simply sits at the table, and while he watches he knows little of what I do.

I will do it today, I tell myself. I clutch the resin in my hand, and I stare at the milk simmering before me, awaiting to be made into the chocolate he drinks once a week.

But as I stare down into the pot on the stove, I slip the brick away, and I realize a sad fact about myself, one that I am pained to admit: I, Shamir, am a coward, and this will never be.

So I simply finish the meal as I always do, his loyal pet, his trained little dog, and I sit at the table to listen to him babble on about his domestic life and spout platitudes I’ve heard since I was a boy. Everything remains as it always has been. Nothing will change, ever, and I was a fool for dreaming that it would.