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MURDER

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A MURDER Martin Damyanov He threw the axe, as it was the most contemptuous thing he has ever touched in his life. He thought if it were a chicken instead of a man, he would be much pleaded from the result. He turned toward the hot sun disappointed and wiped off his brow with a hand. With these quills, the bloody cuts over his face, and the apron around his waist, willy-nilly he has looked like a Cherokee Indian. If he only knew that it would be so easy, he would made it long ago. So, that is it, he thought - to kill a man. Alex was saying that it wasnt so easy to do this. It is pretty hard he was saying. People are very tough, when it comes to be killed, humm they are devils and hard dying however. Very hard. Hey! You must gut their bodies, smash their hearts with sharp stone, stamp their livers down, and wrap their intestines up around a pole, and otherwise you didnt do anything. Alexs always liked to exaggerate. Although hes never confessed it, secretly he wanted to be like them. Hes loved to imitate them, to talk in that queer way they do. Do not ever forget to stick a twig in their eyes, both of them otherwise they would seek for you from the Underworld and wouldnt calm till they find you and destroy you. Thats right. He has executed all that Alex had told him to do, but frankly it wasnt so necessary. The man has fallen dead, after the first strike with the axe. It was a little bit harder till he succeeds to stick his eyes he wasted a whole bunch of twigs and after all he had to use rusty nails to cope with that. At the end, he was still feeling the emptiness deep inside him. He was yearning for more blood, for aromatic intestines, carmine juicy liver and for beefy tongue, which he would suck, until there remained just fibers. Why, the hell, Alex is not here around? How he would boast to him with his haul. He has looked around and bragged mentally himself for his good work. He had decorated the branches of the nearest trees with little presents, just like Christmas trees. The intestines have been waving by the wind as festoons and the thorax well, he had slit it into two halves which he had hung at the two ends of the tree. The blood was leaking into small streams over the bark of the dead tree and then it was dripping onto the dry radioactive grass, as it could satisfy at some extent its ancient thirst. He would call Alex and show it to him. There was no doubt that Alex would be very proud of his work. He didnt wait too long. The tall figure was walking up to the tree quickly, clattering with teeth and murmuring incomprehensible phrases. - Calvin, what did you do again, little bastard? said Alex with monotonous voice. Humm, you have soiled every inch around you in radius of ten meters. he noted calmly. - I have killed a man! responded Calvin proudly. I have killed him with his own battleaxe. Calvin pointed the tool of his monstrous deed. - Humm. Blah-blah. murmured Alex. He went to his little fellow, turn him back and remove his top lid. He began to scrabble about in there with his little pincers, keep on murmuring. You, humm, youre probably the most mindless robot, which has ever broken the three laws of robotics. That what you have killed is not a man. It isnt even an animal. You cant kill a worm where is a man - keep muttering Alex. Youre lucky that men dont ever come down from their stratopolises, because YOU will now be dangling on these branches hung on your own conductors with broken integrals. The little robot was staying in silence, while the bigger one was fixing out the jam in his integral schemes. - Youve ripped an old vacuum-cleaner open, thats what youve done. said Alex at last. He clipped the lid on the back of the little robot. - There is grease all over by you. - Sure, Alex? The little humanoid cried out. - Humm. - I am so sorry - Dont! We could make a wonderful refrigerating system from this motor that youve hung on that tree. Just for you. You wont get warmer any more. - Oh, Alex, thank you very much. Youre so kind His fellow has just raised his shoulders as well as he start staggering toward the great junkyard. At least he wanted he could raise his shoulders - Dont forget the engine, Calvin! shouted Alex while the dry hot wind has nibbling his words as well as it has turned them into faint whisper. October, 10th 2004 Bourgas
2005-03-05

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