Chest heaving, beads of sweat on my forehead. Looking down at my hands I suddenly began to feel the pain. What had I done?
Looking around the parking lot, I noticed people staring at me. The looks on their faces were anything but good. Mouths agape, eyebrows lifted in complete surprise, children hiding behind their parents. What had I done?
My hands were covered in a sticky red substance and I could feel the bones inside them crunch as I made a fist. The pain was starting to overwhelm me. If I could just remember what it was that made them feel this way. What had I done?
Deciding that the answer was somewhere close, I took a look at my surroundings. It was then that I noticed the crumpled body on the ground near my feet. I could see the torn skin on his face and the way his hair was matted to his head. It was covered with something wet and thick . The flannel he was wearing was torn half off his torso and through the tee-shirt underneath I could see stains of red. His head was angled strangely and his eyes appeared to be focused on some far away object. The crimson pool of liquid under his head had a faint reflection from the sun. As my eyes passed over his body, I noticed my car behind another with the door ajar. The car parked in the spot in front of mine was the one with the body in front of its driver’s side. Oh my God, what had I done?
Reeling with confusion, I turned and asked the crowd that had gathered just what had happened. The unison in which they shied away made it look rehearsed. Women grabbed men’s arms. Men backed away and shielded anyone standing near them. Whispers started to fill the air. Frantically I searched for a friendly face but was only greeted with horror and disdain.
In despair, I asked again, “Please, somebody tell me what happened!”
From afar, I heard a frightened voice say, “Man, you killed that guy!”
My heart stopped. I did what? As my brain tried to absorb this information I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. The world was spinning and I couldn’t make it stop. My stomach finally got its wish and acidic liquid splashed all over the pavement below. My knees could no longer support my weight and I felt the ground as my body collapsed.
Loud pitched noises that sounded vaguely familiar started to penetrate the air. I opened my eyes and realized it was the sound of sirens. Ambulance and police sirens sang in an off pitch harmony. Slowly I began to sit up. The crowd that had gathered earlier was substantially bigger yet stood further away. My hands were throbbing and as I looked at them I realized that the red substance was most likely blood and none of it appeared to be mine. They were extremely swollen and bruises had started to form on each knuckle.
Suddenly, like a punch in the gut, I remembered.
The day started out like any other. Get the kids off to school, kiss the wife as she left for work, and prepare for my day of errands. The drive to the store was like any other: people cutting me off, making turns with no blinkers, tail-gating and driving 5-10 miles under the speed limit. The perfect recipe to invoke road rage. Pulling into the parking lot, a prime parking space was spotted and I headed right for it. Just as I was about to pull into the spot, another car zoomed right into it before I could even get my steering wheel turned in that direction.
That was when it happened.
Throwing my car into park, I jumped out and started beating this man. I didn’t ask him questions; I didn’t yell and scream. I just beat him with nothing but my fists. I felt no pain. I heard no cries for help. I felt nothing but pure rage and I beat this man until he died.
I had read about these things happening to other people. I couldn’t believe it was now happening to me. It felt surreal. Surely there had to be some mistake. I was not the type to kill someone! What was I going to tell my wife and kids?
I heard footsteps falling in my direction. As I looked up, I saw guns pointed at me and was being told very loudly not to move.
With wide eyes, I nodded at the police men closing in on me. I had no intention of ever moving again. I had killed a man over a parking spot.