The non-existant crime | By: Edward | | Category: Short Story - Thoughts and Ramblings Bookmark and Share

The non-existant crime

Is it truly a crime when no one has committed it? Is it truly a murder and arson when no one will ever find out? When you are reading this, I am probably none existent, somewhere deep beneath the comfort of the earth under some country whose name you have not heard of. I did what I had to do in life, and that was all that mattered, as is my regret. It was a perfect crime entwined with love and hate.


My story began like all others, in a humble town that no one knew the name of. I just graduated from a school that no one has known with an architect degree. It was a poor town then, no one really did anything of value. People came and went, without buying and without stopping. There was little money, and little incentive to do better. Staring across the car-filled streets, all in shining colors reflecting off the golden sun, it was as if they were gibing at us, moving with such wealth but will never stop by and make a stop. That was the fate of an interstate highway town.

That changed, however, when the Jewelry Locale opened up half way across my old house. It was hiring, so I went to sign up in a hurry because jobs, like money, were scarce in this area. When I got there, the flamboyancy of the newly opened shop astonished me to such a degree that it was hard to believe that such building can even exist in such a place as this. It was not big, granted, but it was definitely tidy, outside or inside. It was tidy, yes, and organized too. No matter where you laid your eyes, something will remind you of the brilliancy of the jewelry, and the price that no other place offers. The sight of such wealth gave me a slight tingle, perhaps just a reaction of realizing that the wealth was no longer moving away from us; it was coming to us.

I became the clerk there, the only clerk, but the most efficient thing in the world. Every day, I handle two to some five hundred customers; I was always smiling regardless of whether they were buying or not, never complaining, never letting the price drop below what it already was, and therefore, always keeping profit to the max and demand to the max. It was a tiresome job, as I recalled, but it was worth it because my wallet was bulky, compared to everyone else in the town, of course. There were four of us, technically, at the store. It was I, my best friend Jacob, and an assistance named Carlina. The owner was supposed to be there, except he was always doing some trip or business things that he always left that responsibility to me.

Every day passed like heaven. I was willing to work for an eternity here, the three of us. I had everything I needed, a job, a best friend, and an ever-growing love. I loved Carlina, from the first sight, as they would say. I never said anything, because I was afraid of her disapproving face. Nevertheless, I decided to do something unique. I would save up enough money to buy her the biggest and most expensive ring in the store, a sign of complete devotion to her. Then, she would be so overwhelmed that she would accept my engagement ring and be mine forever, and we would all be happy, I would become rich, and famous, and buy the biggest and best house for her… and we would live happily ever after.

That day, while I was daydreaming, the manager called and asked me to visit a nearby mining town to negotiate some deal because he was sick himself. It would take me a week, but that extra commission would finally get me enough to get that small diamond ring. I happily went on the journey, knowing that I would be the happiest man alive, very very soon.

I became the CEO of Jewelry International, a company that sprang from the old jewelry shop. I took it over when the owner died, since he had no family that he cared about. Now, the nameless town is called Richville, a named they gave to me for making the town slightly more habitable. The old tidy store was still there, except now it receives little sunlight. It was the central office, “a historical landmark of the founding of one of the world’s greatest companies.” Around it, buildings as least ten times as tall as the store proliferates in a seemingly never ending stream. Each one represented one of the competitions, and the absorption of each too. I am engaged to Julia Catherine, “the finest lady”, as everyone would say, by a proposal of a thirteen-carat rare diamond that was found in 1965 in our nearby mine. It was not a ring, because it wouldn’t fit too well, and also because… Well, I have a big house too, so big that I sometimes get lost in the endless mazes of electronics. They were amusing sometimes, especially when each wall changes color and scenery to make it look like a new room (probably that new thing they called TV; even the furniture change colors, which I suspect was manual labor. The rooms were mainly for the guests’ entertainment. I rarely use it, because I’m always somewhere, doing something. Recently, I had found something worthy of doing. I am going to congratulate my best friend on his fifteenth anniversary with Carlina (and a lovely daughter and a baby to be born) and my new engagement. Then I would have a reunion of three, plus two and a half new member of our little social group, back at the old little historical landmark of ours.

The wind flies behind me as I tried to grasp every molecule of oxygen in the air. This is it.
Around me, blazing embers seethed and hissed at me, warning me of its presence, and danger. I rushed onward, into the historical landmark that was made much more rickety under the current condition, yelling the name of my best friend. He is in there, I thought, and again, and again, in comfort. The fire, in the usual crimeless city, aroused immediate attention from the privately hired city guards. I can hear them coming now, in full force, with helicopters and fire trucks and a load of new technology that trailed behind them, all wailing an unfamiliar sound.
The explosion should come soon.
I slowed to a walking pace, aware of the present dangers of trying to enter Hell, through its burning arches. I stepped in, choked from the lack of oxygen, gathered some breath, and yelled his name once more. There was a boom, a hiss, and the ember grew to a dragon’s breath.
I ducked, knowing that it would be temporarily safe there. It is all as planned.
After the searing breath that felt like the inside of a volcano, I got up, and began to frantically, as it seemed, to yell and search for my friend. I should look nervous in despair. Hopeless, yet hopeful, that my friend might survive the previous blast.
After I got up from the explosion, my mind became drowsy; I was no longer thinking clearly, something seems to be missing, or not suppose to be there, but I no longer wanted to think any more. I knew that I was running out of oxygen, but I thought that I have calculated that my lungs should hold until I get my friend’s corpse out…
I collapsed, and felt a slight warmth around me. The fire now seems soothing and calm and I am now back in the heart of my love. It is all for you, I knew you would understand.

But it wasn’t her, no, it wasn’t, and it wasn’t anyone else either. As my drowsy eye opened, the man in an army uniform, who was sitting calmly under the television, hastily got up at the cost of three shattered vases and a pool of water, which reflected the pedals of dropped roses and daisies. He was relieved when I forgave him for shooting me in the behind with a military edition of .33m tranquilizer. I was happy.
Then, my advisor came in, with a full on blast report of my damage. A few bruises, and a few scratches here and there. He went on and on, named every detail and asked me to be careful not to agitate them, but that lecture of his was agitating me, and he took quick notice of that. Jacob was dead, as expected, and planned, and I showed the emotion that I practiced. All as planned.
I sat contently, stared at the television, amused at the actions I had done. There I was, bravely charging into the building to save an old friend, but was shot down by the well-aimed tranquilizer dart, and fainted behind the smokescreen of ashes. No one would ever know it was I.
My happy content came too early.
Staring at the screen, a woman, who is still bleeding from something, rushed into the building. Her long, golden hair shone without the aid of light; her body, well shaped with an assorted red poke dots, shone without the light; she shone without the aid of light, for she is an angel that needs not the guidance of any other than her own entity, she shone with determination at the face of the dragon. My eyes opened with madness in the blink of a second; I was no longer in my bed, but praying for her safety, for her sense from irrationality. I knew this already happened when I was in my fanciful dreams.
I sat there, blankly staring at the water hoses, the fire, the collapse of the building, the destruction of my arch-nemesis, and the destruction of my love and the failing of my heart. She, my only meaning of life, is stripped from me, forever, for the eternity yet still to be lived. There could be no happiness in life.

No one is to enter this room, speak to me, request an entry, or in any other way disturb me. I made it clear that anyone, except for the two children of my love, can be warned and shot. I had that power in my own estate.
I sat in this room, my master bedroom, now clean of everything, with blank furniture, blank walls, and nothing but two blank pieces of paper and a white pen. The pen is in red and black ink. On the first page, I wrote:
Will of Lorence Thomas:
Upon my death, all possessions of mine shall be transferred to the son and daughter of Carlina Rutherford. No other man will alter my estate except for Jordan, my advisor, until Carlinita, the older of the two, reaches adulthood, in which she shall then inherent half of the estate, and my advisor shall manage the other half until the other reaches adulthood.

Then, shaking, and trembling, I wrote my second page, with the black side of the pen.
When you see me, take my request and send my darling, along with his rightful husband, to an island where no one would disturb them. As for me, drop my corpse in the middle of the volcano. I deserve not to live for my treachery against my love, and I wish her an eternity of happiness that I cannot provide. I have escaped Hell once, I will not again. It was a crime of perfection, of love, of hate. The crime will be repented with my blood and soul, it is all for you, my love, I knew you would understand.
When you are done with the above, burn everything, except for this single paragraph:

Is it truly a crime when no one has committed it? Is it truly a murder and arson when no one will ever find out? When you are reading this, I am probably none existent, somewhere deep beneath the comfort of the earth under some country whose name you have not heard of. I did what I had to do in life, and that was all that mattered, as is my regret. It was a perfect crime entwined with love and hate.

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