text: Murder is a subject that not many people care to consider. The idea of losing a loved one by the hands of a murderer is a chilling and unwelcome possibility. The idea of being a murder victim is one of the most terrifying prospects. The idea of being a murderer is very rarely contemplated by sane minded people and so I am utterly unprepared for what I have gotten myself into. I am in complete disbelief. My eyes have begun to water and sting yet I cannot draw them away from the empty shell of what was once a human being that lays on the cold ground before me. The Body has lost all essence of life already. Within the minutes that have passed the skin has become waxen with an almost bluish tinge. The face is expressionless, the eyes closed and the mouth relaxed into a natural grimace. No matter how long I study the subtly changing features, I cannot convince myself that it is just sleeping. My stomach convulses and I heave. It comes to me that I have become the last glimpse of the living world to a human being. I recall how that last glimpse was filled with terror and, what had to have been, an excruciating amount of pain. I, suddenly, need to be away from the alleyway and I clutch my excitable stomach as I run out into the dark street. I am relieved to find the night is deserted and I am able to throw up amongst a pile of discarded rubbish, undisturbed. It takes me a few seconds to regain some composure before I realise that he has not come after me. I could run, faster and further than I ever have in my entire life. I could run far away from this situation, from this city, this entire country if I wanted to. If anything, I could lose some weight in the process and become a whole new person. I feel a migraine begin to evolve in my head and I shake away the completely inappropriate thoughts that crowd my brain. Of course I will return to that alleyway. How could I do anything else? I do not consider him a friend in the conventional terms of the word...but he is the only thing I have that comes close. I now realise why he has not called after me or come to drag me back. He expects me to return. It appears that he has discarded the contents of his stomach, too. His face is flushed, his hands shake, uncontrollably. As I stagger back into the nightmarish scene, he looks away from The Body and searches my face with concern. “Ok?” His voice shakes with the telltale signs of someone who is struggling to contain their emotions. I do not trust my own vocal chords at that moment and simply nod. “Ok...ok, we can sort this. We can fix it...” he is walking around the alley now. He examines The Body from various angles and swears a few times. I carry out my own, swift, inspection and my eyes move upwards. I realise that there are two windows from the opposite building that overlook the alleyway. There are no lights behind them at the moment but should someone decide to peer out into the night... “We need to call the police,” I say in little more than a whisper. With a spontaneous burst of energy, he leaps across The Body and shoves me, hard. I am caught, completely, unaware and fly backwards. My back slams into the hard plastic of that large, industrial bin and I am momentarily winded. It is my turn to swear. “What’d you do that for!” I snap. He marches towards me and I take a protective stance. He slams his hands on the bin at either side of my head and I wince. “Will you shut up! Do you want to wake up the entire street?” he hisses. “Well, then, don’t go throwing me all around the place!” “Well, then, don’t go saying stupid things!” he snarls. “Call the police? Do you want to go to prison? Do you? Do you want to become the mistress of a butch, skinhead lesbian called Sandy? Cause that’s what’ll happen-!” “Ok!” I snap. “She’ll probably make you wear a dog collar and beg for treats. And you’re so pathetic you would do it-” “I said ok!” I whack his arms away from me and rub my throbbing back. I catch sight of The Body once more and I am shocked to find I had completely forgotten its presence on the scene. “What’re we going to do, then?” I ask. He runs his fingers through his, already, tousled hair. “We’re going to have to move it...” I wish I had run away when I had the chance. “How?” I say, weakly. “Should we just...grab a leg and an arm each or...?” “Don’t be stupid. How d’you think we’d look walking down the street like that?” I want to tell him we’d look like any other group of friends after a night of drinking in the city. But I decide now is not a good time. I stand, silent and awkward, as he concocts a plan in his head. He paces the short space available, muttering to himself, pausing, occasionally, to consider The Body. Finally he rubs his hands together and announces that we, “need the Iron Beast.” In the fifteen minutes I am left with The Body I am sure that I struggle through several panic attacks. I have no means of determining the time but I feel like it has been night for too long. I am expecting the sun to rise any minute and a swarm of morning pedestrians to crowd the streets. When I hear the Iron Beast approach I feel no relief. He seems to have gathered his wits together more effectively and when he comes to stand across from me, The Body in-between us, and says “Ok, now you can grab an arm and a leg”, I comply with no arguments. Somehow, I hadn’t expected The Body to be as heavy in death as it was in life. Our first two attempts are unsuccessful. On the third, I misjudge the gap and the head whacks against the bumper with a dull thud. I take a step back and refuse to engage in a fourth attempt. “This is ridiculous,” I gasp. “Look at what we’re doing right now...I’m sorry but after everything that’s happened tonight...I don’t think I can bring myself to drive around town with a body in the boot of the car, ok?” He is, clearly, arriving at the end of his patience with me. He considers my face, set into a defiant scowl, and strides around the car to open the passenger door. Another fifteen minutes later and we are driving along the steadily, brightening street with The Body strapped into the back seat. He relays the rest of his plan as we drive. I enjoy his decision to drop me off at the shops to ‘pick up a few things’. I am less pleased by his request for me to meet him at the waterside. “We’re going to dump it in the river?” I ask, revolted. “Why not? It’ll just join the millions of other bodies and shopping trolley’s that are already there. Unless you’ve got any better suggestions?” My mind races. We could take it outside the city, burn the Iron Beast with The Body inside. Dig a ditch and bury it. Dump it down an embankment on the walkway and let the squirrels and foxes have their way with it. Then I realise that the sun is rising and we have no time to do any of these things. “Fine...” I mutter, like a grumpy child. Despite having lived my entire life riddled with low self-esteem and disastrous amounts of self-consciousness, I have never felt so out of place as I do now. The supermarket has just opened its doors and the aisles are vacant save from the very few early morning shoppers and grumpy staff members. Everything seems far too clean and bright. I realise I am sweating and my hair is a frizzy mess. I move to flatten it before I realise my hands are filthy and I stuff them in my jacket pockets. I wonder if I will ever be able to stroll through a supermarket without appearing awkwardly unnatural. My eyes flit towards the security cameras. I cannot tell if they are actually turning to follow my movement or if I am imagining it. The cashier gives me a contemptuous look as I toss the two packs of black bin liners onto the conveyor belt. I see, quite plainly, her eyes moving over my torn leggings and filthy t-shirt and I fold my arms, self-consciously. Beep. The first pack moves across the scanner in a swift motion. I can’t help but tut, impatiently, as the cashier struggles with the shopping bag. I watch her ridiculously, perfect, manicured nails fumble with the opening and my patience snaps. “I don’t want a bag.” She continues to rub the plastic between her fingertips. “I said I don’t want a bag. Ok? Just leave it. Why would I need a bag to carry some bags? I thought all you big corporations where into saving the planet and being green and all that. Just leave the bag, ok?” I realise I am rambling and bite my lip to stop. The cashier stares at me, completely unconcerned with my distress. Her eyes don’t leave my face as she passes the second pack across the scanner and holds out a hand for payment. Only when the money, soaked in the sweat from my palms, touches her skin does she look away, making no effort to disguise her disgust. I calm, slightly, when I am stood outside the shop, bin liners having been, successfully, purchased. It takes me a full five minutes of care-free walking before I remember The Body. By the time I reach the waterside the streets have become more active. I, suddenly, regret my refusal to accept a shopping bag. Every stranger I pass is a potential witness and the items I hold in my hands are incriminating evidence. I try not to seem too conspicuous as I clamber over the fence and make my way down the embankment to the water’s edge. He has been going spare waiting for me. I am pleasantly surprised and most relieved to find he has chosen a decent location, with plenty of cover from the trees and the bridge above us. The Body lays in a straight position in the dirt. The skin has lost any hint of colouring and is now a waxy grey. The ground around it is littered with cigarette stubs. I guess that more than half of them have come from his own hands. “What took you so long?” he hisses at me as I approach. I noticed he has stopped shaking but his eyes are still manic with anxiety. He snatches the bin bags from my hands and inspects them with unnecessary fixation. I decide to be generous with my patience and perhaps I will only have to pull the bag over The Body’s lower half. Somehow, after everything I have participated in, pulling a bag over The Body’s head just seems cruel. “You are the biggest idiot I have ever had the misfortune to know.” His voice sounds completely calm all of a sudden, and it is this that unnerves me. “What are you talking about?” “Of all the times to make a stupid mistake!” I open my mouth, already equipped with an angry retort, when he rips apart the packaging and tugs one of the bags free. He shakes it in front of me and, as the air fills inside it, I realise what I have done. “Yeah, these would be helpful. If we were disposing of a bloody midget!” he snaps, tossing the bags at my feet. I had been far too preoccupied to check in the supermarket, although it had never really occurred to me that black bags came in different sizes. In my mind I can see the shin-high metal bin in my mothers kitchen and suspect the bags would line the inside of it quite snugly. “Oh...” I am sure he would have hit me then, if he hadn’t lost his footing on the uneven ground and fell on his backside. “Fuck this day!” he whines. “Ok, we need to get an axe...” “An axe?” I squeak. “Or a really big knife.” I understand what he is proposing but the thought of even witnessing such an act makes my empty stomach heave again. “We can’t...” I manage to whisper. He bites his lip and I can see his is not particularly partial to the idea either. “No...no, I don’t think we can,” he concedes. His hands move over the pebbles on the shore and I can almost hear the gears working in his brain. “What are you thinking?” “I know what to do. Grab a couple of those bags. We need to start acting quicker...” It seems to take no time at all before we have several bags filled with pebbles. Our fingers steady themselves long enough to allow us to attach our makeshift weights to The Body and roll it, none to gracefully, into the murky waters. We watch with shuddering breaths as the head bobs just above the surface for a few seconds then, slowly, sinks into the icy-cold depths of the dark waters.