05/10 Mr. Miller

I met the dawn driving into the town where I had spent my childhood. Ages 6-12 at 237 Pueblo Rd. Driving through brought old Mr. Miller to mind. Not old really, he would have been about my age now. But he was a nasty old man even then. He was always yelling at us and telling our parents to keep us quiet. By 'us' I mean all the neighborhood kids. I never had friends really, there was never any 'us' in that group of friends way. He also used to sick his dog on us. A yappy cocker spainel even a 12 year old could fight off with one good kick. Which meant another visit to our parents and threats of police involvement. As if he hadn't started it. But none of us was ever hurt and he insisted that his dog never left his property. Again there's that 'us'.

Anyway I say he did leave his property but it was close enough that it was my word against his, and he was an adult.

As I thought of him the idea occurred that it would be fun to make him today's kill. He might be quite spry still. There was no way he'd be over seventy and I've met some seventy year olds who could probably fight for their lives quite viciously. But he was a smallish effeminate man and I doubt he would have been a match for me in his prime.

When I pulled onto the street the memories came flooding back. When I got to Mr. Miller's I was immediately sure he was still in residence. All the plants were in handmade pots. If not the same pots from my childhood, certainly made by the same artist. Miller himself.

I took my first ceramics class at nine and because of this shared hobby I wanted to like Mr. Miller. He did some amazing work. But when I brought him a pot I made and asked if I could ask him some questions. He told me to 'get that ugly piece of crap out of his sight and get off his lawn'. I was obviously standing on his porch when he said this.

I was trying to decide how to break in quietly when I found that the door was unlocked. Yay for suburban trust! Actually a little surprising when I think about what I know about the man.

I found him in his kitchen filling the coffee urn with water. I grabbed him around the throat with my right arm. He swung the urn up and hit me in the head, but it didn't break. I yanked it out of his grip with my left hand and threw it.

I had him. But what to do with him now. He was trying to scream and I was trying to tighten my arm enough to silence him, but the angle was bad and it didn't work completely.

With a flash of inspiration I turned on the garbage disposal in the sink. I tried to grab his arm but he just thrashed against me waving his arms around trying to beat at me and evade capture by my own grabbing hand. I leaned my weight against him, pinning his hips between my hips and the counter. I grabbed a heavy coffee mug and smashed it into his face. The pain stunned him enough I was able to finally get a hold on his forearm and start feeding his hand down the garbage disposal.

The trick of death by disposal is to not feed the hand in too fast. you'll break the disposal or at least make it freeze up.

It wasn't long before the pain put him into shock or made him faint or whatever, he went limp against me. But I had to keep it up because I wasn't trying to injure someone until they faint every day. I had a goal.

I finally dropped him to the ground and cut his throat with a kitchen knife when I saw the flashing lights of a police car through the kitchen window. Someone must have seen or heard something.

I ran out the back of the house and jumped the fence to the local park behind his house. I saw an officer sneaking around the back as I slunk away through the bushes.

I probably left finger prints everywhere and I left my van behind. It would seem I was in some pretty big trouble.