With the viciousness of a lifetime of rage, he raised the heavy axe above his head, stared fixedly at the motionless target and then brought it down with all his strength. The steel axe head bit into the dirty floor, sending chips of cement and blood flying in all directions. The grimy, moss-covered walls of the desolate lane refused to bear silent witness to what had just happened, gaily echoing instead the clear, pure sound akin to that of an anvil being struck as if in grotesque applause of the deed.
“Filthy bastard!” The killer’s mouth twisted as he spat these words. He grunted as he bent to lift the foot he had just chopped off and tossed it carelessly in the general direction of the dustbins.
The first blow of the axe that severed his foot woke the victim up and the shock, the excruciating pain and fear produced a scream so high-pitched and unearthly that if it had been heard by the neighbors, every hair on every neck would have stood on end. But his scream went unnoticed - by the people and the killer.
The axe was raised again and before the man could move, his head was separated from his shoulders in one quick, clean guillotine-like movement. Noisy, filthy bastard! Ugh!
With an effective workman-like rhythm, the killer continued to finish the job. He worked faster and ten seconds later, the second foot jumped as it was viciously severed from the victim’s leg. The killer threw it aside, spraying the walls red. He grabbed a handful of the victim’s shirt and wiped his bloody hand with a grimace of disgust.
“Dirty, dirty, dirty!” The axe descended again and bit into soft tissue and bone severing the left hand, the Rolex watch sliding off the stump onto the ground into the sticky mess, still ticking. He gingerly picked up the hand by the forefinger, trying to avoid the blood and flung it in the general direction of the dustbins. “You all think you can treat us like shit and get away with it?” The second hand followed in quick succession.
“You think you can bully me and I have to keep my mouth shut? Oh, no, buster, not in this fucking lifetime!”
The victim had been walking past the alleyway on his way to the rugby field, just as he did every Sunday after church. The blow on the back of his head had knocked him unconscious and he was dragged unceremoniously into the alley. The young man was mercifully insensible when the attacker’s emphatic lessons in good behaviour began.
“Now you know what I was talking about!” The killer looked at the dismembered torso, nodded his head in apparent satisfaction, shook his head and nodded again as if agreeing with something only he could hear.
He took a deep breath trying to get his heart to slow down after his exertions. Goddammit, I must be getting old! He leaned on the handle of the axe with the steel blade resting in a pool of blood, surveying his handiwork. A flicker of light and movement in a second-floor window of the apartments across the street caught his eye. As soon as he spun around to squint at whoever it was had intruded upon his private moment, he saw the half-open curtain hastily drawn shut.
But he had other, more important things on his mind. He turned, took one last glance at the somewhat incomplete jig-saw puzzle of body parts he had created, and muttered, “Necessary. Done.” He casually lifted the axe to rest on his shoulder, stepped fastidiously over the rivers of fresh blood and whistled the famous notes of ‘Do you know where you’re going to’ as he walked down the alley in the opposite direction.
The actions of the last half hour were completely forgotten.