I had had a terrible week. It was one of those long spells of bad luck, as my dearly departed mother used to say. Nothing seemed to go right. Everything I tried went terribly wrong. The lousy weather waited for me to go out to start pouring. The trams were delayed. The food in my fridge would rot faster than usual. Everything was a fucking mess. And there was nothing I could do. All I could do was wait until the spell of shit would break and disappear.
I was going home after work. Of course, I would miss the tram home and would have to wait for an extra set of 15 minutes in the rain. At least the fog made all the scenery more interesting. I was one who would try to look at the positive side of things, no matter how crappy things were, I would always find something to smile at and about.
My phone lit with notifications coming. My bank account had rejected my Amazon payments. Spotify had also been rejected. I couldn't listen to music while going home. Fuck!, This is too much! I thought. My clients hadn't paid me in time and now I had to suffer without music while riding the tram home. What a drag!
The tram arrived, and to my luck, it wasn't as full as on other days. I could choose a place to stand and people-watch as I got to my destination.
This night, in particular, the crowd was dull and nothing interesting caught my eye. It was all part of this conspiracy to make my days as shitty as possible. Who was up there, or down there, conspiring against me? I could only imagine.
I finally arrived home. After walking through the park and crossing the avenue. I readied my keys and aimed straight at the keyway. I got it right on the first try. This wasn't just good luck. Something was wrong. I could feel it.
I turned the key and opened the door. Pushed it open with my right foot and stepped inside. I let the door close itself. And looked at the postbox. I gave in to the necessity to check my inbox. Nobody ever wrote me letters or sent postcards. It was only bills and handwritten letters from the Jehova's Witnesses and invitations from the Mormons that adorned my 20x20 postbox.
I managed to open it on the first try again, and I saw an envelope. I was surprised and happy to see something else than bills and religious invitations to be saved in the realm of their God. I took the letter out of its cage. Locked the box and walked upstairs.
It didn't matter what this letter was about. I was happy to get something in the mail.
I arrived at my floor and I opened the door. My cats were sleeping and didn't even care that I was home. If I had dogs they would certainly come to greet me after being home alone all day. But not cats. At least not today. They were sleeping already, exhausted from sleeping all day.
I headed to the living room and sat on the couch. I reached under the coffee table to get the letter opener. I grabbed the wooden giraffe-shaped opener I was given for Christmas 10 years ago by one of my clients. He had traveled to Africa and had bought me a letter opener as a present. I had never used it before. It was more like a thing I would show my guests just to tell them it was made in Africa. But today, it served its purpose and I got the letter inside the envelope.
It read:
"Dear Mr. ________, We would like to inform you that tomorrow, the 31st. October 2022, we will perform a routine inspection of your flat. We Appreciate that you are home to let us go through the apartment. We act in accordance with ¶ 5 § 4 of the Tenant Code valid until 2023.
I went to bed that night and slept like a log. I had had a terrible week and this Halloween visit didn't help my mental well-being at all. I was dead tired. I covered myself with the blanket and went straight to dreamland.
I don't even remember what I dreamed. Just remember being in a straight jacket as if I needed to be restrained.
The doorbell went off. And I woke up from my limited slumber. I was sweaty and agitated. I rush to put some shorts on as I didn't want to open the door in my underwear.
I ran to the door and peeked through the peephole. All my stress had come to a peak and I began breathing normally. I guess adrenaline does that to you. It gives you a false sense of security.
I opened the doors and welcomed, not only the Lady who had signed my inspection letter, but also her subordinate. A middle-aged gay guy who also lived at home with his cats.
She began by handing me a copy of the letter I had gotten the night before. By law, she would have sent it 10 to 15 days prior to her announced visit. But, in this country, laws didn't really matter. I knew how things worked and I complied.
She entered my flat like she had been invited. And I let her. I had no other choice. Her companion knew she was on a mission to be nasty and bring me down to my bleeding knees. He knew and I knew it too.
She began by berating me and did it as she enjoyed it. I tried to explain and refute whatever came from her ill mouth. She would speak faster and berate me even more and faster. She had the advantage of being a woman. She knew how to use her XX chromosomes to a full capacity. I could not refute, reply, or even try to communicate with her. She was in machine mode. I was defenseless and at her mercy, if she had any.
Her mouth continued to rebuke and chastise me. Nothing I said was even heard nor considered. She was on a mission to destroy me. And I couldn't let her.
Her companion was suffering too. I could see it in his eyes.
He was signaling me to do something.
It was me who had to do something about her. She had long been doing this shitty job. He signaled me with a wink to take matters into my own hands.
And when she was bitching about me being a tenant there, I reached for my African letter opener. And with a clean and direct blow, I strike her in the neck.
A flying stream of blood flew in the direction of my sofa.
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