Bloody Entries

Dear Diary,

Today I killed a man. He is in the kitchen right now soaked in his blood. I am in my room writing this entry, my hands covered with the blood of someone who tried to rape me. My hands are trembling as I write this- the words turning to scribbles. The words are turning to scribbles. This page is becoming damp with sweat and ink of a murder.

Help! I do not know what to do.

It was 6:00 in the evening when one of the employees delivered my weekly two gallons of water. He was a man in his late 20s. I just turned 19. He was petite with a face of a typical man, nothing interesting nor captivating. He greeted me and so I greeted him back—a normal interaction between acquaintances conforming to respect as standard ethics. I struggled to drag one of the gallons from my doorstep into my room but succeeded. He stood there at my doorstep and watched me. He asked me if I needed help. I declined. As I was about to drag the second gallon, his hand held my other hand holding the remaining gallon, and effortlessly carried it into my kitchen. I thought he was just being kind. After he put one of the gallons onto my water dispenser, he stood by the counter and observed me. His eyes laid upon me without ever blinking. At first it was awkward, so I thanked his kindness and opened the door for him. He was a step away from our tragedy when he pushed the door and closed it. I flinched. He stood near the knob and I heard it click. I already knew what was about to happen, and still I asked what he was doing that very moment.

My trembling lips were recklessly brushing the lips of someone unfamiliar yet certainly evil. The friction of his lips ,suffocating, almost like I was drowning. Then his hands held mine, pinning me tightly to the wall of my lonely unit. I struggled to get away but I felt so weak; his grip strong enough to make me wince. As he was forcing his lips into mine, he moved my hand into his so I took my chance. I squeezed it and clawed at it using my sharp nails. He stopped kissing me and shouted while his hands tried to reach my neck. I kicked his and immediately opened the door but failed. His hands held mine again and laid me into the cold ground. I was berserk, frantically shouting for help, but it seemed like no one could hear me. He then attempted to kiss me again so I spit on him. I would rather die. I swear I would rather die. I was already crying and calling names to rescue me from this hell. He punched my face and put his sweated handkerchief into my mouth. He was grinding on me. I can feel his touching mine while he was kissing my breasts. I could not move anymore. I never felt so helpless. The only thing I can feel moving right now are the unbidden tears flowing from my eyes.

As he was unbuckling his pants, astonishingly, I felt hope. I grabbed my heels next to me and hit him on his face. I stood then, hastingly taking hold of the knife on the counter and threatened him with it. My hands were shaking uncontrollably, a feat to hold the knife together. He smirked in the distance with confidence, certain that I couldn’t do it. I swear to God if he takes one step towards me, I would not hesitate to kill.

And so I did.

He attempted to come near me again, so I stabbed him on the chest. I witnessed how his plain white shirt was dyed with red. I saw how his eyes darted to mine, unblinking, before the light went out from his eyes. I watched him bleed to death.

I know what I did was wrong, but my dear diary, you cannot blame me for such insolence. Help me. I am afraid. I do not know what to do next. I do not want to go behind bars. I cannot let anyone know about this. But how can I hide the truth? I don’t even know where to hide his body.

Dear Diary,

His body is still there. In the kitchen. His blood is now stickier than it was. I’ve been awake for 20 hours now. Not moving. My eyes are looking at a vast, uncertain target above as I was lying. I still don’t know what to do. How will I move his body from his spot and where should I put it? He was there… like a horrid display from a horror house.

I had been panicking for the past hours. What if someone comes? What if someone asks me of his whereabouts? I won’t have a reply.

Today is that day.

But thankfully, it was not related to the man I just killed.

Someone called me and asked me where I was. That it was very new for me to not attend class without prior notice. I laughed then, a breathless sound, and just said that I lost my charger which had hindered me from contacting any of them.

If a one day absence had made them wonder where I was, what more if it would take too long? Oh, am I overthinking? My dear diary, what should I do?

Dear Diary,

His body has started to stink. He’s lying there right now with all his life substance lost. I watched him. I killed this man. I shrugged. No I did not!! I looked at the corpse again. Yes I did. But you cannot blame me for I was just protecting myself!

Today I went to school. I was inside the elevator, looking at the mirror hand-combing myself. I was from the 23rd floor. On the 8th floor, it stopped. Two men employees entered the elevator and watched me. They greeted me jovially with a good morning and I nervously greeted back. Am I overthinking? Why are they looking at me strangely? They have these piercing eyes of a predator targeting its prey. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. Yes? No. I am not overthinking. They’re really looking at me like I was exhibited in a museum.

As I was heading towards the lobby of my condominium, I saw more employees: both men and women. If I tell you I was overthinking you would not believe me because it’s really obvious. The janitors, with their heads down, mopping the floor,had their eyes glinting towards my legs. The security guards opened the door for me and stared at my breasts. It felt like I was a walking mannequin robbed of clothes. Like I was a walking piece of art, meant to be stared at, but unlike the usual art, I was the subject to sexual desire.

Maybe I was overthinking. I mean, I killed a man?? Maybe this was due to the trauma building up, causing me to notice even the tiniest of details. Please tell me I was just overthinking.

Dear Diary,

His body really stinks now. I hope it won’t reach the neighboring units. It’s been three days and I still haven't moved him to a place—a place I don't even know where. didn’t move him to a place I don’t even know where. I didn’t even attempt to touch him.

I went about my day normally as if I did not do anything morally wrong. Like I did not kill.

Just like yesterday, it was their horrid stares that greeted me in the lobby. I was starting to panic— why are they looking at me LIKE THAT? It seems to me now that they are not sexualizing me. Maybe they knew of what happened during that night and they wanted to blame me. Their eyes speak of horror while their lips remain kind yet disturbing. Do they know what I did?

If they had known what I did, why are they not telling me? Why are the police not coming to accuse me? Why am I still walking my liberty?

Then I remembered. There are no CCTV cameras inside the units, properties for which we privately own. They would not know of the monstrosity I had committed inside my room. But I still cannot help but be skeptical of the likelihood of CCTVs lurking in the hallway. I doubt if there aren’t any. And if they were to start looking for the man who has been missing for three days now, the condominium would surely be one location subject to inspection.

——

I cannot escape this anymore. I teared up as I was looking at his body. His eyes are open. His blood already dried up on the floor.

Meanwhile in the lobby, their stares keep on haunting me. I am sure they know. But it would destroy the property’s credibility if residents were to catch whiff of their units having CCTVs installed into them, especially the unnerving and illicit activity of being watched without one’s knowing.

That is just what I thought of.

Dear Diary,

One of the residents I was with inside the elevator had asked me whether my unit had already been inspected. He was a man my age and unlike the employees, did not sport the same eyes laced with horror. When I heard his question, I started to feel myself sink and my lips drain of its color, my nervousness sucking it dry.

On my way home, I could still feel their glares follow, acute enough to sear a hole through my back . As I entered the elevator, the property’s head, a woman I guessed to be 6 years older, joined after me. She said she wanted to talk to me.

Dear Diary,

I could not help but cry. I don’t know what to feel. It has been a week now and my transgress remains a secret still . But this is not the only thing that is bothering me.

I found out that I was a groundless actress for an unwanted audience.

The woman told me I was being watched by a group of random men employees. That there was a hidden camera in my bedroom. It was stealthily installed there after the major earthquake last week, when the units were inspected. She told me that she had warned them and demanded that they cut off the connection. I threatened her that I would sue them for the disgusting violation.

But I know it was not that easy. As long as that camera is inside my bedroom, the live streaming won’t stop. And who am I kidding? I cannot file a lawsuit unless I want to be revealed.

Dear Diary,

His body has been lying in the kitchen for a week now. I decided to stop going to school after the woman had apprised me of my case. I have shut myself completely, ignoring all the calls and texts I have been receiving, all together.

I have finally reached the point of just wanting to surrender. I didn't even try to search for the hidden camera. I just want this to end. Please let them know. Somebody tell them I killed a man. A man who tried to rape me.

I have never felt glorified nor victorious that I was able to kill a rapist. My rapist.

Dear Diary,

Today I made my decision. They told me that my unit would be inspected at 3:00pm.

I will end this today. I cannot endure the smell of a dead body anymore. I cannot endure the exclusive bedroom executions initiated by those stinky men. That I was giving them free entertainment and… pleasure.

So when they enter my unit; when they find out my secret; when they see the dead bodies; when the smell of it reaches the whole 23rd floor, they will know the tragedy that had befell the man lying below my feet.

But will they know of my tragedies?

At 3:00pm when the devotees uttered their prayers, I also said mine.