Blackberry

Becky loved people. Loved them the way she loved autumn, and grasshoppers, and the way babies laughed.1

Dave just hated. Didn’t hate anything in particular. Hated everything in particular. And most of all, Dave hated people like Becky. People who loved.2

In the spring-time, when the fields just outside of city limits became pocked with the pinks and blues of flowers blooming, Becky would go blackberry picking. She would squeeze each ridge on each blackberry before it popped into her mouth, exploding with the vibrant taste of April. Becky heard her own music. She was eighteen.3

Dave would cruise through the metropolis is his small, black car, watching the neon lights glare back at him. He wasn’t much for words, wasn’t much for music either. Didn’t have a radio. He would watch people the same way that Becky would watch insects. Some times he would go to his father’s room, look at the black, black gun in his desk drawer, just stare. Eighteen.4

Being in her senior year of High School, most people thought Becky was retarded. She would disappear during the weekends, the few people who would seek her out hearing an answering machine message that told them: “I’ve gone blackberry picking,” and then beeped abruptly. She was an outsider, but she didn’t mind. Becky would wander the halls with a sort of childlike sense of wonder, sometimes humming to herself, sometimes singing. No one knew what to think of her.5

Dave attended the same school, although “attended” was probably an exaggeration. Not unlike Becky, Dave would disappear, telling people it was for his job. “What’s your job?” And then he’d smile with his teeth, something he’d never do naturally. “I’m a hitman.” People usually left him alone after that, particularly with the string of gruesome murders that had begun cropping up around the county. Of course, Dave had never held a gun in his life. He wanted to know what it would be like to feel another living thing stop living beneath him. He wouldn’t find out.6

Becky fell in love with Dave as soon as her eyes fell upon him. She wanted to take him blackberry picking, so she asked him out. It was that simple. Of course, to Dave, this was one of the most strange and convoluted acts that any human being could commit toward him, and it was a moment after he gaped that he found himself seriously hoping she hadn’t noticed that he had gaped. Of course, he accepted. She knew he would. How could Dave turn down her luminous eyes? Becky had to have him. And he wanted to have her, too: She was sweet, idiosyncratic, alone. No one would miss her. So Dave would end her, he decided. Make her his first. That evening, the cold steel was at the bottom of a sandwich between his flesh and his black pants and the scratchy leather of the seat of Becky’s car. He was careful not to sit on the trigger.7

She had insisted on doing it in the evening. “It will be more peaceful.” He played along. They went onto a dirt road, no more pavement, all scenic and green beneath the starlight. She smiled at him a lot, that was her thing, very genuine, no teeth. Not like his smile. Dave smiled back, just the way he always did. Finally, Becky parked. A forest. Deep.8

“Dave,” she sang. He realized they were in the perfect place.9

“Becky.” Dave reached for his pants, knowing this was his golden opportunity.10

The blade hit his neck before he could even reach into his pocket, before he could do anything. She was fast, very fast, and the blade was serrated, sharp and cold like moonlight. He struggled. She just laughed.11

“Becky!” She cut him, not drawing blood but evicting a shriek from her possession.12

“Dave.” She talked to him like she would talk to a misbehaving puppy. She really did love him, just like she loved everybody else. That’s why she was going to make him hers.13

“What… What are you doing, Becky?” He managed to blurt the words out, the dots starting to connect in his mind as she climbed from her seat to hold him down.14

“Picking you. Now shush.” She gagged him, roping his hands together with tweed. Softly, he began to cry.15

Meticulously, Becky made the first cut, Dave’s sobs fading beneath the music in her head.16

“Sssssssh. Be still, little blackberry,” she said. And smiled.17