The coffee thermos

Her intoxication, and that she always dragged on that coffee thermos disgusted me. The coffee thermos was probably all she had. I was embarrassed that I was the one who at her birthday had given her it. Spasmodically she kept hold of it: as it was the coffee thermos that now gave her the little balance she could still practice.
At first glance she did not recognize me, but then came the memory of my face back and she stumbled forward, straight into my arms.
" Are you here, are you taking care of me again. How did you know I was here and enjoying myself. "
" You slurs, I can’t hear what you are trying to say."
I took her by the arm and led her away from the central streets and its bright illumination, away from the light into the darkness. Only when the town began to disappear, she noticed that we were not going home to her, suddenly she became aware that my gripe around her arm stiffened.
"Get off me! What are you doing?!"
Desperately, she tried to break free. Her sudden fear triggered me, her betrayal made me angry and pissed off. I felt a great anger, a cracked heat flow through my body.
I threw down her tender body on the ground. The grass was wet. It was slippery. I stood straight up and watched as she tried to get up. She couldn’t manage it. She laughed nervously.
"Help me up, I'm totally wasted."
She pulled back her hair, she didn’t look at me. With hands behind my stretched straight back, I started to objectively go in circles around her, I'm thinking if it’s completely safe to kill her here on this chosen location.
"Stop it walking like that. It's scary!"
Soldierlike I hit my legs together and stopped in front of her. Maybe it was the power of thought; I forced her to look at me. I had never noticed her eye colour before, I did not know we had the same, or maybe I had repressed it. Her eyes were bloodshot, thin strands of hair stuck to her face.
First I ripped of her disgusting clothes. I felt I had to see her completely destitute. The stench of the unwashed body was me not unfamiliar but gave me such disgust that I wanted more than to speed up her nudity. She must die! She must die immediately, while she already smelled like a corpse. With the rags of her torn clothes I tied her hands. If she wondered what I was doing she was not showing it, she just looked confused around at the place she suddenly had ended up. That it was me who ripped off her clothes, why would she think about it, she had never thought about who ripped off her clothes before. I spat at her. Like an aborted foetus she lay on the ground.
I bent down over her and strike the first punch, second, third, fourth. She tries to protect herself with her hands tied and shouted at me, begs me to stop. Then I kicked her with the tip of my shoe at her throat so hard that no sound would ever come out again. She vomited. I let her throw up and then I resumed. Twelfth, thirteenth, twentieth, thirty, how easy it was! I was amazed how much her body could handle, so strong limbs. She even managed to repeatedly get up, but no sound could she accomplish other than a low screech. I myself gave away no sound except my panting breathing. She struggled in her despairing silence, fighting to survive. In the corner of my eye I saw the black, shiny coffee thermos. I retrieved it, hard and dented it achieved more damage than my bare hands did. She fought one last time before she took her final breath and died.
I looked down at my bloody hands. Slowly I then raised both eyes and arms against the dark sky. I smiled, couldn’t stop. The smile soon became a laugh, a joy I have never felt before. The laughter drove me down to the ground. I found myself sitting beside the corpse for a while thinking. I had killed, I was now a murderer. I admired my work, it was beautiful. For the first time, she was beautiful, only in death filled my mom a purpose in my life.