Fan Fiction ❯ Dead Fish ❯ Enter Zen ( Chapter 3 )

I have gotten into some pretty deep shit in my life. I stole my dad's credit card once to buy a dress for homecoming. I didn't listen to my mother when she told me to use a condom while sleeping with my boyfriend. I even killed my boyfriend one night. But I have never done anything quite so stupid as to inquire about Zen.

For a few nights, after catching dinner and then preparing it, I would beg Bones to tell me all about Zen. I had lost interest in Bones's life easily; he was just a doctor who liked to torture his patients and that's all I wanted to know. But Zen had this mystery about it that just made me salivate over my dinner, wondering what kind of person it was. Eventually, Bones caved in. He called me in one night, before I could lie down and sleep. Then, he began to tell me about Zen.

Zen had been born in the northern regions of the world, but his family soon moved down to a sunnier region. Bones told me that he appeared odd because of this: his hair was light blond but his skin was deeply tanned. And his hands . . . Bones told me that Zen's hands were as white as snow. How he could have such tan skin and white hands . . . I had to see it in person. His eyes were small, beady, and gold; according to Bones, they could see through my soul.

Zen was often said to be a normal young boy (something I believe I could relate to); he was kind, generous, polite, and benevolent with his money. But that was only shown when people were around. As soon as they disappeared, he was a sociopath. He did whatever he could to get to the top of his class, never caring which top-honors student he murdered. Each killing had been described as a suicide and if murder was suspected, Zen could easily place the blame on someone else.

He was intelligent enough to make it through high school without anyone noticing his dual nature. He graduated salutatorian of his class; he hadn't had time the night before to catch the valedictorian alone.

Zen was accepted to a major university. He was almost home free until . . . he was caught. A policeman, oddly placed near the dorms, heard a scream. His human life ended then. The policeman beat him until Zen couldn't move; he was shipped off, just like I had been, to our wasteland. There, he waited and hid like a coward.

It wasn't until the morning that another criminal tried to eat him. This man had been a serial killer who specified in young men around Zen's age. He had no weapons with which to defend himself. That is, except for his hands. Before the man could attack him, Zen leaped on the killer and strangled him to death. Afterwards, no one fucked with Zen.

He came to survive on his own, without the help of others. He could walk freely when the police were out, killing as many "criminals" as they could for practice. The police didn't bother him, he didn't bother the police. A time came when the police even allowed him to stroll in the outside world for a few hours. He collected many quintessential objects and handed them out to his cohorts for a price.

Now Zen rules this wasteland. Bones told me he would never cross Zen. No man would try and catch Zen's attention. So I asked him the only question I could think of.

"Why is he called Zen, then?"

"Because he doesn't have a care in the world here. If you ever meet him and live to tell the tale, you will see how incredibly calm he is. The only people Zen cares about are the children and not because he has a soft heart for them. Excuse me for saying so, but sometimes even I believe him to be a sick bastard."

"What do you mean?"

"Jesus, kid . . ." Bones groaned, rolling his eyes in frustration. "Zen likes to screw with teenager's minds. He'll do anything he can just to see them snap. It's his hobby. You're lucky you've got me to take care of you. Be careful, though. If he knows about you, he'll probably give you a very unfortunate visit."

I also learned that night about the police men who were found between 8:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. They were always wandering about, new shifts coming in every hour. Bones instructed me that it was best not to be outside around those hours.

The police men spent their time killing us all very slowly. They were training . . . for what, I'm not sure. Supposedly, these police were special. They watched the outside world every second. They kept eyes on us at all times. "They probably had been watching you before you first came to the fish market", Bones said sternly to me. "And then, the second you snap-bang. They've got you. It's Sing-Sing for the rest of your life."

"If they know that we're going to murder these people, why don't they come in time to save them?"

"They don't care-we don't care. Nobody cares. There are thousands of other people in the world. So what does it matter if one little miniscule person dies? What matters is that the police are given a facility to vent out their sadistic nature. They may have a family . . . they may say that they're protecting the people . . . but they're as much to blame as us. If they didn't have this little venue, then who knows what they would do; I've seen a few with great potential to become mass murderers."

I tried not to ask Bones anymore questions. He already seemed exhausted with explanations and I didn't want to tire him out; I needed him for the night. Bones was my only protection, other than a small knife and a used glass shard. I decided to end with a joke; I had been feeling a bit terrible lately, anyway.

"Do you think that Zen could get me a box of tampons?"

Bones shot me a glare.

"I highly doubt that. If you need something, you still have that gown." I had to hide my cringe. It was lying in a corner, covered in blood . . . unsanitary. I abhorred being dirty. I would never want to go to the doctor's office because I never believed that my doctor had washed his tools and that he'd give me some fatal disease.

"You expect me to use that old thing? Come on, old man. Even I know better than that", I muttered apologetically, regretting bringing the topic up.

I slept that night, thinking only of Zen's appearance. It's funny what you can find yourself thinking about at night after you've been killing humans for food the entire day. My thoughts of this man were not childish in any manner. After the relationship I'd been through, with the tragedy and all, I'm not sure I wanted to see a man in a romantic light for years to come. I never really thought about men once I woke up.

I thought of how I could use Zen to my advantage were I to see him. I found that I had been trained quite well for survival in my old high school. Physiology had taught me how to kill a human. But I needed more than smarts to get out of this dump and back home. I was going to need a strong card if I wanted to win this game. And somehow, tall, dark, strong man had peaked my interest.

He seemed like the intelligent type that was bored easily. Why else would he start murdering other teenagers? If he had a perfect life, a life without any interruptions or calamities to name, then he must have grown bored with the undemanding life he led. Thus, he began to cause trouble, probably waiting to see if anyone would catch him. When he was not punished or found guilty for his crime, he continued. He must have felt the same rush of emotions I had when I plunged my knife into Justin's body.

I didn't want to think then that Zen was like Justin. Every man I had met down here so far reminded me of the boorish jock. The boy I had killed the week before looked like Justin, Bones had the same hair color as Justin, the apartment I lived in now smelled like Justin's cheap cologne. Everything reeked of Justin. I may have stabbed him and deprived him of using his body . . . but Justin was still alive. He was everywhere I looked and it was driving me fucking mad. I wanted him gone, I wanted him dead for good.

I wanted to rid my life of that ugly, disgusting, perfect wretch who was probably in a warm coffin, under soft soil. I guess I had nightmares that evening; nightmares of Justin sleeping soundlessly in heaven while I rotted down in hell. Justin didn't deserve to live in heaven. No one did. Every human I had known was terribly in some way, especially Justin.

Strange . . . he got the better end of the stick this time around.