Fiction Story: I Am A Perfect Murderer (Part 1)

My name is Bolger and I was born on July 23, 1976, in Budapest, to a Hungarian Christian family. My two older sisters, Maria and Mica, and I were part of an educational experiment carried out by my father Laszlo Bolger, in an attempt to prove that children could become exceptionally intelligent if trained in a specialist subject from a very early age. "Geniuses are made, not born", was my father Laszlo's thesis. He and my mother Clara educated us at home, with chess as the specialist subject. My father also taught us the international language Esperanto. They received resistance from Hungarian authorities as home-schooling was not a "socialist" approach. They also received criticism at the time from some western commentators for depriving the children of a normal childhood. By most reports we appeared contended and well-adjusted, but in reality the excessive training and tough schedule had started to make me loose grip on my sanity. I felt a deep and weird behavioral change and became an ignorant, wild and uncivilized child.

It was August 17, 1982 while our family was coming from a gathering late night, rain was pouring down on us. Our car had accidently crossed the wrong side of the road and we were hit by another car. The collision had cost me my family, while I was strangled in the car for six hours. The showers were merciless as no other traveler had a clue about the wreckage. Nevertheless, I broke free and gazed upon the long stretch of road. Hopelessness clouded my thoughts and I wish I was dead. The harsh treatment from my parents had brought a mixed reaction in my mind. I was juvenile but thankful to my parents because I had a talent of playing chess, good chess indeed. I went to the famous Pawn ‘n’ Prawns Chess Club in the city and beat the international master, Jose Manteno. It was like a shock to him and others were bewildered too. My talent was appreciated and my quick recognition got me a job in the club. I worked there and beat several opponents. My uncanny ability to beat the opposition brought me laurels amongst the club. It became a habit of mine not losing which was also effectively minimizing my psychotic behavior.

On the evening of February 10, 1988, I was busy with my daily routine with the guests in the club. Suddenly, I felt the splash of cold air when the main door opened and a young sultry woman entered the room. E very eye turned towards her. When admiring a girl some men start with her head and work down. I start with the ankles and work up. She wore black high-heeled velvet shoes and a tight-fitting black dress that stopped high enough above the knees to reveal the most perfectly tapering legs. As my eyes continued their upward sweep they paused to take in her narrow waist and slim athletic figure. But it was the oval face that I found captivating, slightly pouting lips and the largest blue eyes I've ever seen, crowned with a head of thick, black, short-cut hair that literally shone with luster. I followed her every movement, patronizingly unable to accept she could be a player. The landlord sees to it that the thirty tables are set out for us and that food and drinks are readily available. Three or four other clubs in the district send half a dozen opponents to play a couple of blitz games, giving us a chance to face rivals we would not normally play. The rules for the matches are simple enough - one minute on the clock is the maximum allowed for each move, so a game rarely lasts for more than an hour, and if a pawn hasn't been captured in thirty moves the game is automatically declared a draw. A short break for a drink between games, paid for by the loser, ensures that everyone has the chance to challenge two opponents during the evening. I found it hard to concentrate on my opponent's well-rehearsed Moscow opening as my eyes kept leaving the board and wandering over to the girl in the black dress. On the one occasion our eyes did meet she gave me an enigmatic smile, but although I tried again I was unable to elicit the same response a second time. Despite being preoccupied I still managed to defeat the accountant, who seemed unaware that there were several ways out of a seven-pawn attack. At the half-time break three other members of the club had offered her a drink before I even reached the bar. I knew I could not hope to play my second match against the girl as I would be expected to challenge one of the visiting team captains. In fact she ended up playing the accountant. I defeated my new opponent in a little over forty minutes and, as a solicitous host, began to take an interest in the other matches that were still being played. I set out on a circuitous route that ensured I ended up at her table. I could see that the accountant already had the better of her and within moments of my arrival she had lost both her queen and the game. I introduced myself and found that just shaking hands with her was a sexual experience. Her name, she told me, was Amanda Curzon. 

                                             To be continued......................