If you were sane, you wouldn’t be reading this, because what it’s about is not sane, it is obscene. If you were normal however, I doubt you’d be in this place to begin with, so I have the well-based assumption that my readership will be up to this.
Today, we’re going to visit one of the darkest corners of the mind, or infact several of them, all at once. Lust being our primary corner today, but also longing and possessiveness shall be attended to. We’re going to stare at the object of our desires, and imagine what it would be like, if we were to make them ours.
Oh…before we do so, a quick disclaimer for our friends within the County Durham constabulary: The following work is fiction, the author of this piece has no intention of carrying out the acts mentioned herein, or entertaining the thought of doing such things. This narrative is purely for entertainment value, as opposed to a blue-print of future plans.
Proceeding from yesterday, we’re looking at our whims and wishes, but we’re focusing more intently on the basest desires of our hearts. I hope you enjoy this, if you were insane enough to continue reading.
Lia walks across the road. She wears a yellow dress, it’s made of some fine, translucent material – it looks like silk, but it’s not so soft. I can’t tell this for sure however, because I’m watching from my car. I can’t touch her; at least, not just yet. I re-focus my binoculars on her – yes, she’s coming closer, without even realising. I ask myself, why has this young lady, of such fine features, gone to the local chip-shop? She shouldn’t eat such foods. They’re unhealthy. It may spoil her. Not that it matters at this stage, with what we have in mind.
Ah good, walking parallel to the car. There is a slight breeze, there always is up here, we’re not on low ground, even if the terraces do attempt to block it. She’s nearly here, I throw wide the passenger-seat door. It’s not as if she were even expecting me to be here, I didn’t forewarn her. But soon, she’s in the car. It’d be silly to disobey the man with the gun in his hand after all. It’s nothing fancy, just a bullet in a tube. Open air at one end, powder at the other. It might be simple, but it gets the message across.
We set off. The little engine purrs, almost as contented as its driver. If only Lia weren’t shaking. Stop it, I say forcefully. This doesn’t seem to help, unfortunately.
Just down the road, less than ten minutes from where we are, is a place known as ragpath wood. Its only remarkable feature is in its size. It is so large as to ensure that there are places within it we can go, without any other woodland walkers ever noticing our presence. I know them too. I’d made sure to find them, when last I scouted out the wood.
We hop out, Lia glances around. Might she make a dash for it? That’d be stupid, but we’re right on the side of the road. She could get help. Spurred by this thought, I grab her right arm with my left, holding my own right hand sinks into my pocket, grasping the switchblade as firmly as I am the girl. She knows it’s there too, smart thing, so she keeps quiet. We go into the wood.
Slowly as funeral mourners we get to the hidden clearing. Whoever cleared it had done us a big favour. I would repay them someday perhaps. Probably best not, I wouldn’t want to be linked to this place after the awful scene I was about to create there.
There is little time for talk; I want to get this done. I smile at her, sweetly as a crocodile. She looks away, distressed by my attentions, or perhaps even looking for escape. I approach her purposefully, she steps back slightly, but I pretend not to notice. I sit her down beside me on some fallen log, and, holding her fixed in that position, stroke her hair lovingly. I whisper that it’s all going to be alright. Shush, shush. Don’t worry. A tear falls from her eye. I never thought I’d see that happen, but I did. Joy overwhelms me in my little victory.
I glance at her for a second, then shaking my head sadly, (as if I actually regretted what I was doing), I withdraw the knife from my trouser pocket. She squirms, her eyes widening as I open the blade; she makes a futile grab for it, so I slash at her fingers. I laugh as the gash opens up, blood flying from her flailing hands. As she looks at it in shock I make my move. The knife raises quick as a flash, inexpert though I am, distracted by her own wound she sees it too late. I slash right across her neck, left to right, towards myself. The scream which she had so foolishly been about to attempt is cut (hah) short by the six inches of steel as they slice through the flesh and cartilage of her throat.
It looks so funny, the way her throat flaps hang open. I laugh. It’s almost reptilian the way she looks. Aside from the blood. It must be pooling inside her lungs, because she’s not even trying to gasp for breath anymore. She’s gurgling instead, coughing up as much blood as she can, but far less than her own treacherous body is pumping back in. Splutter, cough, wheeze, nothing.
I hope you’ll pardon this interruption, dear reader, but I feel that here I would have needed to explain a few things. It would be helpful. You could learn my motives, or why I’d picked today. You could know about how, as her body slumped down uselessly onto the log, my thoughts turned from what I had expected to be regret to sheer delight. But instead of telling you these things, I’ll make one thing quite clear. This act of merciless brutality, so artistically performed in such a nice setting, had gotten me rather hot and bothered. To put it bluntly, I had an erection, and I wasn’t planning on wasting it.
As the recumbent, quickly draining body of my sweetheart lay on the floor I unzipped my trousers. The noise was not unlike that of the knife earlier. I chuckled at this.
Perhaps I should have raped her first, said my rational mind, I silenced it saying that this would be more fun, because a dead girl can have as many holes as I please. Following this philosophy I abstain from her sexual organs, and instead focus on the neck, which while she was alive I would have so loved to strangle. I slide my penis inside, her eyes staring blankly above. The blood provides a fitting lubrication too. In, out, in out. It’s a simple, base act. It’s nothing complicated. I think to myself joyfully, fucking this wound, that this is actually deep-throat, albeit from the other side. The rib like cartilage of her throat is sensational in feeling, especially now that is has collapsed to form a tight seal that I am set on breaking. In out, in out, shake it all about. I ejaculate, spilling my seed, now as useless as her own reproductive gametes, into her still warm throat. Blood from her still covers my hands, and especially my trousers. A halo of this sanguineous substance has formed around my flaccid, leaking cock. I rub a damp white handkerchief around this circle of red, trying vainly to remove it. Then smirk, realising that it really doesn’t matter, and zip myself back up. I crouch down and leave a parting kiss on Lia’s forehead. What a sweet girl, and in death she cannot possibly hate me. Sweet bliss has claimed you, little demon.
I rise and walk slowly away from the clearing, still smiling proudly at my work as I go back to the car. I think warm thoughts about the cold body I have left behind, how much I loved what previously inhabited it. But that’s gone now. That’s the end of it for her and for me, for our love, and all that we had. Sweet dreams Ophelia, I’ll miss you.
