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She got up off the bus around Elizabeth and Nye, my bad that's Watson Avenue 'cause when you hit this side, of Bergen Street it switches and I never did know why, I spark the sherm; before this here I never did know high.
The flicking of my lighter makes a small and subtle noise, I tote around a Zippo unlike all the other boys, who buy those cheap @ss lighters and she heard it; see my proof, she turns around and sees me walking in my knee high boots.
Her pace then quickens just a bit into a walking trot, by now we're hitting Chancellor; man I used to walk these blocks, so long ago; it seems like that was only yesterday, her face makes her look young but I won't dare to guess her age.
She veers a right on Veer; you get it? Veered....oh never mind, I pull my ten inch hunting knife; it's one eight seven time, I use my thumb to gauge its sharpness 'cause she's just the one, I'm looking for 'cause....holy sh!t! The b!tch just ups and runs.
She drops her purse and all the change goes flying ev'rywhere, she thinks that she'll escape in all this rainy weather scared, I take a few shortcuts through darkened alleys and you see, me step onto the sidewalk and I barrel into thee.
From down upon the ground she looks up; can't believe her eyes, that there are folks as big as me; she can't believe the size, I'm working with; she faints, into wet ground she presses down, oh yeah I failed to mention that I'm dressed up as a clown....
2 hours later....
Now she's coming to; I really thought she'd gone and died, but as she slowly wakens now the game is on the rise, she sees me and her eyes then open widely like a dream, the gag around her mouth's what helps to stifle mighty screams,
I hear her try to make; of course what billows in the gloom, is how she looks and sees there are no windows in this room, we're sitting in; her face then looks as though she's smoking dope, her hands and feet are also tied; she knows that there's no hope.
I watch as both her shoulders drop; the girl has given up, but let it go or fight; right now I just don't give a f*¢k, 'cause now I shake with anxiousness to witness as her blood, adorns the walls and floorboards and I'm twitchy like a mug.
I stand and walk towards her; she's prepared to leave this life, espec'lly when she views what's in my hand; she sees the knife, she braces as I rear back on her; endlessly I clash, the knife blade with her neck and torso; endlessly I stab.
The blood is flying ev'rywhere as drops and spatters fall, down on us like it's raining but it also splatters walls, I lose count just how many times she's penetrated deep, she's dead but sits there looking like she's infiltrated sleep.
Her body's like a work of art you might see in The Louvre, the blood and guts excite me to a frenzy; in the mood, is what I'm in; tumescent and erect but much is gained, I masturbate with each hand 'til I'm bustin' on her frame.
I cut her loose then take her to the hole that's in the floor, the rats squeak with excitement of the meal that's pending; more, blood cascades from the open wounds; that's how it often is, I give the old heave-hoe before I go and toss her in.
The other eight or nine dead bodies cushion up her fall, I hear incessant squeaks as rats start pushing from the wall, I also hear them start to eat; I'm sure an awesome treat, my bloodlust has been satiated; now I'm off to sleep.
My tastes will reach the point of where they hurt; there's often pain, I have to wait awhile you see it doesn't often rain, to wash away potential witnesses who'd peep the crime, the psyche of a lunatic, and you've been deep in mine.
©2015 The Cunning Linguist
