My “after” thoughts
We had a lot of fun, played all my favorite games. I put on some music when I got back and began the task of feeding her, which wasn’t easy. The CD I mentioned turned out to be a solo album, so I decided to download it when I get home and chose something already in my collection. Once she had some vitality again, I turned up the volume and began my lesson in pain.
She was a great student, going down all the paths I led her without much force on my part. One minute I was her worst nightmare, the next minute I was her closest friend. Every time I took her to the edge of madness I would begin smoothing her hair and speaking to her in reassuring tones, gently kissing her eyes and wiping away the tears from her cheeks. I told her over and over that everything would be ok. That everything would soon go back to the way it was. I told her how beautiful she was, how she lit up the room with her light. Her body would begin to relax for a moment, desperately wanting to believe that the illusion of asylum was real. That’s when I would fill her with something other than lies and bring the lightning fast onslaught of violence back into play . She was stuck somewhere in her childhood as of yesterday, calling for her mommy and trying desperately to suck her thumb. How cute. I even let her do it for a bit before cutting it off and putting it back in her mouth. That brought her back to reality, but only briefly. When she ran out of screams, I ran out of patience and shoved my favorite pen in her eye.
That, as they say, was that. I waited a few hours before taking this picture, wanting the eye to fill with some fluids and add a little bit of color to her drained and sallow tones. Eventually she stopped moving, and the game ended. I don’t think the pen was deep enough to kill her, but it sure didn’t help matters.
It’s always a let down when they die. I mean, sure, that was the whole point, but I was enjoying the company. Now I have to get rid of the body, too, which is always a pain in the ass. Lucky for me, I am pretty resourceful.
There are 2,300 people every day that end up missing. 2,300. That’s a lot. There are 350 serial killers on the job at any given time in this country, all of them having to dump a corpse here or burn a corpse there, or chop someone up into sections and leave each one in a different Denny’s bathroom (sorry, inside joke). I do what I can to make sure bodies are never found, but I don’t worry too much as I float on this bloody red sea of obscurity. I think I will give my departed a bleach bath and maybe pour a few gallons of heavy duty glue on her, then drop her down into an old septic tank that still has room for more additions. Quite some room, actually.
I have no idea when I am heading home. I cleaned myself up well enough to take a ride and get online to share this with you, but the place is a mess and my car still has traces of her all over it. Got some cleaning to do, some football to watch, and a baseball game this evening. Go Phils. I think I will stay here for another night, and decide what to do in the morning. I like writing my own schedule. Punching lovely beauties until they are lifeless lumps of skin sure beats punching a clock.
