Drawing the curtains aside, she sniffles her nose.

The sting from the bleach teases her dark hair into a dirty blonde.

It suits her intentions, her need to blend in for the moment, and the ultimate transition to new plans.

She remembers the days when her intentions were simple, wholesome, and perhaps normal.

A house, family, maybe even love, but that changed as time passed.

Time is plentiful, and the desire for adrenaline surpasses by far the entertainment that any human could ever provide willingly.

Legs stretched out in front of the window, she draws the city before her, but irony has it that the curtains are closed.

As in the atomic days, her drawings explode on paper without warning or notice.

Draw and exact copy, but make it the image from within.  

The eyes see no such creativity unless the mind pushes to the edge of limitation and scrutiny.

This confession, has meant nothing.

Tags: acceptance, adrenaline, art, change, confession, drawing, My life.

She stood on his every word.

His lips made her a slave to his desire.

So devious, so confident, and so daring.

The position was hers. Never did she fall into the category of desiring until she met him.

A mind fuck all around, he took her strength and played with it like clay in a sculptors palm.

Her patience for him never ending, it was her suffering that made him ignite.

A youthful brunette she was, at the time, completely drowned with obsession.

Her intelligence resembled his, but never leveled to it fully.

Sitting there, for days she would wait for his reply, a minute passed as if an hour, constant questions, promises unkept, and lifeless breaths.

Her heart once loved.

The light in the hotel room dims, as she opens yet another bottle from the mini bar.

Grand Marnier slides her into the rarely visited memory crematorium.

Perhaps a desire to numb, or perhaps the desire to feel herself back in his arms, either way, her vulnerable side began to show.

Could she keep doing this?

Flashes of all the victims pass through her mind like drops in a rainstorm. 

Could she?

Of course she could.

It was the dear acquaintance of an asshole that pushed her to it in the first place.

She has always preferred ripping male flesh anyway.

The lamp dims to a darkness, and the hotel sheets wrap around her. 

Tomorrow’s mission is a long one indeed.

Tags: daring, irony, Lust., memories, men, moments in life, murder, story, youth

05-28-2009 Set.

06 - 07 - 2009 Set.