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.

“Are you some fucking nut job?”

“Nut job? No…I just like watching others drive me around. You are going to drive me the rest of the way to Vegas, and no funny stuff yes? Because I wouldn’t want to piss me off. I can count the capillaries under your skin if you’d like. Understood?”

“And after we get there? What happens to me?”

“Nothing. You drive, do your duty for me, and it ends.”

A hesitant approval synchronized with the click of a lighter and the smoke escapes between her lips.

“What do you think of this country?”

“What do I think of this country? I think its full of whacks like yourself miss.”

“Maybe you aren’t as dumb as I thought.”

“How so?”

“You seem to be realistic at least.”

“And what if I am like this because of all the other “normal” people here? What if the sheer pressure of society bearing on me to be normal has subsided me into being completely “whack” as you describe it?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Indeed, you would not.”

She checks her watch, been a while since she last slept, but the three coffees and vodka did its duties, about 40 minutes away she decides to read the newspaper, perhaps a place where she will go unnoticed will do for now.

The color of her hair will also need to be rendered to a light blonde perhaps, to change the general appearance and disguise the identity.

She turns her head towards him, his behavioral signs do not tell of anxiety, fear, or any of these expected signs.

The light of the moon hits his lips, showing a profile she just now admires.

She bites her bottom lip.

Lust?

Desire?

Maybe she will not discard him as quickly as she thought.

Just maybe.

Dear Lust, a bit of fun perhaps?

Why yes dear, of course. Would be quite the pleasure.

Introduce fierce look in the eye and the convincing innocence of kindness.

Local sports bar of Kingman, the dark wood on the bar catches her eye.

Contemplating the numerous ways in which it was sculpted and perfected.

The human skin can be admired if only looked at from the correct perspective. 

She needs a drink, and a strong one.

Perhaps rum, vodka, or just pure alcohol.

No pretentious thoughts flutter tonight.

She gets up, passes a man, lightly bumping into him as her bra strap falls. 

“Get off of me! Stop! No!”

The attention of other men is risen much like a wild call in the wilderness of savannas.

“What did you do to her, get the fuck off of her.”

A punch is thrown, and the smirk makes its appearance.

To cause mayhem is a small joy that needs to be savored once ever so often.

The tiles now vibrate, not from her high heels, but its origin now from the activity of fighting and punching in unknown direction.

Two men show off their skills as if two dominant males in the jungles of the Amazon.

This is an event to smirk at, to laugh at, to ponder and absorb..

She makes her exit unnoticed, no longer does the presence of the female affect them, they fight in banal force and sheer stupidity.

This is not the end, on her way out she grabs another man by the neck, kissing him passionately she lures him into her car.

He probably thinks that many lovely events will take place, but boy, is he wrong.

Somebody is going to be driving the rest of the way there, because precarious Lust does nor drink, nor drive.

Yes.

We have a new driver.

A sense of completion grows as realization of the events occurred sink in, many years and hours of planning have come to an end, it is done, bids signed, blasphemous inquiry due to further rendering will cease.

Petting her freshly cut hair, a small smile creeps causing light wrinkles that will never truly show to make their presence.

The mind cannot but fully comprehend the shallow feeling of the love for power, yet so dangerously subdued in her thoughts, she cannot help but be reminded that the end soon awaits.

A call need take place, a task need be finished, never to understand she spares him of her naive belief in love and hopeless possibility.

A true dedication to the one she held dear, he will now and forever be somewhere beautiful, away from the dark and grotesque, the fearful and mundane.

As the first fall of dry leaves in calm autumn, or the mild breeze of winter hitting warm cheeks on a thursday afternoon. Patiently waiting, she sets refusal to high priority.

Material of inexplicable joy, her hand dances to the beautiful sonata carelessly wandering through the walls of imprisonment, a sip of illegal concoction will relieve all tenuous strain.

Ah what a beautiful site a good accomplishment is, Vesalius would be proud, complete de-scripture of the human stomach, a beautiful site ever to be found on the second shelf of cherry wood lines.

Preparing for certain understanding, she misses the dot on the i, and crosses the t with revering charm. The slight raise in her eye brow signals the promise of content, perhaps entitled to opinion, a slight gesture in the hand, superb engineering continues.

Dilated bright red sits precariously up-top a silver utensil, and what a beautiful song to take place in such an event.

An elegant bow, and the still audience remains motionless, these shoes will tap their way to your frontal lobe, numb instillment will run its way to pure finding.

Not to understand, only if known by truth, she sits in the puddle of blue royally touched by oxygen.

Stiffness surrounds her, as her apron drenched in cells shows insanity at its finest, only but a while ago layed the two souls unbound.

Only but a while ago. 

Her victims dental record will be floating in the Pacific Ocean in approximately half an hour, perhaps to wash up to shore in about 20 years, looking like a beautifully formed seashell.

Goleta is her destination, near the Santa Barbara Canal, according to her research, this canal will most likely take her discarded evidence all the way to northern california, somewhere near Santa Rosa, depending on its trend, and by then the jawbone will be eroded to a small rock of hard matter.

 She smiles, perhaps deviously, or perhaps just because the sun is shining. In epic content, she grabs her hot pink towel and proceeds to the beach.

The fun role of beach girl 101 is quite the adventure, as she takes the small bag out to the “deep” end.

The green of the algae reminds her of a beautiful painting she saw the other day, feeling the current run against her back thighs she dips under water playfully.

Not to distort the actual event that is taking place, she naturally just lets go of the contents in her hands.

To suffice adrenaline she even whispers a faint “goodbye, you asshole.”

The sand tickling her between her toes, she remains in the water for a while, her cheeks burning from the heat the loving sun sends her way, noticing a couple new beauty marks on her right arm, she hums along to a random song.

A normal process of murder has just been reversed, from random to calculated, from spontaneous to premeditated, this is so much more than she expected.

 A never-ending abyss of thought and feeling, the human mind will guide her next moves.

This can only take place in the next two years. Once every two years she will proceed to an event of this nature.

Silently studying criminology books in the local library, she has registered every cold case in the past 10 years, all of which died down after a mere two years.

Security in knowledge preaches her motto.

Throwing herself into her exquisite car, she silences a call from Portland, and continues her journey back home, risking a ticket she speeds twice the normal speed limit, she needs to get to Blythe in order for a plausible alibi to take place.

Walking into the gas station on Lovekin Blvd. she grabs an ice tea, pays for it, and while waiting for the cashier to swipe it, she is inspired.

Nobody is around, and the camera is not pointed towards the cashier as it should be, she grabs the cashier by the tie, kisses him passionately, and walks out, ten dollars in change left untouched.

A strut in her walk, she keeps the smirk on her face the whole drive home.