Thursday, June 19

The Beautiful Killer

So, I wrote my first short story! Opinions welcome :)

The Beautiful Killer

‘If only looks could kill…’ they breathed when she walked past them. Every boy who laid eyes on that girl who had skin as though it was bleached by pearls. One of the three whistled - the sound as light as a whisper found her ear. The Jimmy Choos came to a halt. A soft rapt, a knife out, it darted across and the whistler was dead.

She started walking towards the other two, they ran for their lives. ‘One down, what number to go? Oh dear, oh dear’ The Louis Vuitton, full of little knives like these, dangled by her side as she walked her way again. She was too well with her craft, like the football at the professional’s feet.

‘May I help you, you pretty girl?’ A car had halted in the dark alleyway that she was on. Not more than 5 a day was her rule and she stuck by it. Since that one night that had changed everything. She’d just killed the 5th one and it was only 8 pm. Did this one deserve to die too?

She looked at the car, the Jaguar was breath taking. Impressive, she thought.
‘It looks like it’s going to rain. You will ruin that pretty dress of yours. You don’t want that now, do you?’ She looked at her Dolce dress and then looked at him. Stereotypical schmuck, the words that perfectly described the stranger struck her mind.

He reminded her so much of the man who didn't know what a 'No' meant. A filthy rich hag who thought he could force on her, and force on her he did. The scars of that night and the nights after that when she was chained to his bed rushed back to her. What also came back was the satisfaction she got when she strangled him with the very chains she was bound to. It was a wonderful idea to pretend to give in and try something in the shower. This man was so much like him. He must be stopped.

She bent the rule that night. He took her to a hotel that night. She strangled him too, with the chains she carried. But not before she gave him the kiss he longed for. The kiss of death that came with her red lipstick. She grabbed the keys to his Jag, she would sell it for another Dolce, a Guess maybe.

Rage - a poetry

It erupts in my heart 
When I see what is mine, what could be, 
with the haunting past that takes you away from me.

The fire that spreads from bone to muscle but does not show,
inside me it steadily grows.

The expanding warmth grips me, breaks me,
making my sorrows extinguish, tears evaporate,
only leaving the seething pain that swallows me.

Rage, a rage called love
that you cannot help, that cannot be,
that the naked eye cannot see,
This rage might kill me but
I will take it.

Dying in its fire will trump living without love at all