Death | justinewinter

I like it when they squirm. Twisting, writhing on my table while they fight their way out of this nightmare. It makes it all the more exciting, more rewarding when I slice them open.

The pretty ones are my favourite. They scream the most, terrified I’ll mess up their beauty. It doesn’t cross their minds that they won’t be making it out alive. Not until it’s too late. Brains really do suffer for beauty.

They’re not the brightest victims. That’s what makes them such easy targets. And I’m a master at disguise. No one sees me coming.

They always beg, whimpering as they plead to be let go. Their dying urges fuel my habit, increasing the euphoria as judge and jury. They worship me, give me life.

I am God.

She lay on the cold, metal table, arms and legs cuffed. Her lean body’s stripped bare, gracing me with a view of what will soon be mine. I take what I want. She’ll give me what I need.

When her eyes open, and the chloroform wears off, the instant terror radiating from her body produces a scent like no other. It nourishes me, cloaks my skin in a layer of fear, reminding me that I am the evil one. Shit, it feels good!

I gather my tools, using the natural dim light of the abandoned building to guide me. Scalpel. Saw. Clamps. I’m ready to go.

“Are you a screamer?” I ask, knowing the light is glistening my already sparkling eyes.

I can tell she’s surprised by the sound of my voice. They always are. I move into her line of sight, letting her see me entirely, and remove the duck tape keeping her quiet.

This is my routine. Hearing the waffle of their last breaths enriches my soul like a hearty meal on a snowy day.

“You’re a woman?”

I roll my eyes. Every time it’s the same first sentence. I battle every day for notoriety amongst my male successors. They never learn that I’m better.

Ten years and they still haven’t a clue at what I’ve been doing. I told you. I’m the master. God.

I put on my apron, covering my own naked body. I work hard for my physique, I like that it’s the last thing they see.

“Wh-wh-why are you doing this?”

I let her ramble, choosing my tool. When she realises I won’t provide an answer the thrashing begins. Up and down, left to right she goes.

She pants uncontrollably, her heart rate’s elevated, her blood’s pumping vigorously. And it turns me on.

I enjoy the ride, savouring the images for later when I have time to play.

I take the saw and hold onto her hand, spreading her fingers as I cut through bone. The moment the blade pierces through skin her cries fill the room. Shouting until all she can muster is a croak. Her bones crunch, the sound echoes. Blood squirts on the table, dripping to the floor.

Once her finger severs completely, I pick it up, holding it to her face. Tears cover her pale cheeks, the fight leaves her eyes. Now she knows she can only watch.

I sniff her finger, inhaling the aroma of raw flesh and tangy blood. “Bon appetit!” I say, smiling devilishly as her eyes grow wide. I bite into her digit, enjoying the nourishment feeding my body and mind.

She’s tastier than the others, and I know I’ve found myself a real treat.

I take my time, nibbling my way right to the bone, picking it clean. While I think of my plans to devour her, she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re a monster!”

I grab the scalpel, leaning over her body until our chests touch. “No, darling. I’m God, and you’re sacrificing yourself to me.”

The soft jingle of bells echoed throughout the house as another cheesy Christmas song came on. The dulcet tones and happy bass spread cheer across the sleek sound system, gifted by Santa last year.

Flour coated the kitchen side, and pastry rolled into neat shells lay waiting for its delicious mincemeat filling. The oven timer beeped signalling the first batch of mince pies were ready, and as I opened the door the heat greeted my face with the delightful scent of Christmas spice.

The happy sounds of laughter travelled from the living room, and my curiosity peaked. I ventured into the room and gasped at the beauty it held.

Pines scattered across the floor which left a trail directly to the tree. It was adorned with red and gold tinsel that had baubles to match. The colourful lights twinkled elegantly, beaming like a beacon to the man in red.

The joy that came with the countdown to Christmas ignited the spirit that roamed about the house. Invisible to the eye like specks of dust, it brought smiles instead of sneezes.

Dusk gave way to night and the stars partnered with the moon for light. Serenity washed over me, as the simple pleasures in life completed me.

I sat on the windowsill with my chin resting on my knees. I stared out the window and watched the nights’ sky. Two stars sparkled brighter than the rest and it brought tears to my eyes.

The evil of life that succumbed us all, was the death that robbed us of this world. Two great humanitarians, though different in their nature, shared a tremendous commonality in helping others. They lost their lives, and joined the sky as the shiniest of stars. It left an empty space beside my heart to think of sorrow at such a merry time of year. I didn’t need to believe in the same faith as everyone else to have compassion run deep in my veins.

As the night continued, the silent whisper of the wind danced about the leaves that had gathered on the ground. I closed my eyes, and sent a wish to the beautiful stars that glistened like diamonds.

I hoped they’d find peace.