A Story

My gaze sways towards the patch of grass outside. I chuckle to myself at how perception can significantly change the way the grounds of my school looks. What was once enormous and infinite, is now puny and limited. But what catches my eyes and draws my attention from my book to my fantasies is the girl I see. Her dark, curly hair is placed neatly over her shoulders and back. The jeans she wears clasps onto her legs like spandex and the fur that borders the hood of her jacket makes her appear all the more tempting.

Almost instantly I see the both of us in a secluded area of the woods. Her eyes are moist with quiet tears as she gazes pleadingly up at me. It’s amazing how perfectly her face fits in the palms of my hands as I whisper soothing words to her. I suppose, after the ten minutes of screaming she has done, she realizes that nobody will hear her and perhaps this is why she is quiet. Perhaps she thinks if she is obedient, she will eventually be free. It’s a this moment that I wonder if she were suicidal, would she care that I’m about to kill her? I can hear the words start in my head and I keep skipping to my moment of ecstasy.

Temporarily, I am drawn back to present place and time. The girl is out of sight because of the panes on the window. Her absence has no affect on my imagination though. I already have her basic image in my mind. It is the scenes that I have fast forward through that bring me back. I curse myself and remind me to calm down. I have to go through the process as slowly as if it were real to achieve the full effect. Already, I have rewound the event and started from where I left off.

The girl is leaning against a tree, praying for my mercy. My smile doesn’t even make an attempt to hide itself as I turn away from her and search through my bag. Rummaging through it as long as I do isn’t necessary because the tool I need is on the top, but in a way, it is necessary. I’m slightly disappointed when I bring my obvious attention back to her, that she hasn’t tried to crawl or worm away. When she sees the dagger in my hand, she lets out a gasp and it seems that the realization has hit her. She knows that she’s not getting away. It is now that my heart starts pounding with excitement. My body calls out and what proceeds is inevitable.

Her cries are no longer silent. She screams with all her might. Every breath of air she can spare goes into her wails of terror. When I touch her face, she tries to bite me. I giggle slightly. She begs me for her life; she claims she’ll do anything; and she assures me she won’t tell anyone. I assure her that I know; I claim that I won’t do anything; and I mock her attempts to further her pointless existence. Right now, she has a purpose and for that, she should be grateful.

At first, I don’t know where to start. The choices are overwhelming and I feel like a child, surrounded by dishes of sweets from which I can choose whatever I want. I start at one section, but then decide better of it. After a few more hesitations in other areas, I finally find the part I want. I don’t stab her in mindless bouts of rage. It never made sense to me to do that. I simply slice through her skin and slide my beauty down her. She screams in pure agony. My body takes over and I am its slave as it frees itself from my control. I rub myself against her and she pounds her fists into me, but I can hardly tell. They’re more of an annoying gnat than anything. The simple remedy to that problem is to make her arms immobile.

Again she screams in pain, but I hardly hear them. It’s like music that gets drowned out by one’s own focus on the here and now. Once I take the dagger out of her other arm, I use it to slice two more lines in her. My mind screams of so many other choices I have, of so many other desires, but this one is my main one. This is the one I need to obey. I realize, with a strange, detached amusement, that it looks like the equivalent of the letter “I” as a five-year-old might write it, has been cut across her stomach. Her squirms are slowing and I can barely make out where my work begins and where it ends because of the profuse amount of blood that has leaked out onto my canvas. Nonetheless, I find my first cut and smile wickedly at the girl’s face as I use all my strength, to pry open her stomach. I don’t think such an expression of absolute pain can possibly be described justly.

All at once her blood pours out onto the ground and I cannot help but revel in the contents. The flood gates don’t stop falling at her. My body feels as if it’s about to breakdown in perfect pleasure. I cover myself in her blood and cannot stop the pounding reaction coming from within me, not that I take to mind the idea of stopping in the first place. Euphoria to this degree could not have possibly been experienced by another person before me because this is the ultimate pleasure and nobody can do it in such a way as I have.

A cough slingshots me back to the my school’s library. I glance around me, wondering if anyone has heard my thoughts. The only person nearby is the one who interrupted my fantasy.  She asks me if she can borrow a pencil and I smile sweetly as I rummage through my bag in response.

XCRevolution XCRevolution
18-21, F
5 Responses Mar 2, 2010

You wanna go? I will cut your *** and eat you alive. :P

Eh, "*******" isn't exactly the term I'd use. Ha ha, that would come in use at times.<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
Guidance? Strong hands? Guidance for what? What are strong hands going to do? I missed that whole thing.

Thanks. I think it has some organizational issues, but most of my writing does.

Ha, me too. It's just that the fantasy produces an affect that says, "This is what I am in this existence, so imagine how magnified it is when put to work." But my dreams keep me satisfied enough for me to stay legal with the system. It has been greatly advanced these passed few weeks though.

Wouldn't it? It's a shame that I haven't the balls to do anything about it though. It would be quite beautiful. I suppose one can dream.