Night Stalker
The sun is a sombre arc, swollen and angry above the looming horizon.
I leave the misgivings of my dilapidated abode to stroll through
streets filled with silent pain.
Shadows stalk footsteps. Motion becomes furtive as the hateful orb
fades beneath earth. As I walk, I watch people living their lives
like endless circles. Because that's what life is. Endless wheels of
inexorable mayhem.
Such thoughts come to me at times like this. Night always brings a
certain clarity that is its own. Awareness extends within and
without, searching, seeking, every minute detail a ripple in the
surface of my mind, lost in the eternal maelstrom...
And there she is. Where I knew she would be. Emboldened, I settle
into the pattern of her footsteps.
I know, before even following her, where she is going. Time spent
watching, needing, wanting, enraptured as I drink in her every detail,
has taught me what I need to know.
Soon she nears her home. When I am content that she has no detour
planned this night, I creep around to enter through the back door. I
am familiar with the pattern of the lock and it only takes five
minutes of breathless anticipation before, unbidden, I enter.
My ears seek her out before my eyes feast upon her. She is even more
enticing at such close range. Yes, my pretty, I have come to kill you
- and death is no escape.
It is not long that I wait. Within three strides, I have her by the
throat, one hand clasped over her mouth, stifling hysterical screams.
I want her to see me first. I want her to gaze upon me as I look into
her eyes, seeking the unfathomable that lies within.
Excitement courses through me as I brush my lips against the soft skin
of her neck. I lick teasingly at the flesh before I seek to part it
with my teeth, the smell of her hair filling me with perverse feelings
of love, overpowering and supreme, for this my sweet, helpless,
darling victim.
As the blood pumps and squirts into my hungry maw, the aroma of cheap
perfume (a pitiful attempt at class) mingled with the musky scent of
her sex comes together in a giddying rush. I feel weak at the knees
as she slumps to the floor, an easy mark for a veteran such as I.
Life is a wheel - but I'm the one who stops it rolling.