The city lights sparkle, reflected in the wet pavement. Sparkle then shatter as the boot disturbs the puddle. It is night and he is shadow. Black within black, and inside him, it is blacker still. His hulking form prowls, beast like, as he searches, nostrils flaring, sniffing out a particular scent. He is seeking the dispossessed, the disenfranchised with their reek of desperation; of disillusionment; of despair. In this moment there are no plans, no schemes; just hunger and the all pervasive need. He is running on instinct, driven by desire, his quest for quarry.
There, skinny figure swamped by grey clothing, leaning against the wall at the far end of the block. The jacket is too large, obscuring gender and the hood hides the features. But that is irrelevant. All that matters is the scent caught in his nostrils, the quickening in his belly and the stirring in his groin. His strides are more purposeful now and the prey fidgets, primal senses stirred. The pale figure shuffles away, casting nervous glances, pace increasing. Ducks into an alley, but unable to resist, peeks out, trying to ascertain if the threat is real or drug fuelled paranoia.
Grasp at the throat, strong arming against the filthy wall. Secures the hands above the head, uses his height, his weight to pin the emaciated body, a parody of a lover's embrace. He tilts his head, brings his lips down, and begins to whisper. He talks of misery, of futility, the pointlessness of continued existence, the frailty of the human condition. He talks of the comfort of emptiness, of numbness, of the blessing in endings. He pours soft, gentle words of death in the receptive ear, and waits.
Waits, mouth dry in anticipation of the response. Sometimes there is fight, the body twisting, lurching under his, and he reacts in kind, violence exploding, smashing, crushing and breaking. Not today. Today there is trembling, the hot wetness and acrid aroma of urine escaping, the sagging of the body against his. There are pleas, sobs, the offering of favours. He quiets the sounds, leather clad hand engulfing the mouth, pinching the nose. He see the panic flare in the grey eyes, feels the body jerk and twitch under his, the thrill in his belly, cock straining in the confines of his jeans. Power surges through him, cleansing him, freeing him. He watches the light die in cloudy eyes, feels the weight as life departs and the empty shell collapses. He ruffles the soft hair, runs a finger along the smooth cheek, steps away and lets the body drop.
He stretches, breathes deeply, revelling in the satisfaction, in the stillness, in the calm. He turns, heading home, aware of his erection rubbing against heavy denim. A hot shower awaits, maybe masturbation, maybe not. It is not necessary. He has already experienced a climax beyond the physical, beyond sexual. He feels sated, a deep lethargy settling into his muscles. Loose limbed and light headed, he disappears again into the night.