Moondance

The purity of the full moon shining in the sky resonates through the cool crisp air of this winter night. It invites me in to its little celestial celebration in the sky, tempting me in to taste the coldness of its alluring champagne, seducing me in to a drunken slumber in which I carry out the dark deeds which make me what I am.

And what am I?

Well ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls; put your hands together for the one- the only- Dexter Morgan.

Dark Defender.

Bay Harbour Butcher.

Hero.

Villain.

Murderer.

Slayer of scum.

I kill those who do not deserve to live amongst the civilised. The thieves, the rapists, those who unnecessarily slaughter the innocent. Many end up under my shining blade, dancing in the moonlight. And then off dance their mutilated bodies into the ocean and through the Gulf Stream.

In this past year or so Dangerous Deranged Dexter has become Devoted Daddy Dexter. I have replaced chainsaws and cellophane with inflatable mallets and plasters. Rather than spending my days in a lab, then spending my evenings chasing down and eliminating criminals, I now spend my day in a lab, then go home to a wife, two stepkids, and- dare I say it- my son. My own flesh and blood. Yep you read it- I, a brutal monster, have now produced offspring, and spend my evenings and weekends with barely any sleep and changing diapers.

But it's time for a night off. My Dark Passenger is restless.

I've ignored the temptation of that magnificent moonlight for too long now.

David Guerrerez. Thirty-nine year old latino disc jockey. Married for two months to an eighteen year old blonde he met in a club. He pimps her out to crackhead low-lifes and sells on the crack he doesn't use himself. He passes it on to teenagers in clubs for ridiculous amounts of money, then uses the money to buy more drugs to pass on for more ridiculous amounts of money, until he has so much cash he can afford to buy his own stash of Class A drugs to use. Or he uses the money for hookers and occasionally uses their services to exact his own violent urges upon.

In the past six months Guerrerez has chopped up seven pitiful prostitutes. I'm not one to judge someone on how they live their life [ahem], but killing those who have done nothing wrong goes against my moral code. And therefore it is time to teach Guerrerez a lesson.

–

And here we are. Alone in a storage container on the shipping docks. My new friend is lying unconscious underneath tight wrappers of cellophane, binding him to the table. The container is shrouded in cellophane, waiting hungrily for spatters of blood launching free from the fleshy chambers of . Outside the moon is chuckling its sadistic laugh. It knows what is coming.

Finally Guerrerez was waking from one nightmare into another, and when he realised where he was, he looked up at me in astounded horror and started screaming.

"Shut up else the cotton wool will stay in your mouth" Guerrerez silenced and his eyes were full of hate. "That's better". And I removed the wool from his mouth.

"What the FUCK are you doing?"

"Alesha Nighguard. Crystal Hernandez. Rayeesha Harbinger. These names mean anything to you?"

"What? No."

"Don't mess with me Guerrerez. You murdered these prostitutes. You sold illegal drugs to teenagers, took their money, hired prostitutes, then cut each of them up. Alesha Nighguard. Kitchen knife. Twenty-five stab wounds to the stomach. Crystal Hernandez. Bludgeoned to death by a table leg. Thirty-two times over the head. Rayeesha Harbinger. Suffocated as your hands clasped round her neck and slowly, cruelly, drew the air from her lungs."

"Don't be stupi..."

"DID I GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO TALK?" I raised my blade to his throat and he kept quiet. "You murdered several innocent lives. Not just these three women; tens of others. Not to mention you're slowly killing many teens with your crack cocaine. Now. Any last words?"

"Let me out of here you crackpot."

"How many times have I heard that one?" And I gently sliced open his right cheek with my blade, skating gracefully as it pierced open his flesh, and a small wave of disgusting blood started seeping out. I caught a droplet on my clear plastic slide, ready to be placed amongst the other slides in my smart wooden box; the only evidence of my previous acts of justice. The moment the blade came into contact with Guerrerez' flesh, I felt his ego deflate, and a cloud of wonderful fear became all too present in his facial expression.

"Look, I can give you anything. What is it you want; money? Women? Drugs? I can get you plenty. Just tell me what you want and let me go."

"Interesting offer. Let me think on it...No." I pulled down my goggles and picked up my chainsaw. Guerrerez started blubbing.

"Please don't do this to me. I don't deserve it."

"Oh please. This manly performance alone deserves my punishment." Guerrerez wailed and started crying out in fear. I took one last look at his pathetic face and started up the chainsaw.

–

Outside the moon smiled with satisfaction.