AN: I'm revising this story…I 'm not sure why, but I feel like it. For
all of you who didn't know…"mein kleines" means "my little one."
I lay the knife on my lap, waiting for the door to open, waiting for her show herself, so I could rip her open, tear through flesh and turn her body into something unrecognizable, something even DeLordy couldn't lust for.
The door opened and I was on her, pushing her to the ground. I put my hand over her eyes, never wanting to look into them again, knowing now what was in her soul. With my other hand, I tore at the collar of her shirt…quickly, quickly now….Damn! My fingers are shaking!…I could hear Magenta breathing, but she didn't speak. She had no need to speak, oh, she knew well why I was doing this, she knew she deserved it.
I reached for the knife, not worrying any longer to hold her down, the weight of my body on hers was enough. I was crushing her, and I could hear it's toll in her labored breaths. The flash of steel, and then…resistance. Then knife had touched her, and slowly, slowly and painfully, it entered her chest, and oh…the blood came! I rolled off her, laughing, as one would when in the desert, a jet of cool water suddenly sprang from the parched land! Magenta sobbed, nod in sorrow, I'm sure, but pain…the coward…this was nothing compared to the harm she'd done me!
Not wanting to stain the carpet, I put her in the tub, running the water over her. Without waiting for her last breath, I ran, exuberant, to let her die…alone.
******************************
I locked the door, not wanting anyone to intrude upon my solitude. Who would, though? Nobody here liked me-except Magenta, but she wouldn't be much in the way of company. I didn't laugh at my little joke, finding it immediately distasteful. I peeked in at the bathtub, where she lay, soaking in her own blood. For some macabre reason, she reminded me of meat, marinating in a sauce made of its own broth. My stomach turned, revolted, but I couldn't imagine her anymore as a person, my sister, my lover. Magenta herself had left this body long before I had broken the body itself. Magenta would have been faithful, Magenta would have obeyed. Magenta wouldn't have let any of this happen...Magenta would have made all of this better.
I reached my hand into the tub, immersing my hand into the blood to pull the plug. I would never have imagined there would have been so much blood. I watched it swirl down the drain, wiping my hand on my shirt, leaving a bloody handprint on my chest, where she must have touched me thousands of times. The tub, now empty, was still stained a reddish hue. Magenta herself looked saturated in the fluid. I turned on the tap, letting the water run over her, covering her ankles, breasts, and face. The water quickly turned pink, and I grabbed the cloth hanging over the edge, and taking Magenta's arm, I started scrubbing. Moving over her body, I soon rubbed off all hint of red, leaving a white paler then I had ever seen her.
God, she was cold. As I lifted her out, water dripped from her hair to my feet, startling me. Laying her on the carpeted floor of our bedroom, water bloomed from her hair and skin onto the carpet. I left her, heading back to the bathroom for a towel, red, appropriately. I hesitated a moment, before facing her again. I feared she would have moved; that knife so recently embedded in her would find its way to her hand, aimed at me.
More frightening still, she hadn't moved at all. She lay just the same as before, motionless, forever motionless. Never again would her small, perfect chest rise with the intake of air, never again would she bite her lip in thought, never again would her beautiful eyes rest on anybody other than me.
She was mine now, all mine. Even she couldn't stop me. No more quiet, reluctant, "No, Riff"s. She was my possession, my little toy.
I lay the knife on my lap, waiting for the door to open, waiting for her show herself, so I could rip her open, tear through flesh and turn her body into something unrecognizable, something even DeLordy couldn't lust for.
The door opened and I was on her, pushing her to the ground. I put my hand over her eyes, never wanting to look into them again, knowing now what was in her soul. With my other hand, I tore at the collar of her shirt…quickly, quickly now….Damn! My fingers are shaking!…I could hear Magenta breathing, but she didn't speak. She had no need to speak, oh, she knew well why I was doing this, she knew she deserved it.
I reached for the knife, not worrying any longer to hold her down, the weight of my body on hers was enough. I was crushing her, and I could hear it's toll in her labored breaths. The flash of steel, and then…resistance. Then knife had touched her, and slowly, slowly and painfully, it entered her chest, and oh…the blood came! I rolled off her, laughing, as one would when in the desert, a jet of cool water suddenly sprang from the parched land! Magenta sobbed, nod in sorrow, I'm sure, but pain…the coward…this was nothing compared to the harm she'd done me!
Not wanting to stain the carpet, I put her in the tub, running the water over her. Without waiting for her last breath, I ran, exuberant, to let her die…alone.
******************************
I locked the door, not wanting anyone to intrude upon my solitude. Who would, though? Nobody here liked me-except Magenta, but she wouldn't be much in the way of company. I didn't laugh at my little joke, finding it immediately distasteful. I peeked in at the bathtub, where she lay, soaking in her own blood. For some macabre reason, she reminded me of meat, marinating in a sauce made of its own broth. My stomach turned, revolted, but I couldn't imagine her anymore as a person, my sister, my lover. Magenta herself had left this body long before I had broken the body itself. Magenta would have been faithful, Magenta would have obeyed. Magenta wouldn't have let any of this happen...Magenta would have made all of this better.
I reached my hand into the tub, immersing my hand into the blood to pull the plug. I would never have imagined there would have been so much blood. I watched it swirl down the drain, wiping my hand on my shirt, leaving a bloody handprint on my chest, where she must have touched me thousands of times. The tub, now empty, was still stained a reddish hue. Magenta herself looked saturated in the fluid. I turned on the tap, letting the water run over her, covering her ankles, breasts, and face. The water quickly turned pink, and I grabbed the cloth hanging over the edge, and taking Magenta's arm, I started scrubbing. Moving over her body, I soon rubbed off all hint of red, leaving a white paler then I had ever seen her.
God, she was cold. As I lifted her out, water dripped from her hair to my feet, startling me. Laying her on the carpeted floor of our bedroom, water bloomed from her hair and skin onto the carpet. I left her, heading back to the bathroom for a towel, red, appropriately. I hesitated a moment, before facing her again. I feared she would have moved; that knife so recently embedded in her would find its way to her hand, aimed at me.
More frightening still, she hadn't moved at all. She lay just the same as before, motionless, forever motionless. Never again would her small, perfect chest rise with the intake of air, never again would she bite her lip in thought, never again would her beautiful eyes rest on anybody other than me.
She was mine now, all mine. Even she couldn't stop me. No more quiet, reluctant, "No, Riff"s. She was my possession, my little toy.