Note: A very brief glimpse into the mind of the killer. Another chapter will be posted tomorrow.
He could smell the damp wool of his coat, but he stayed in the doorway watching them rush to get out of the rain. And despite the downpour and the chill, the putrid smell of human waste and rotting garbage ripened, filling the streets with a miasma only he could see.
The men looked like cockroaches scurrying about on their back legs, trudging through the filth and tracking it wherever they went.
And the women -
He once was quite hungry and had traded his gloves for a sausage from some street seller. To his starving eyes, nothing had ever looked more delicious. It was plump, almost bursting, and he bit into it ravenously. The taste was off, like a cheese gone wrong.
He took a closer look and to his horror, he saw by his toothmarks, wiggling movement. He threw the sausage down and ran from it, as if the maggots could follow him.
This was the nature of women. Temptation on the outside, but full of putrescence and corruption.
He was older and wiser now. When he saw maggots or other filth, he didn't run.
He crushed them under foot.