Part time tales

A walk on the wrong street

Do killers stalk? Do they hunt? Or do they just know, know when to strike, when to sink their claws into their prey, when to finish the bloodletting of the kill, when to finish the life of another.

We don't know, not truly, not really, because we like to think we are normal, we like to think we are entirely different from the killers, because that way they are the monsters, and we are the innocents that are preyed on by these otherworldly beings that seek to end our lives.

But the real truth is, we are very similar to these monsters, were all just one bad day away from murder, one day away from breaking apart into a million pieces and finding that strange little something that puts those pieces back together, if only for a few seconds, if only for a single moment.

We will all become monsters at one point, will fall into the depths of depravity and while there we will do things we would once consider unimaginable, horrific deeds that only remain in our minds as to remind us not to do it again, the only difference between us, and the true monsters is they don't hold the memory there as a warning, they hold the memory there as a euphoria, a daydream that needs to become there reality, that's what makes a monster, that's what makes us different, but then what stops us from doing the same? The answer NOTHING!!!

Do we need to see the true face of the monster to truly fear it? If we have no fear of the monsters does that make us like them? Do I scare you with the questions I ask? Or do you look upon me with admiration for bringing a spotlight on you, on your true desires, on your deepest darkest euphoria.

The truth is I don't need an answer, not that you would be capable of giving one, well at least you won't be very soon, when you see my true face, the face of a true monster.

I don't need answers to these questions because I already know them, after all what kind of monster asks questions, they don't know the answers to.
So... where do I beguine, where does this tale start... I think it starts on a dark street, and if I'm remembering correctly it ends... well I can't tell you that, if I did, I would have to kill you, and if I did kill you, you'd end up there anyway, so I think its best to just start where it all began.

A humid mist floods the dim street, yesterday's rain littering the pavements.All it takes is a sound, the sound of a heel catching a stray deposit of water on the pavement, the sound that catches the attention of the figure within the fog, the figure that now follows the scantily clad woman as she walks home from whichever pub serves this late.

His evil intentions making themselves clearer as the figure gets closer with his heavy breathing, and heightened heart rate, the traits of a predator... the traits of a monster... the traits of a killer.

Blood pumps through this man's veins at the thought of stopping the blood from flowing through her, the idea of ending a life, of creating a cadaver... a corpse... a work of twisted art, but like people say, "beauty is in the eye of the beholder".

Some... people would consider this woman beautiful, her porcelain skin and slime fitting indigo dress makes her am image, a jewel that graces the street with its modern beauty, the delicate form that her follower wishes to shatter sways on the cobblestone her beauty cracking under the power intoxication.

But to him its not the beauty that attracts him to her, not her perfect hair or pristine threaded dress, but her imperfections, her cracking state, the makeup smeared on her face, he doesn't know why but she to him is like a dog, a sick dog broken by something, maybe a car, maybe another monster, but that's not what plagues him, what truly plagues him is the idea that she be allowed to suffer, to exist in a world that dismisses her, in a place that cares not for her beauty.

He thinks this, yet lies to himself by saying its true, he knows the true reason he wants to think this, but he entertains that though, otherwise he can't justify what he is going to do, he can only say he did it because... well because he enjoys it.