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This Member is currently Banned
Join Date: Apr 2012
Location: England
I am currently:  
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Reviews Requested- Contains upsetting material - A Summer Murder [adult/triggering, very graphic]
It struck me as obvious that she had to die. I cannot say for certain when the impulse to murder first struck me, for it was more complex than that. You could not point to a painting and find the point of beauty, or the single note of music that denoted love.
It started in the summer - all passions are higher in the summer, I had always found the summer months to be a time of personal awakening, a time of learning and reflection. I saw her in field. She was beautiful... a slender blonde Aphrodite, wearing a pale floral dress. The summer shone from her, or it was her. It became her.
She smiled at me. I walked past in a daze, THC dulling me to the world as she floated past. Was that even real? Did some millennia-old spirit of Elysium come to the earth to tempt me?
That didn't matter. She had to die.
Now we come to the tools of the murder - both physically and conceptually.
The question of "how" seems obvious - it would have to happen with own bare hands. To use a weapon would be insultingly impersonal, as well as uncharismatic - how could I look at myself in the mirror knowing that I eat pizza with my hands, but use an instrument to take away another's life? I'd put hundreds of hours into making myself strong - my biceps were likened to Adonis, if only by myself, and it seemed like the purest and simplest of uses of my own brute strength to commit such an act.
"Where" and "when" were more problematic. It would have to be outside, somewhere fairly secluded. The woodland in the old quarry would seem the safest bet, and it would have to be at night, and in the rain. There is something ethereal about woodland. Since my adolescent years I had been struck with the sense that was was "me" was, in some indescribable and insane way, hidden within the eaves of the woods. They seem to me to be not some static, romantised backdrop, but rather the home of fragments of our nature. Within each tree is a whisper of something greater than ourselves, some tiny piece of eternal knowledge so that, when I walked in those woods, they enveloped me. Not some schizophrenic cacophony of voices, rather a symphony of subtle, overlapping notes that combined to create an intoxicating melody, beckoning and enticing me within. What secrets they held, I will never know, but the beauty of it always compelled me to simply be around it, to dwell in it if I could.
So, I was sure that the deed should take place in woodland, but when? I would prefer the rain - because any carnal act that takes place in the rain is a thousand fold the sweeter for it - but if the deed needed done, then better it were done quickly (where have I heard that before?). It would also have to be at dark, preferably late at night. This was obvious, as I needed to avoid interruptions. So I needed it to rain, and I needed it to be dark - being England, it did not take long for an evening like this to occur.
I easily found an opportunity to talk with her - in a community like ours, no one is far away - and arranged to go for a drink at the pub, a few minute's walk from the woods. We spent a few hours drinking and smoking, she was dull company but easy to manipulate. We left an hour or so after sunset, walking out the door into the spitting rain I had my arm around her shoulder. She gave me a raised eyebrow but didn't complain so I left it there, as I'd agreed to walk her home.
This was it - I would have to act quickly. The woods came right up to the path we were walking on, I would have to grab her and drag her at least 50 or so yards within. It went without saying that I would have to make sure absolutely no one saw, as well as there being no traffic.
The pounding in my chest had started. This was it. **** was about to get real. I felt the onrush of the adrenaline, the disconnect from my surroundings and the comforting feeling of control over events. Time to get started.
I checked over my shoulder. No one had left the pub after us, and the road was clear. Looking forward, I saw no lights, no people, no cars. Just the gentle rain falling on quiet, dark stone houses, and the surrounding woodlands. Jesus Christ, this is it.
I looked her in eye. She had been babbling about the rain and her hair, or possibly nothing at all. She stopped and looked at me, her mouth dropped slightly. Perhaps she was expecting a kiss.
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed her in a powerful bear hug and dragged her into the eaves of the wood. She reacted quicker than I expected, I got only 3 feet or so before she started shreiking and punching at my sides, flailing her legs out as she did so. I had underestimated this. I was a foot or so taller than her, and easily twice her weight.
This wouldn't do.
Somewhat in cover from the roadside shrubs, I threw her to the ground, and was on top of her instantly. My hand clamped firmly on her mouth - it practically covered her face, my other hand grabbed her wrist. She went limp then, presuming I was going to rape her I suppose. Poor thing.
The lesson had to be severe - there was a rock lying on the ground to her side, I rested her arm on it, and she looked up at me through her tearful blue eyes, confused and hurt as I lifted up her arm and bought it down with all force on the point of the rock. She cried out for pain through my hand, but her arm hadn't broken yet. I lifted it up again and bought it down.
Snap.
That did it.
She was wailing and screaming now through the pain, but my hand covered the noise. I let her broken arm go and lowered my mouth to her ear, I whispered to her
"You will come with me. If you shout out, I will kill you. If you make noise, I will kill you. You will do exactly as I tell you."
She didn't respond, her face had gone white from shock and she was shivering, though she had stopped making a noise.
I removed my hand and stood up, I dragged her up by her good arm and clamped my hand around her mouth - I didn't want to take any chances. We walked further into the woods, she just in front of me, her muffled whimpers and the pitter patter of rain seemed comforting. I felt safe here.
We walked for only a couple of minutes - these woods were not deep - when we came to a place that seemed as good as any. Nice, open space. Time for fun.
I threw her to the floor, and at that moment the skies rumbled. I am not religious, but I felt like at that moment, God wanted me to do this. He wanted me to ascend, and he sent the thunder and he redoubled the rain - it was now falling heavily, it fell on my skin and on her and on everything, "Rain falls upon the just and the unjust alike".
I was crying now. Not out of pity or remorse or any lesser emotion. I was crying with anticipation, with the sheer presentness of what I was committing. I was happy. I was the light of the world.
I looked down at her, at the writhing mess. She was bawling, hysterical with fear. She still had her dress on - it was torn in places, and smeared in mud. It was a symbol of her vanity, of her rejection of the truth and of her continued resistance to my will. It would have to go.
I got out my pocket knife - a small thing that I mainly used for the preparation of weed in its myriad forms, and bent down to her. She shrieked in terror, but the pain of her broken arm kept her still. I ripped the dress off her piecemeal, my blade was not sharp and the fabric was thicker than I had reasoned. A few times when I was slashing at it I cut into her flesh, which irritated me - the knife had stolen some of my pleasure, and I would have discarded it then but for fear of leaving evidence.
I saw her body now fully for the first time. She was panting heavily, her breast rising and falling as she breathed through the terror, her stomach was perfect. Not an ounce of excess fat or a single stretch mark, and she had a perfect "Victorian" curve.
And she was all mine...
All that was left was to remove her underwear - I sliced off her bra easily enough, her breasts were predictably -tediously? - perfect. Moving down to her underwear, as my knife sliced through her knickers I felt a warm wetness, as distinct from the earthern cool of the rain around us. I realised she must have pissed herself, probably understandable given the circumstances. I smiled and considered saying something, but decided against it. Using words at this point would have been a sacrilege. This had to be done right.
Still on top of her, she had her face to the side, not wanting to look at me. Her breasts were large enough to be splayed without the bra, and as I looked down at her weak, despicable form, I knew what must happen.
I knew her. I saw her and I became her. She didn't make a sound.
My observance to the flesh complete, I looked at her again. She was still beautiful, despite the tears. Despite the pain and shock and humiliation, her beauty shone like a lamb in a killing field.
I ****ing hated it.
I was overcome immediately with rage. I punched her across the face, putting my weight behind it. Her head jerked back immediately, yeilding to my fist before bouncing against the ground. She shreiked in pain as her mouth gaped open, in shock from the pain. I didn't wait for it to register, punching her again, and again, and again. I punched her maybe a dozen times in total, my arm was starting to ache. I looked down on her.
Her face was a mess. Everywhere was blood, her skin ripped and shredded and she'd lost several teeth. But those true blue eyes still looked up. She was so afraid. So precious. It'd all be over soon.
I bent down to her mangled face and, looking her in the eye, I kissed her. My lips moved against hers and my tongue brushed against hers. And despite it all...she responded. Her tongue wanted me just as I wanted her. She was whimpering as she kissed me, the rain fell on us both. It was magical. We kissed forever. But all good things must come to an end.
I stopped kissing and relished her tongue following mine as we parted - always a good sign. It was time for the end.
I was above her, looking her right in the eye, as my hand closed around her throat. This was it. I clamped down with all my strength. She struggled immediately, but she was no match for me. She couldn't breathe and she knew she was going to die. I will never forget the look in her eyes, the look just before she passed out. You will never understand. It cannot be put into words, it cannot be rationalised. It is the single most beautiful thing I have ever seen and it will stay with me forever.
After she blacked out, I kept choking her for a long while - didn't want to take any chances. I considered cutting her throat with my knife, but given the dog's breakfast I'd made earlier I decided against it. I checked her pulse, it looked like the deed had been done.
Three weeks later and my parents still won't stop whinging about my sister's disappearance.
I look forward to the morning news each day.
Last edited by RickSpleen : 22-08-2012 at 05:26 AM.
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