It wasn't hard to find my next victim. They come in all colors, assortments, and sizes. Some I kill out of love, others out of revenge. Revenge is my favorite if truth be told. So often people go through life treating others as if they were not as good, beneath them, subhuman. Sadly, a lot of people get away with it because of a career path or money, others simply because they are pitied because those around them see the sad existence they are stuck in. Lannah was a combination of all of these.
She jogged daily to keep up the facade of beauty to her deluded mind, but in truth what appeal she had ever had was gone far before her third child. Wrinkles began to set in and her act of arrogance, a failed attempt at confidence, only made her uglier. Sure, some lonely guy at the bar might not throw her out of bed the next morning, but he certainly wouldn't buy her breakfast. Unfortunately for the husband, she was married. People around her wondered whether it was lack of sex that caused the cold, callous, and indifferent attitude towards others, but most just didn't care and dealt with her as little as possible. As I watched her from the end of the bar, apparently it wasn't sexual frustration that was the rotted root.
Drunkenly, she threw herself at almost any man on Thursday nights down at the local pub. She probably claimed girls night out to her husband, or maybe he just stayed for the kids. Who knows, but one thing was certain, she had pissed on the wrong cow patty today. I waited, I watched, and I listened. In truth, this side of her was almost enough to let it go, just let her drown in her own lack of self reflection. That wouldn't be fair to her family though, I thought, they deserved a chance to start over new, away from this soul sucking gutter slut.
I wore an old ball cap and throw away jacket. Besides my endeavors, I rarely drank, especially at bars, so there was not much need to conceal my identity. She wouldn't recognize her own sagging tits at this point and no one in the bar knew me. I slipped out an hour before closing and hid in the alley across the street. This kind of prostitute deserves a special ceremony, one remembering the acts of a legend.
The bar lights "Open" flickered out. People had been filtering out for the last hour and from the count it seemed that there could only be a handful left inside. That's when I saw her. She had her arms around another drunk, shoving her face to his in an attempt to be sensual, but it was sloppy. Why do people like that always drink so much, I thought, as I pulled out my blade. Oh well, it was an unlucky night for both of them.
They stumbled back towards her car parked on the side street. I had already used a slim jim to get into the car, pop the hood, and cut the battery cable. They got into the car, then after a minute the man got out and pulled up the hood. From behind, I brought a chloroform rag around to his face and he went down without a struggle. Too much booze, or too much juice, either way he was out for the night. As I came around the front of the car, Lannah rolled down the window, too drunk to make the distinction. Just a little punch to the jaw and she was out. No worries about bruising, they wouldn't be visible beneath the slits I carved into her precious face.
The man probably awoke when he was being drug out of the dumpster and slapped into handcuffs. Dizzily, I can imagine that he could only ask what was going on. Looking over, he would see a blood stained sheet over a body next to Lannah's car. Maybe the cops would give him a little beating, maybe just throw him in the car. I don't know, and don't really care. He would be let go after the toxicology found the chloroform, as they would find in her. That is irrelevant.
What they would find in missing from her would be more important. Her throat was slit with surgical precision and the intestines were stuffed mostly inside, yet some still dangled out loosely. Admittedly novice work, but efficient none the less. They would discover her uterus, both nipples, and parts of her vagina stuffed in a stapled manila folder within the trunk. A blood streaked signature of "Jack" signed with nitrile gloves marked the outside of the container. Ode to Jack I like to think, when I remember her. Placing her ugliness inside for the world to see, layering it on top of her failed and misconceived beauty she let slip through her fingers so long ago. She is now the treasure she strived for. Another media mayhem, all centered around her.
Drunkenly, she threw herself at almost any man on Thursday nights down at the local pub. She probably claimed girls night out to her husband, or maybe he just stayed for the kids. Who knows, but one thing was certain, she had pissed on the wrong cow patty today. I waited, I watched, and I listened. In truth, this side of her was almost enough to let it go, just let her drown in her own lack of self reflection. That wouldn't be fair to her family though, I thought, they deserved a chance to start over new, away from this soul sucking gutter slut.
I wore an old ball cap and throw away jacket. Besides my endeavors, I rarely drank, especially at bars, so there was not much need to conceal my identity. She wouldn't recognize her own sagging tits at this point and no one in the bar knew me. I slipped out an hour before closing and hid in the alley across the street. This kind of prostitute deserves a special ceremony, one remembering the acts of a legend.
The bar lights "Open" flickered out. People had been filtering out for the last hour and from the count it seemed that there could only be a handful left inside. That's when I saw her. She had her arms around another drunk, shoving her face to his in an attempt to be sensual, but it was sloppy. Why do people like that always drink so much, I thought, as I pulled out my blade. Oh well, it was an unlucky night for both of them.
They stumbled back towards her car parked on the side street. I had already used a slim jim to get into the car, pop the hood, and cut the battery cable. They got into the car, then after a minute the man got out and pulled up the hood. From behind, I brought a chloroform rag around to his face and he went down without a struggle. Too much booze, or too much juice, either way he was out for the night. As I came around the front of the car, Lannah rolled down the window, too drunk to make the distinction. Just a little punch to the jaw and she was out. No worries about bruising, they wouldn't be visible beneath the slits I carved into her precious face.
The man probably awoke when he was being drug out of the dumpster and slapped into handcuffs. Dizzily, I can imagine that he could only ask what was going on. Looking over, he would see a blood stained sheet over a body next to Lannah's car. Maybe the cops would give him a little beating, maybe just throw him in the car. I don't know, and don't really care. He would be let go after the toxicology found the chloroform, as they would find in her. That is irrelevant.
What they would find in missing from her would be more important. Her throat was slit with surgical precision and the intestines were stuffed mostly inside, yet some still dangled out loosely. Admittedly novice work, but efficient none the less. They would discover her uterus, both nipples, and parts of her vagina stuffed in a stapled manila folder within the trunk. A blood streaked signature of "Jack" signed with nitrile gloves marked the outside of the container. Ode to Jack I like to think, when I remember her. Placing her ugliness inside for the world to see, layering it on top of her failed and misconceived beauty she let slip through her fingers so long ago. She is now the treasure she strived for. Another media mayhem, all centered around her.
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