s.u.
It’s quick. Just a thrust upward, followed by a quick twist and an apathetic glance as eyes go wide with the brief recognition of the end before muscle and bone quietly slump to the ground.
The splintered piece of wood, saturaed in a deep red clatters to the ground, joining the rest of the rubbish. A cigarette is lit, shoulders relaxing back into an aloof stance as the brief adrenaline rush escapes with a exhale of smoke.
Disposing of the body is never a problem. Not hers anyways. It’s an easy matter of just lighting a match, flicking it among the waste and walking away, as the smell of burning flesh and garbage fills the small alleyway.
If anything, she’s done the world a favor, one less idiot populating the earth. And it’s not as though the waste department had come to collect the trash in weeks.
Two birds, one stone.
l.i.
Sweet. Agonizingly sweet. After all, it’s important to be a good host.
"I hope you aren’t allergic to anything," She grins shyly, flitting about and setting the table. It’s hard not to find her whimsical and shy manner sweet and enticing.
"I mean, who doesn’t love cheesecake," she smiles as she takes a seat across from you.
In fact, the way she cocks her head to the side, as if asking for your confirmation, reminds you so much of a puppy that for a moment you forget that you’re gagged and bound to a chair wearing your best dinner outfit.
The scene is always the same: a romantic table set for two, candles burning quietly, one orange lily and one lily of the valley in a simple vase at the center, and an exquisitely arranged dessert plate, always untouched. The splattered blood resembling a calculated plating of sauce.
m.a.
The victims are always women in their early forties to fifties, always tied up in the same manner: flat on their stomachs, backs arched in a U-shape, struggling against the rope attached from neck to ankles.
There’s something so tantalizing about the way the muscles in the neck strain against the rope attached to bent legs. It’s all about the structure. The architecture of the body. The design of the kill.
Backs arch, muscles taut in exertion, legs straining. He likes it best when they wear heels, something to highlight the muscles in the legs just a bit more. He doesn’t even need to strangle them, they do it themselves as calves eventually give out.
He calls himself an designer.
On going project:
Serial Killer Shorts based on the question: "What kind of serial killer are you?" as opposed to "What kind of animal are you?" http://serialkillershorts.tumblr.com/
