My first post here, and I guess that calls for a little background on my behalf. This is one of many stories I have written based on my dreams. Some say it’s not real, some say it’s imaginary, some say it is a cry for attention, while others are blunt and simply call it ‘bullshit’.
Each to their own, but I am not really a fan of myopic judgements from those who aren’t even familiar with their own ignorance. All I know is that these ARE my dreams, as clear and concise as I remember them. It is true I have never acted on them, and perhaps I never will. Perhaps this is a good thing, or perhaps I am too weak to hold the courage of my convictions, if indeed a dream is actually more than just a dream. Whatever the reality you live in, I hope you find enjoyment from reading. A warning – the following could be considered offensive by some, and I’m not even sure this will be accepted as a valid post. But by any definition of the word dark, I believe this definitely fits. Where it belongs on this site, I do not know.
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FIRST KILL
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That night I had the hunger of a thousand wolverines. Only the taste of human blood, only a human death could come close to satisfying my urge. This homicidal urgence to kill was not a new thing for me. It had been in my dreams for a long time now – my dreams of death had become so deranged, so demented, and yet now they felt more real than ever before, and I could no longer deny these impulses. Some would call me crazy but I prefer to think of myself as a saviour.
I entered the club to the sound of “Desire” by an Industrial German band called Wumpscut…. ironically this tune set the mood. Listen to it some time and you will see what I mean. And my desire: simple sweet relief. The walls were trembling from the heavy bass tune. The setting was perfect. No screams would be heard with this thunderous sound seeping into the chilled night air. From across the fold I saw her, this Goddess dressed in black. She fitted the stereotypical Goth profile – black make-up, black lipstick, and a white solace powdered face. But it was in her eyes I saw it. Her sorrow-filled eyes – so cold and empty, like the first chills of a new winter frost let me know she was freezing inside her own misery. She wanted to die, and that much I was sure of. Her slutty behaviour made her an easy target as she flirted with several guys in close proximity but appeared to be with none. My pulse began to beat faster, as my emotions suddenly started to play games with me. Then, almost instinctively, I made my move. Without even asking I swept her to the dance floor, pulling her close we made out just a little. She did not object. Before the song ended I whispered in her ear “Have you ever wondered what it was like to take a life so meaningless?” … and with that I pulled her out the door, barely noticed by the doped out zombies who, as I was to learn in my return trips, regularly frequented the place.
Down an alley I dragged her, far enough away that the music became only a backdrop for this event about to unfold. I threw her to the ground like a rag doll, then lay on top of her weak, pathetic body. Ripping her top from her skin, I used it to forcefully bind her hands behind her head. By now she began to yell for help – kicking and biting – just what I had been waiting for! A plea to the masses, one that fell upon so many deaf ears… “Oh yes bitch, you will beg soon enough” …were my only words at that time. Then I produced a switchblade – my instrument of choice. Small, lean, and shiny it glistened under the moonlight. I let her see it, as I flashed it before her face. The fear that filled her eyes made me quiver…. until I made my first incision, that is. Quickly and without any warning I sliced both nipples, completely removing them from her breasts. She began to bleed. I left the knife on her skin so that her blood flowed freely over it. Her echoes invited echoes to her pain, and the more she hurt the more she wanted it. The fight that her subconscious produced in a vain attempt to prolong her life was squashed with two further cuts behind each knee, rendering her legs useless. As I sliced, my own pleasure grew. I’m not sure which made me happier, the sound of her snapping tendons or the deafening screams of her agony.
She pleaded for me to end her life now… “Kill me… kill me… just fucking kill me!” … straining to form the words under a cloud of immense pain that had, by now, totally engulfed every nerve ending in her limp body. She was almost completely life-soaked, out of fight and knowing what was soon to be inevitable. Her once shrill cries subsided and gave way to a sobbing. Her tears were more than I could stomach..”Weak bitch” I thought to myself. It was at that point I became overjoyed with my selection. Weak as she may have been, she met my need. Her glorious suffering – this everlasting lust fed by her bleeding heart – was bringing me the pleasure I had sought to find elsewhere, but had yet to find. I spoke for the last time; “The time has come to breathe no more, the time has come to pay the price for your life, for your lies…Seek comfort in the fact you die in winter sweet slut.”…And I plunged the blade into her heart. Twisting the knife upon entry, I placed my hand over her mouth now as I began to burrow furiously. I wanted to enjoy the beauty of anguish only her facial expressions could convey. As it penetrated, some of her internal organs splattered, causing several droplets of her new blood to land on my face. But she was not dead yet, so I crushed her throat with one foul swoop to the larynx, watching her choke on her own blood. Not being able to resist, I licked what I could clean from my face, enjoying her taste. In the next moment more of her blood spewed forth, gushing in ebbs and flows as the last light from her heart was extinguished. She lay flat lined, motionless, and cold. I watched in raptures at the pool of blood that surrounded her growing ever larger.
Somehow, my soul still ached for more. I removed the knife, and began repeatedly to slash and stab, and I cried ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ in unison with my downward movements. Again and again, as her ribs crunched & cracked with the onslaught of each blow. I proceeded to remove her innards in a vulgar heap, like I’d done it a thousand times before, & not like some virgin killer. After all, this was my first kill. Finally I desecrated her womb, cutting it out in its entirety. The open wounds I could now see had me shuddering in ecstasy at this beautifully brutal crime I had committed.
I had not planned to fuck her, but her pretty face and the thought of her warm dead body would have made it a sin to refuse. I unzipped my fly, and with my right hand I began to masturbate, stroking myself slowly, as I buried my face in her blood…taking a good long whiff before lapping the trails of blood that ran across her stomach. The odorous stench alone almost made me cum on the spot. Like a vulture I fed upon the sacrificial whore. Still masturbating, playing harder and harder, I held her heart in my other hand, sliced a fresh chunk of her meat, and sank my teeth in, relishing the texture as I made sure to chew many times just like my mother had taught me. Oh how proud she would have been! And then I came, harder than I had before in any real sexual encounter. The head of my cock throbbing as I exploded – my hot sticky load filled the hole that was once her cunt. When it was over and the copulation complete, I stood back to take a momentary respite from my rage, eyes now fixated on the work of art painted in a crimson milk of human blindness. I breathed a sigh of relief, my thirst finally quenched.
After that night, I discovered bloody hands never wash clean. For me there was no return, and I made that place my silent stalking ground, as time after time again I used it to feed my abject misery.