The moon’s pale rays beat down on my like my girlfriend’s silken caress. The feeling of the cool gray grass presses against my back, making my scrawny body shiver from the tickle through the silk and fishnets. My teeth are chattering, my breath lolls over my head in a small cloud.
I’m laying there, covered in a vicious, sticky substance that reeks of euphoria and death all at once. I’m clutching something in my hand but I don’t remember what it is until I look down and oh my dear god.
Blood. Soaked. Through and through and through and through with blood.
With a gasp, I shoot upwards, my hands quickly groping behind me for any sort of ground to hold onto ‘cuz I’m floating so high, basking in the tingly thrill of being glazed over with blood!
Of course, one of my hands won’t quite grab the ground. No, that hand is too busy holding onto something else. Using the moonlight as my guide, I lift my slender hand upwards, bringing the object in it closer to my eyes, which shoot open in realization.
Murder, bloody murder. I was holding my beloved wakizashi, a short sword my girlfriend gave to me so many months before. Polished and sharpened, it was a blood thirsty sickle in my hand, so elegant and pure.
And then I remembered. Why I was holding it. Why I was shivering from the wetness and the cold. It was arousing, really. I could feel the warmth seep into my body, like some sort of erotic fire that was burning in me from this heinous act.
Patricide. Matricide. That’s right… I mouthed the provoking words. Insults, insults at Her. At the Angel I so adored and loved and lusted and wanted and all sorts of other things that would make me blush to think about them if only I wasn’t so used to just doing them. I killed them for Her. All for Her.
After all. What was my life … without Her?