Posted by Moore on April 19, 2004 at 06:54:09:
It was late afternoon when he arrived. He stormed over to the back door of her house, and without stopping, kicked the door down. He stomped into the kitchen.
She heard the loud crashing sound, and came to investigate. She was average height, but as skinny, leggy, and chesty as any man could want.
He grabbed her and threw her against the wall. Her body hit with such force that her Thomas Kinkade framed print "AAAAA" on the other side of the wall in her bedroom fell, shattering the glass of the frame.
She got up, dazed and confused. He punched her. Her lips split from the blow, but she remained on her feet. He hit her again, this time on the nose. More blood on her pretty face, plus a red/white line on the bridge of her nose from the cartilage protruding. She slumped against the wall, stunned.
He grabbed her, and threw her on the kitchen table. Somewhat recovering her senses, she tried to slap his hands off of her. He punched her hard in the gut. Her air and lunch vomited out of her.
Broken, she looked away. She saw the macaroni picture she had made in the sixth grade hanging on the other wall. She kept her eyes on it as he removed her pants, then his. Even as he raped her, she kept her eyes on the picture, her mind in a far off place. His violent thrusts against her hips make the table move an inch at a time. He heard squeaks from the table legs as they jerked along the floor, but nothing from her.
He unleashed his anger into her. He got off of her. She shut her legs and drew them up in a fetal position in a late attempt to protect herself from being torn. She hugged her arms around her to try to comfort herself. She tasted blood and vomit.
He walked away from her. He drew a knife from a butcher block on the counter; his body blocked her from seeing what he was doing.
He stalked back over to the woman on the table. Her eyes widened in terror when she saw the knife. She put her hands up, fingers outstretched to stop the knife's bite.
He raised the knife over his head and stabbed down. The blade cut cruelly into her left palm. Over and over her stabbed, giving her scores of defensive wounds. Blood flung off the knife and formed a crimson starscape on her kitchen ceiling. His own hand was cut when he sliced to a jarring halt into her forearm; his blood soaked hand slipped from the handle of the knife to the blade.
He continued to stab her. He drove past her defenses. The knife cut into her breast. The knife's tip broke off when it struck her ribs. His hand was cut again when the blood-slick knife suddenly stopped.
They looked at each other as they panted. Her once pretty face was ghastly with blood.
He went and got another knife. She moaned, and tried to roll off the table. He returned and pinned her with his left hand pressing painfully down on her shoulder. She begged him with her eyes to stop. He put the blade to her navel. He started pushing it into her. Both of them watched as the knife dimpled her skin, then broke through. She writhed in agony, bucking the knife deeper. He disemboweled her from navel to hip with a series of short sawing motions.
Her eyes fluttered and she mercifully passed out. He reached into her, and pulled out the warm, coiled entrails. He didn't stop until he had emptied her, savagely cutting free organs until he found her heart. He pulled her heart out of her chest, regarded it for a moment, then stomped it beneath his boot. The slippery muscle skittered out uncrushed, and thwapted wetly against the wall, refusing to do as he bid to the last.
Even though she had been dead for several minutes, he cut her throat. He cut her breasts and her sex into ribbons of bleeding, raw tissue. The dripping of her blood from off the table kept a steady beat, like a metronome.
He looked at the ruin of the woman, his rage spent at last.
He got dressed, left the knife, and walked out into the sunset.