LOUISE.......a small tragedy

Posted by Barbanne on May 27, 2005 at 01:00:00:


My name is Louise and I am dead.
I can even tell you who killed me, it was my best friend and part time lover Nadine.
Why did she kill me? Well, maybe it was an accident and maybe it was intentional, I'll let you judge what you think. How can I be telling you this, well, now I'm just a presence, a sort of spirit, a ghost if you like and this story is not so much what happened to me as it is what happened to the body people knew as Louise.
But I am getting ahead of myself.
In order for you to understand this you really have to know Louise. The late Louise. Dead Louise.
I was a small skinny girl with a sharp face, no tits (had to stuff kleenex into my bra lots) and poor eyesight hidden behind thick glasses from infancy. I was manipulative, cowardly and vicious and used people a lot. I tattled on other girls at school and if ever the finger was pointed at me for anything I'd quickly concoct some lie to shift the blame, or if that didn't work I'd resort to tears and at times chuck a faint, going down cold in the headmistress's office or in the classroom or anywhere else.
It pretty much always worked.
I don't think the teachers were really fooled. Being polite they called me foxy. To my face in private the headmistress called me a ferret and a feral rodent and told me I'd be found out eventually and that I was destined to come to a bad end.
But I was rat cunning and used it to black heaps of other girls I didn't like. Sometimes it was because they did stuff to me but often it was just because they were smarter, prettier or luckier than me and I just wanted to hurt them.
I dressed provocatively, using what little I had to advantage. I'd plaster on goth make up and wear my skirts so short they barely covered my panties and I showed heaps of tummy and other flesh and at lunch times I'd sit with my feet in front of me on the bench pulling my knees up and showing the boys my cunt through my semi transparent panties.
I let the boys feel my tits and fucked most of them on the way to or from school.
I was a bitch. A miserable, self loathing, promiscuous, shitty little bitch.
I grew up into a skinny, tarty, self loathing young woman and drifted into prostitution. Unlike lots of the other girls I didn't have a habit. My kicks came from degrading myself and my customers, both men and women, and knowing that by bringing them down to my level I demeaned them.
I HATED them.
I really HATED myself.

Nadine is a big strong strapping girl about six months older than me and she is everything I'm not. Curvy, healthy, pretty, popular and successful and sporty. She met me at a party and we recognised something in each other and then she took me home to her flat and we fucked.
We were an item for a few months and on that afternoon I took her to a motel room I was in the habit of using and we got naked and we rolled around on the bed and felt each other up, pinning each other, getting off, and then she told me how much I disgusted her and how much she hated herself for being with me and how she never wanted to see me again and then we grappled nude and I reckoned she was kind of talking tough and dirty to work herself up, although she sounded pretty convincing and pretty much sick of me.
We thrashed around and I was all over her rubbing myself against her, nailing her with my fingers and licking and slobbering and tonguing her cunt and then she got me by the throat and started strangling me and she kept calling out my name.
Then she dug her thumbs in and pressed real hard all the time screaming out filth and my name, Louise.
I started going woozy and tried to tell her to stop but could only make gurgly noises and then she crushed my cartiledge and sort of snapped my neck and I was dead.
Dead, nude and stretched out on the tatty bed.
Like a crucified martyr. Legs wide apart, cunt all drippy with my last excitement, my ultimate orgasm.
Nadine fled.The maid found me an hour later when she came to clean the room and got hysterical and the manager called the cops.
My professional name was Chantal and I had a stack of cards in that name in my handbag so I was processed as Chantal de Lovely, exotic dancer and escort service babe.
The police went about their tasks competently, efficiently and thoroughly. Medical and crime scene examiners came and stayed. They did their best to investigate the scene but when all was said and done I was just another dead prostitute and for the cops, as a crime that put me way down on their order of importance.
Two policewomen went through the heap of my hastily discarded clothes and my handbag and made notes. The medical examiner worked over my corpse and two detectives watched on. I had never been very pretty, relying a lot on quite heavy makeup and I had what I called my sexy overbite but what were in reality buck teeth. Violent death had not improved my looks and my mouth gaped, lips twisted into a snarl and my swollen tongue pressed against my prominent and crooked upper teeth. An alarmingly blue, black, purple bruise around my neck didn't help either. My pale blue eyes were rolled up, filmed over and sightless in my surrender.
"Strangled, neck broken, not sure until I autopsy her which was the cause of death," the medical examiner decided and after I had been photographed from every conceivable angle he told his guys to bag me and get me in the wagon.
I was delivered nude, cold, stiff and rather pathetic to the grimy basement of the city morgue and laid out on a cold steel table.
Always small I looked even smaller, sad and pitiful on the perforated steel. Alone, lonely and so, so dead.
The pathologist gently twisted my head, opened my lower jaw and using one big hand levered my shoulder. My back and buttocks were livid with rigor. He pressed a finger into the discoloured flesh but the pressure point barely blanched. He laid me out on my back again. Lifting a lifeless hand he studied it and the blued fingernails.
"Lividity is fixed, rigor mortis has almost gone, skin slippage has barely started."
He and his buxom blonde assistant looked down at me. One of the detectives watched on from behind.
My hair was flat and dull, my skin pale, grey and almost translucent and my small breasts lay limp on my skinny, boney chest. My tummy was just starting to tinge, bluey green.
"How long?" said the detective.
"I see no marbling, no bloating, putrefaction has barely begun. I will of course check her stomach contents and eye fluids but at this point I'd say twenty four to forty eight hours."
"Not more specific?"
"When the autopsy is finished we can be much surer."
They looked down in silence.
In death my eyelid muscles relaxed exposing the eyeballs and allowing that tissue to dry. I had the horrid, macabre look of day old road kill.
The pathologist and his assistant donned eye goggles and lit up a Luma Lite and began probing the hills and valleys of my pubis and belly, rib cage and flattened breasts.
Using his fingers he spread my eyelids. Both eyes showed petechia, pinpointed red dots and blotchiness. He pulled my lower lip down between thumb and forefinger, the smooth purplish flesh showed tiny horizontal indentations corresponding to the teeth opposite.
"Asphyxia," he said, "definitely asphyxia.
His assistant laid out the cutting tools and tested the whining Stryker saw.
I was going to be opened up like a gutted, filleted fish.
Later they sewed me back into a semblence of a female form.
OK I was a pointless, useless, sluttish waste of space and maybe I deserved to lie there dead, but it wasn't completely my fault. Mine started out like any other life, he ruined me. Ruined me when I was too small to know what was going on, too small to defend myself.
Enough self pity.
I didn't have to become a whore.
Nadine was never even suspected of killing me and despite the fact that the investigation of my death was cursory at best, I was pleased. Nadine was innocent of anything bad. I don't know if she meant to kill me or if my death resulted from the intensity of her passion for me but if, and maybe it was that she decided I deserved to die, if she did kill me intentionally I couldn't blame her for that.
I was trash.
The lowest form of a slatternly, slutty trollop.
Cunt for sale.
One mean, miserable, immoral, vicious, hateful tramp.
My corpse rotted in the ground and deservedly so.
Even out here in the shadow world I am shunned and despised.
I had no friends in life and I am alone in death.
Such is the fate of a damaged and broken soul.
I am and always was hateful, despicable, detestable and I LOATHE MYSELF SO, SO MUCH!