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The wait is absolutely unbearable. Every time I get close to her she is pulled away, dangled in front of me so close. I can touch her, smell her, and taste her. But I cannot get her and it haunts me, nightmares. Night after night I dream of it, the feel, and the absolute glory of draining her of her fire. And each time I wake up to find it was only an illusion. Her world is too controlled, yet unpredictable. I continue my wait for an opening. I have no other choice.


Unfortunately, time is of importance, I cannot wait too long, everyone will forget. My art will be devoid of the recognition it deserves. I divert from my course of choice to find new targets until I get to her, I must, though the joy in it has been diminished. But, I have to remain relevant if it is to mean something when I end her.

RUCKUS. That is the word that was printed in bold, blue and green lettering, across her shirt. I read it as she ran by be me. I go unnoticed as she was screaming for the bus to wait for her. It sped off just as she reached the back door, and its tire sprayed drops of murky water across her face, neck and labeled breast.

She stomped her foot and yelled into the nights sky like a dog howling at the moon. There was a lite mist in the air moving on a cool breeze. Once her adrenaline wore off she pulled a jacket out of the bag she had slung over her shoulder and wrapped around her tightly.

She was an easy target, an obvious target, classic damsel in distress. I doubt that she would put up any real fight, but she would do. It killed me to have to deviate from my usual strategy, but I had to act fast, and this was not a good night for the bars. There wouldn’t be enough people; I would risk the chance of actually getting noticed.

I drive up, and offer her a ride. Instant reaction, a predisposition to impress everyone, even someone she doesn’t know. She puffs up her chest, proud that her womanly physique has once again worked in her favor. I am there to save her, the knight in shining armor that all the Disney movies portray. As she climbs into the passenger seat, I wonder if all the tales her parents told her, warning her of the boogey man, the evil that that stallion riding knight had to face, do they now come to mind? Does she have even a moment’s doubt that this may not be the best course of action for her to take? Does she ask herself if I am someone who deserves to be trusted or does she automatically assume it is safe going?

Nice looking man, nice car, what could possibly be dangerous in this situation? A simple sense of self-preservation is all that it would take to keep her alive, but shiny things outweigh common sense. I smile; she thinks that it is because of her, more like in spite of her.

She rattles off the details of her address and a quick, yet unnecessary, reason of why she is in no rush to get home despite her temper tantrum at the bus stop. Of course I pay no attention. It doesn’t take her long to realize that I do not intend to take her home. Even with her incessant chatter, she has enough awareness of her surroundings to notices when I turn the car in the opposite direction of her home. She panics first pointing out my oversight, but once she realizes her initial mistake of getting in the car, she begs me to stop driving and open the door. Her long blond locks fall around her face framing it, she looks innocent but I am not fooled. The bold print across her perky breast tells me how pure her heart really is.

She slaps me, yells for me to stop the car.  I cannot have her calling attention to us. I manage to pull the car back into my control and wait a moment to regain my composure. One blow is all it takes. My fist cracked her jaw, the impact from the window created the cut above her eye.

I stop the car, slide her seat back so that she is out of view and wipe the blood from the window. I would have to remember to have the interior detailed with my next wash and wax. I took a moment to set a reminder on my phone.

The listing was a single family home. Beautiful, newly rehabbed. I was able to talk around and view the house as my date for the evening was still unconscious. Perfect. Open house in just a few days, I wouldn’t have long to wait. I managed to sneak her in, there was no garage but it did have a private driveway hidden by a large smoke bush. It was in bloom and the air of laced with its fragrance.

I waited for her to awaken; I simply could not begin until she was able to participate in the events to come. There would be no fun in it for me if I did not feel the fear, smell the sweat, and taste it in the air as the last breath slipped from within.

I watch her chest rise and fall and imagine the moment that action will come to an end. She panics; the pain in her face is immediate. Lying on the floor, cold cement, the throbbing that makes it hard for her to focus; it is not long until she is hit with the realization that she is alone there is no way out of her new cell. She cries, turns and finds me sitting above her, blocking the only exit. She calculates her chances of escape; I enjoy watching as it crosses her expression. The moment she comes to the conclusion that she has no chance of survival. Even if she could get to the door, it is locked, she is mine.

"Why?" She manages to force out.

"Why not?" My response. I wanted an answer. For a moment I wanted something that showed she was aware of her own existence. Her purpose in this life, nothing. Not that it would have done much to save her, but it would have been nice to have evidence of something more lingering inside her empty head.

I sat and observed her as she dissolved, her attempt at a tough exterior crumbled to pieces right in front of me. It revealed what she really was, weak and insecure. I chuckled to myself, she was no fighter. I closed my eyes and imagined my short self-defense instructor. The one who made me wait.

I recalled the scent of the sweat, the feel of the cloth interior of her car. This brings me the excitement I need, the passion RUCKUS is unable to ignite. When RUCKUS fights for her last breath, it will be my fighter I am thinking of. I wish I could give her my full attention, but she has done nothing to deserve it. If she wanted it, she would have to earn it.

I moved towards her. Hands gloved, I take her by the hair. Wrapping the long locks around my fist, I drag her across the floor to the desired spot underneath the window seal where no passersby would be able to spot her. My art was created for the eyes of a select few for HER.  I create, SHE discovers.

She kicks, cries, screams. Its short lived. I kneel behind her and hold her close to me. She has a nice smell, a fragrance found in nature. I cannot place it but it delightful when mixed with fear and sweat. I inhale and store it in my memory for future reference.

I enjoy her fragrance as I close my hands around her neck. My grip is tight. Her struggle is fierce, more so than I imagined which makes it that much easier to picture my fighter. I hear a snap, her head slumps to the left, her body stops moving.

It was not in my intention to crush her neck, it was not my intention but I enjoyed it all the same. I watched her. The light dimming in her eyes as her core shut down. Could she still see me? I wondered.

I stepped back, took my glove off and inserted my hand into my pants. Rock hard, heat, she earned it, my full undivided attention. She has given me my fantasy come to life. Not still alive yet not quite gone. I could not help myself, It was reckless but it would have been agonizing not to. She would see. I imagined her last few moments of sight. My completion, her end.

I am careful as I leave, not to leave any part of myself behind. When I go, I leave my hand in tucked inside my pants wrapped tightly around my still pulsating flesh. Once in my car, a quick clean up and I return to my fighter.

Outside of her apartment, I continue my wait. 

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⏰ Last updated: Apr 06, 2013 ⏰

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