Red: A Love Affair with Death

Red

The delicious sound of a blade being sharpened... it's like a symphony to me.  My mouth waters with every slow, deliberate stroke... envisioning the beauty in can create on soft flesh.

I swallow hard as I prepare for the blade's seductive torment.  It truly is an incredible spectacle to behold. 

Holding a knife has always brought me such joy.  My favorite one is the knife my father gave me the last time we hunted together.  Alarmingly smooth as it cut through sinewy flesh, its blade was fashioned for obliteration.

Back then, my fascination with death was satiated every hunting season.  The mouth-watering aroma of fresh blood and wet dirt made me hunger for more with every life taken... convincing my own self that it was for sport. 

My mouth waters still as I look back.

Red, my favorite color... it is one that continually brings a smile to my face. 

It was the color of the roses that were given to me when my parents were brutally taken from me.

It was the color of the lipstick my foster father made me wear as he viciously ravaged my innocent body. 

It was the color I saw when I took his worthless life.

In my misery, lay consistency... for red was the color that freed me. 

My foster father was my first impulsive kill.  Time away in "rehabilitation" only served to educate me in the art of death. 

Suicides were most enlightening.  I had never realized that there were so many creative ways to die.  Asphyxiation was most common and yet so uninspiring.  It was the cutting of flesh that was most stimulating. 

Crimson puddles lying about their lifeless bodies brought color to their demise.  Like a painting, it depicted the beauty of what lies beneath our fragile bodies as it spills out. 

Fragile... a word that best describes human life. 

Not to be confused with the emotional sense of the word, I mean to describe physical vulnerability.  Limitations set forth and tested with every broken bone, torn muscle, and cut or abrasion to the skin.

We humans are not invincible, yet add emotion back into the equation... and fragility becomes obsolete!

It never ceases to amaze me how an otherwise weak bodied person can control one whose strength surpasses theirs... all with the power of mind.

It becomes quite advantageous when ending a life.  You then become the unlikely suspect, and if you tie up all loose ends and leave no trace evidence, suspicion goes by the wayside.

Of course, that is not always the case.  Physical strength can subdue the weak.  That is precisely why I am here at the moment. 

The mighty has overtaken the feeble. 

Death's caress is merely a slice away, and my skin prickles in anticipation. 

What will lie beneath the skin of a killer?  I wonder...

Watching the icy glimmer of the knife preparing to pierce through flesh caused my heart to race.  The pounding in my chest, my eyes dilated with arousal, and the exhilaration of what was to come made me smile.

"Funny girl," came his seductive whisper, "you are the first to smile before meeting your end."