Less Rambling and Diary of a Serial Killer - Part One

Rambling

Thank you for the kind words after my first blog post. It was great to see the responses. I loved that there were some comments and am extremely grateful to those who shared the post! 

I thought long and hard what to do next. As I mentioned in the Foreword, I am not going down a perfect path for this project. I am saving that energy for the continuity and webbing within the stories I enjoy reading and writing (hopefully you’ll find that same enjoyment). So, I am aiming to go with what feels right. 

Rather than talk about the creation process some more, such as 100 day challenges and the dedication required to follow a path that could offer no reward, or the why’s of this project, I decided it is best to jump right in the deep end and share some writing to entertain! 

As I said in the foreword last week, this is not my normal writing. The content I plan to put out this fall and winter is based firmly in a fantasy world of my own design, but I feel it’s the best path to share the story that affirmed this dream.  

Without further delay, here is the first half of “Diary of a Serial Killer”. The second half will be released next week. 

Diary of a Serial Killer - Part One

Everyone remembers their first time. For me, my first time was not very memorable, it lacked true pleasure. Even my second and third time were not worthy of much note. It was not until I fell in love that I truly found magic in my life. I remember it so clearly as if it had happened yesterday. 

Early on I have found that in life you do not actually need credentials. With a little creativity, some knowledge or understand of the groups preferred subject matter, it is amazing how well someone can integrate themselves into a tribal group that our species gather in. A big part of our modern culture is denying our primal nature, to wear the thin venire of culture and be part of a social group. To me, this cultural safety we have created has given inhibition to truly live.  

But I am getting distracted. Do not think I am trying to justify my actions. There is no justification needed, I accept my behavior as I accept the need to eat. My desires are not only a primal need though, they are a conscious as well. I would consider this more of a hobby, a passion; just like an artist is compelled to paint, I am compelled to create my own tapestries. Again I am getting distracted, too much to say sometimes. I find it easy to get distracted when speaking about my art. 

I was not always this way. I did not always consider it art. It took a magical woman named Sarah to teach me the true wonders of my art. 

I met her in a gallery… 

 

***** 

 

I walked up the slab stone stairs, they were slick from the recent rains. Although the night sky was mostly clear the weather had started turn, with clouds slowly gather to obscure the bright blue moon. The building was nothing but remarkably beautiful. It was the type of place that only high societies are able venture into comfortably. I took a moment to study the ancient looking columns, they reminded me of the ruins in Athens.  

The interior was warm and my senses were enriched by the aromas of non-overpowering perfumes and cologne of the guests. The interior was a blend of splendid colours and the rich Homeric architecture. I was particularly drawn to the superb crimson drapery. It was woven into a brilliant spiral that opened like a flower with petals that extended to each corner of the central gallery. It was a certainly a glamourous affair but I quickly became saddened. I had no interest in any of the patrons, who all milled around the galleries trying to achieve more status amongst their peers.  

Slowly I found myself on the outskirts of the party in a small gallery partitioned by a temporary wall. A few other people slowly sauntered around in pairs but I found myself, virtually, alone soon enough. The room was essentially a square with an ‘H’ shaped centre pavilion. I came across a wonderful piece towards the back. It was magnificent to behold and very much unlike the works of art that were considered acceptable by modern standards. I stared for quite some time looking through the layers that made of the piece so perfect in my eyes. 

“Do you like it?” said a musically feminine voice. 

“I do,” I said without looking, from the tone of her voice I sensed some insecurity, “Did you paint it?” 

She did not reply right away, I could tell she was overcoming the same internal struggle that all Artists suffer. Finally she said, “I did.” 

I slid my eyes from canvas and it took the majority of my willpower to keep my breath. She was stunning. No amount of words I have can describe her magnificence. In a vain attempt I will do my best to give her justice. It was not so much her appearance, although like I said, she was stunning, but how she carried herself. She had a confidence that was easily apparent. A beautiful woman such as herself is generally a confident creature, it was the slight vulnerability just below the surface that truly made her beautiful. She knew her talent but there was the fear that others would not appreciate. That others could not see. 

She had dark piercing eyes that were perfectly framed by her off-white pale skin. Her face was slim but not sickly. A small bridge of freckles crossed her nose and carried over to her cheeks just under her eyes. She had raven hair that was tied loosely into a large braid. Her makeup was simple with the exception of the bright red glossed lipstick. She wore a simple, relatively featureless, but well cut dress and a moderate amount of jewelry. I could tell she was somewhat uncomfortable in this atmosphere, perhaps she was somewhat introverted? What I did know is she was perfect. I guess it was not going to be a dull night after all. 

I smiled in the most friendly, reassuring way I could muster, “The brush work is spectacular. The strokes complement the curvatures of the piece. The lighting is perfect, mayhap not technically but artistically. It allows a deeper degree of blending giving the opportunity for a seamless use of a full tonal range. It has a somewhat dark undertone despite the use of the brighter highlight colours. I can’t quite put my finger on it, it has an almost a hidden depression within the strokes. ” 

She blushed, “Thank you, I see you have an appreciation of art.” 

“Actually, I am full of shit,” I said honestly, she looked somewhat startled, “I do not know much about art, I can see I do not have to impress you with my vernacular. What I do know is I love this piece, it invokes emotion. A lot of the other paintings at this event I feel are simply trying to fill, what the so called experts, deem as correct art.” 

I read her perfectly, she settled back with a slight smile, “That is rare.” 

“What’s that?” I asked, faking a lack of understanding, I knew exactly what she meant. 

“Honesty,” She said. 

“I fear perhaps you associate with the wrong people, if honesty is rare,” I chuckled, “My name is Alexander by the way.” 

“Those dishonest people are the same people you must associate with,” She said with a disarming smile, once again I was forced to catch my breath, “I am Sarah by the way.” 

“Maybe I snuck in,” I said after the slightest almost unnoticeable hesitation, “After all I wouldn’t want you to think less of me for my potential associations.” 

Her smile grew, “I doubt that, the one thing they are good at is having a list of names at the door.” 

“Oh… well maybe I should tell you another secret,” I replied with an exaggerated tone. 

 “What’s that Alex?” She raised her eyebrow, which sent shivers up my spine, “do you mind if I call you Alex?” 

“Not at all. You’ll have to come closer, Sarah,” I said, “I have to whisper it.” 

She approached hesitantly and I wrapped an arm around the curve of her back before whispering into her ear, “I’m an undercover secret agent.” 

Her laugh was infectious and I could not help but join in. Our eyes made contact and I felt her tighten somewhat in my arms. I loosened my grip somewhat to reassure her but made sure it was firm so that she would not be able to step away. A few strands of hair from her bangs slipped free and fell over her eyes. I brushed them aside and behind her ear. Our eyes locked and I felt the warmth from her breath. It was a magical moment but a sudden stream of fear crossed her features as our lips almost touched. She turned away and escaped my embrace. I am glad she was not looking at me at that moment, because a sinister grin crossed my face. It was my true smile, a smile that only reviewed itself when I was actually happy. 

I hid my smile quickly and converted it to a less threatening expression, “I apologize. I did not mean to overstep my bounds.” 

“It’s okay,” She said still not looking, she took a few steps away and looked at her painting, “Even if you don’t know about art, you described it quite well. I am not sure if it was an intentional or not but I paint with my feelings. When I painted this I was broken hearted… not was, still am. I was engaged a few months ago. I still do not know why he left me. Perhaps that is why it has the dark undertone you mentioned… I don’t know why I am telling you all this. It’s a bit crazy.” 

I smiled, I knew I had her, “It’s okay, I don’t mind. I sometimes have that effect on people. Plus it can be easier to talk to a stranger about these things, especially one that is willing to listen. I don’t know, maybe it’s my honesty?” 

She laughed again, “Perhaps.” 

“I am intrigued by you Sarah,” I said, “Would you be interested in going for a coffee next week?” 

She looked over her shoulder at me and after a short pause gave a slight nod, “Sure, I would like that.” 

“Excellent,” I said warmly, “Let me have your number and I will text you later tonight to see when you are free.” 

She gave me her number and I kissed her hand when we parted. I walked away and felt different. I had a slight stirring in my breast. I had never felt anything like it. 

 

***** 

 

The next weeks were magical. I forgot about everything around my life, and my usual compulsion, my desires were held at bay. It felt like the part of me that was missing inside was finally filled. I knew it would not last forever, but it was wonderful while it did. 

The first coffee was enchanting. I never had someone weave a spell over me as she did. She had a fierce passion, similar to my own, the only difference was she was able to release it through a more socially acceptable means. Her art was her driving force, it gave her life. I could see why when I eventually saw more of her pieces. They were a reflection of her desires, her fears… her soul. They were as much a part of her as her flesh and blood. 

She really was perfect, I hate to use that word though. Even the qualities that would normally drive me insane, she was somehow able to tilt them in such a way that made them beautiful. Such as sipping, the sound of someone slurping a drink or soup from a spoon would normally make my skin crawl. Similar to when a grade school teacher would run their finger nails across a chalk board. But when she did it the tone was different, it was less obnoxious and more musical. Plus the way her lips parted only the slightest amount to allow the warm coffee into her mouth caused an almost animalistic reaction within me. I would be lying if I said it took little effort to control. 

I remember the first time we shared a meal. It could be described as the perfect scene from a romantic movie. The restaurant was a lavishing affair, with rich bouquets of fragrance from the dishes being served and wonderfully composed romantic melody playing at the perfect volume. This time when I saw her I could not help but lose my breath. I actually had to cough slightly to regain some volume of air into my lungs. 

She wore a red dress, it was almost the exact tone of crimson as the drapes from the gallery we first met. Once again the dress was simple in cut but accented her natural curves wonderfully. Her lips were dark, a pure black that stood in sharp contrast to the crimson of the dress. The whites of her eyes were also in sharp contrast to her dark mascara and eye liner but the irises of her eyes were brightened by the darker choice. 

I can say honestly I do not remember our conversation that night in full detail. I was under a spell that has caused my normally identic memory to have failed me on this particular occasion. I could not be helped from becoming lost in her bewitchment. It was truly wonderful. 

 

***** 

 

We made love much sooner than I would have ever considered. It appeared I had bewitched her as much as she I. I am very fond of the cinema, theatre and other visual artistic venues. But I always found they portrayed love making incorrectly. Sex was not clean or artistic as a film director portrayed it. Maybe it was for others but not for me. I was never given the gift of being able to loose myself in the moment of passion like others seemed to be. That was until I made love to Sarah. I could understand where the movies drew their inspiration. 

It was raining after we shared our second dinner together. I used my coat to shield her from the falling water droplets as I lead her to her door from the taxi. While we were sheltered from the skies fury at her entrance, we began to kiss passionately. I had never been able to feel the animalistic urges of desire before. But they came out of me like a storm held at bay for too long, in that moment. I would have normally been worried about startling her, you should never scare your prey until you are ready to strike, but she matched the intensity of my animalism with her own. I moaned in pleasure as she bit down on my lower lip so hard that it drew the slightest drop of blood. 

I noticed the taxi driver pull away, despite my instructions telling him otherwise, as she slid her hand into my pants. She stroked me gently but with ferocity as she sucked on my neck. I was no longer in control, no longer the alpha. I was hers to do whatever she pleased. In hindsight this moment gave me a unique insight in how my prey must feel. It was a truly spectacular. Even when I lifted her in my arms through the threshold and to her bedroom, she somehow guided my actions. Even when I was on top of her watching her tense from pleasure, through my passion drunk eyes, she was in complete control. 

I doubted I would ever feel anything like that again at the time. Of course three days later I would experience a more wonderful moment, a moment where our roles would reverse and I was in control. But at the time it was something special, an event to be treasured.