A Kill at Midnight
by Daniel Beadle - Thursday, September 6, 2007
Stalker scans the crowd with eyes that could pierce a cow’s hide. He takes note of a limo, where a sharp-dressed man opens the rear car door, and has a brief exchange with the passenger. Stalker looks into the car, and witnesses a flash of a hairless leg, and above it, an overtly feminine face with a look of reserved jubilation. Stalker walks toward the limo, moving briskly as he nudges drunken celebrators aside.“I can’t believe you made it! What happened to your meeting?” asks the woman from inside the limo.
“I decided to cut it short. I had to see y—” The man is cut off as the Stalker grabs him by the jaw from behind. Stalker takes out Jake’s 6-inch skinning knife and presses it into the man’s throat until it stops at the spine. All the while, Stalker keeps his eyes trained on the female in the car, whose look of pure excitement has instantly morphed into an expression that reveals an entire range of emotion, twixt horror and surprise.
Stalker watches her with cold eyes that barely exude the faintest embers of a human soul.
Stalker is not a man in any traditional sense. He gazes at this woman, whose life he has unalterably changed, and his thoughts are calm and lifeless: I wonder if she’ll appreciate this. I wonder if she shaves her vagina every morning in the shower. I wonder how many seconds will pass before I find out. Am I a vulgar person?
Stalker feels the warm crimson liquid pool into his hand. He immediately becomes disgusted with the writhing remains of human life he holds in his hands and tosses the body to the curb. The woman is shivering in a state of shock. Her lips as are as red as the blood that drips from the Stalker's fingertips. Her pale skin makes Stalker wonder if she’s a vampire, and her black hair is obviously dyed on a regular basis.
Stalker whispers one word to her, the word that sounds disgusting when he utters it, a word that even though it isn’t a swear, sounds exactly like one under his breath: “Female.”
He moves in quickly. Time doesn’t quite move properly for either person, and that fact is palpable. The amount of time it took for the woman’s expression to change was less than a second. The amount of time that passed between Stalker grabbing the man and tossing him aside was five seconds. The amount of time that passed between the shut of the limo door behind Stalker, and his reemergence was roughly 59 seconds. The limo shook as if two animals were fornicating. The screams that emerged didn’t sound human at all.
Stalker stumbles out of the limo, with stains all down his front, from his chest to his knees. He looks down at himself and then looks up at you, whispering, “She was shaved after all.”
