Lorsque jetais une oeuvre d'art

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It, by Jessica MacEwen

It’s very cold in this room. The floor is wet and the breeze blowing in through the window chills the air. I have been here for many months now, on my own in this cell, sprawled across the pale grey sheets on my bed. My name is Harold, Harold Brum. Why must they be so cruel to me? I shouldn’t be here. I am not deranged! Wasn’t I cautious? Wasn’t I prudent in myplanning? It was a genius plan, the cleverest. I can still smell her skin. How I lust for her beautiful silkiness, the pale of her cheeks, the satiny white of her arms. She was a real beauty. Such a beauty! Her name was Amelia Johnson. But you’re probably wondering how I got here…It all started December 19th when I had been visiting my fiancé in Los Angeles.

We had been trying for kids for quitesometime now, unfortunately, with no luck. She was so distraught by my impotency that she decided our marriage was not going to be successful. This conversation resulted in her packing her bags and fleeting my apartment. You see, I have a problem which I usually am good with containing; anger. I was so completely consumed by this pure hatred towards her that I physically injured her, permanently. Aftermy unanticipated act, it seemed impossible to find an appropriate place to stow the body. I resulted in dismembering the corpse limb from limb, carefully downsizing the pieces and devouring them. It seemed appropriate at the time, nothing would have gone wrong and no traces could have been left behind. Or so I thought. Somehow it took no time for the police to start their investigation on themissing female. A few friends and I went out to the beach in order to avoid trouble closer in the city but the Mayor and head of crime investigations, Bill Johnson was quick to track us down and interrogate everyone. I was in the middle of being questioned when I saw her. That ever so pale, luscious, lovely Amelia with strawberry-blond curls. I could smell the perfume off her beautiful shinny skin. Itwas a heavenly scent, almost uncontrollably enthralling.” Excuse me,” she said. “Excuse me sir, you’re staring at my forehead. Is something wrong?” She quickly swiped the back of her hand across her head. Suddenly, the memory of the taste of fresh, young flesh came to mind. Her seductive, sweet smelling skin was taunting, practically screaming at me to touch it. I had to have her. “N…No, sorry,”I stuttered. It appeared to be impossible to get that image out of my mind. “I’m Harold,” I managed to stammer out. “Pleasure to meet you, uh?” “Amelia. Amelia Johnson.” Ah, yes, the name of an angel with the face of heaven. I quickly glanced around to see if anyone could see us two talking. “Would you like to leave this place?” I asked as I pointed towards the oncoming cluster of approachingpolicemen. “I know this great little coffee shop nearby and here, it’s starting to get quite crowded.”

The coffee was marvelous, fallowed by a phone number exchange and a final adieu. I then leaned forward and gave her a light kiss on the cheek and thank her for the lovely evening. My lips brushed against the softness of her cheek when I realized: I needed to have her! By now, it was dark outsideso it was impossible for anyone to decipher our two figures and I swiftly jostled her against the cold brick of the house jarring her arm in a distorted position. I tugged hastily at the top of her coat; just enough to expose her sternum and to firmly sink my teeth into the crease of her neck and shoulder. The ever so sweet mix of her scent and the taste of her blood was overwhelming. I retractedmy teeth and she let out an echoing scream. I tried to stop her ear-piercing screams and scratching as I plunged deeper into the artery of her neck. With my weight bearing down on her contorted arm, there was an audible snap as she let out a final squeal of agony. This time, a light was turned on in one of the neighbors’ house. And another, fallowed by another light. Soon the entire sidewalk was...
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