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Quick Kills No. 5

Shameless

Everything, all aspects, devolved from that point, keep in mind where they'd started from. Through my actions, I'd opened the door, and I was rife for every manner of being that lies just beyond what we can see, to come and say hello. It was about damn time, half a lifetimes efforts spent wandering, meandering the halls of consciousness, peaking into the adjourning rooms to see what lurks. Finally finding that oh so special shtick, room 3812, and the monster that called it home, I couldn't have asked for a better partner.

I'd found my groove, my calling, it was exhilarating, and I wasn't going to stop. Sure it probably wouldn't lead the longest life but what's the draw to living an existence in chains, watching everyone else do what makes them fulfilled. Wasting away when I could be living, and live I would, you should always aim high with your expectations, that way, when you miss, you're still doing pretty alright. Que...

"Mrs. Woodbird, a local child psychiatrist, was arrested today after more than a dozen of her clients parents came forward stating their children had been molested. It became apparent when several children started suffering morning sickness, and that they, were pregnant." Robs belongings had gone much further than I'd thought, was able to snag a small TV and extension, running it to a nearby access box.

"Mrs. Woodbird's partner, Senator Beckham, declined to comment, the pair were seen walking from the courthouse as Mrs. Woodbird's bail was immediately posted." My ears perked,

"Already on bail huh?" They wouldn't see the dark of a cell, never in their life span anyway. I wonder how they'd get the families to hush up, bribery? Intimidation? And what of the surely fatherless young to be? I doubt the lion would ever claim or acknowledge them, what a cruel start to life, casually discarded as used tissue. Oh what I wouldn't give to have a nice, quiet place for me and Mrs.Woodbird, a trophy like that would be truly memorable. I sat up, shrugging off the cozy haze of a nap, something fell off me, it was a letter, coasting gently to the ground. It looked to be a marker of sorts, casually scribbled in something foul, the address read out,

"12315 Colfax terrace" Someone was either baiting or pointing me in the direction of a, mutual, quarry. Or, they wanted to keep their favorite predator well fed, life's too short to look a gift horse in the mouth. I peaked over the edge, Shawn's body was gone, I don't know who took him or if the poor bastard's off wandering the sewers, delirious and bleeding out. There was something in the air, it felt, electric, in a rather timely manner the clouds parted letting a full moon shine through. Tonight, tonight was gonna be good.

*****

One bus ride and a stout trek later, the address in question stood before me,

"12315 Colfax terrace?" It was a bumbs cabin at the end of a weed ridden gravel road, I poked around, not much too it besides a fire place, bed, a generator tucked out back. Seemed pretty ordinary until I cracked the cellar door, ohhh when I tell you it was a tool mans haven. Walls covered in old hand tools, yard tools, trimming blades, all beautifully spackled in rust and a fine layer of dust. The life of a bear fueled exactly by one pallet of cocaine roared with power surging through the cabins nerves, lit everything up rather nicely. My claws drug along the main event, a grease and grit stained wooden workbench perfectly placed dead center of the room.

"Mmf, well I've got my space, now if I only had my-" A singular red circle on the wall drew my attention, it was crudely sprayed just below a curtain. I couldn't resist, I flung it open, finding a poorly concealed door, with a slight tug, it fell open all on its own. One large mass bound in plastic wrap collapsed before me, I recognized them instantly.

"Prey." My eyes went wide, someone was feeding me, like a lion on display, this was too easy. I gave them a good nudge just to make sure they were alive, you couldn't imagine my excitement when they stirred.

*****

I don't smoke often, makes everything harder, otherwise I'd be a chimney, but when I do, it marks something significant. Like some catty scavenger, I plucked a stick from the last pack I ever bought, being a walking lighter was actually a really nice party trick. Made starting convos with others a treat, it's fun to reminisce sometimes, when I still tried to be normal. Mrs. Woodbird lay behind me, nude, chained down, I'd never been with a herm before, they had the most interesting anatomy. Smoke wafted around us both, a calm fog doubling as a censer for tonight's ritual.

Beside me rest an old patina covered tool box I found while rummaging around, seems whoever snagged her for me caught them in a bit of fun. Adding in several dozen polaroids of Mrs. Woodbird's last victims, they went in a sequence, the first few taken from behind, gradually growing closer to the lions back. Her, knocked out on the floor, next to a bed, proceeding from there, I do believe, are four of the reported kids they'd knocked up. Each one photographed in gruesome, up close detail, their bodies a lifeless road map for every awful form of abuse one could inflict on another.

"Why were these here?" One gross thing to denote about these experiences I've indulged you all in, the anxiety. Just before going through any door I knew concealed something malicious, something horrid, it would flare up, like a psychoactive herpes. Not because of what I was going to do, HAH, no, I just didn't want to feel anything for their victims. I hated that part so much. Oh well, here goes.

Mint stained my insides until there was nothing left but the soft glow of a cherry, I held it behind me, snubbing it on her clit. She shot bolt upright, or, tried to, body caught, struggling against the tiedowns,

"Wakey Wakey." The hissing of her smoldering skin, delicate tones in her shrieks, they made for a lovely opener to tonight's symphony. She ached, yowled, and twisted, just like the glowing ciggy being danced out upon her pleasure nub. I dug around for some more creative play ideas, didn't find much, except this over the top bottle of hot sauce fermenting in the cupboards. Dawning a pair of wet work gloves, I gave my left claws a healthy slathering and swam those spicey digits right up her stream. It's a nice, one-two punch if you're looking to kick things off on a high note. Her eyes split, wide, wider than I think anyone's ever seen them,

"That might be the first genuine look you've given anybody in the, public." I grinned, swirling a middle and index claw over what I assumed to be her little bed of fishnet. Too bad she wasn't crazy or desperate, that tight feline cunt sucked the glove clean with a lovely "Thpop" whilst I snapped free. Mrs. Woodbird kicked and fought, to no avail, of course, was fun to sit back and watch. Eyes wandering the wonderful selection of toys at my disposal,

"Damn't." The inherent issue of too much choice is a real one, eventually settling for a staple gun. With photos in hand I proceeded to ride shotgun while Mrs. Bird writhed in spicy agony. Then my brain started to think, hate that.

"You know, you're one of the most privileged individuals of our time. Why.. why resort to ... this?" I held a photo of the young orca gal, the white under her black half beaten purple, rope marks running every which way that'd make the railroad blush. The girls face was bruised and swollen, lifeless and still. I held it nice and close so even through her bloodshot eyes, she could make it out. Waiting for an answer, I wasn't disappointed,

"She . . . . she smelled like a bed wetter."

You could've heard a pin drop.

"Defiance, now?" The idea of a man who lay in the bindings of a kings torturer yet did not, nor ever, succumb to the speech that was so willed upon him, a freeman. I'd always cherished the concept, but to have one laying before me, was, aggravating.

"She, smelled, like a, bed wetter?" The statement posed as a question, garnered a further, albeit muffled, "uhuh". Well, I'll tell you what folks, this was a rare opportunity, a chance to advance my career as it were. Boy I can't really recall what happened after that, gets a little hazy buuuut....

"SHE SMELLED LIKE A FUCKING BEDWETTER? THIS GIRL! RIGHT HERE!?" Something welled up and over ran, had me shaking while holding that girls photo practically in her eyes,

"THE ONE YOU GET TO -" The staple gun went off, nailing the lions own work to her face.

"-LOOK-" another staple, lower right corner of the photo.

"-AT-" Click, pop, lower left corner.

"-FOR-" Click, pop, top left.

"-THE-" Pop, top right.

"-REST-" Middle,

"-OF-" Middle, again

"-YOUR-" Middle, I almost made a star.

"-SHORT-" Click, pop, oops that one went half in.

"-FUCKING-" Pop, just, nailing fur at this point.

"-LIFE-" Click, pop, click, pop, click, pop! Each staple called up a muffled whimper or yip, was great for the heat of the moment but I was getting bored. She wasn't even bleeding that much, and I still had 3 more photos.

"Hmm." I smoothed back, leaning against a counter top, cooling off while the lion seethed under the hot irons of her stoked nerves. I pulled the next photo, it was of a young, gator gal, teeth plucked randomly, several of the extra eyelids had been ripped off and the pelt of her back half flayed.

"And what of her?" I asked leaning inward, photo held just right for viewing, the cruel bitch, she started to laugh, chuckling in her chains.

"Hah, hoho, she... she was going to make a lovely purse." Mrs. Woodbird was smiling, it was almost as if she enjoyed being caught up for these acts. I wasn't even mad, to tell you the truth, she wasn't going to get off, no no,

"You know... " I started, waving the picture as if it hadn't developed yet,

"I respect that, this unapologetic attitude of yours. I wish more people wore themselves like this. You're a tad misguided though." My search for another toy began, leaving the polaroid resting just above her collarbone and solar plexus.

"Wha.. what? You think you're better than me? Than anyone else you've done this too?" At least she was trying, I guess. My hands settling on an old oxyacetylene torch, I'd really hated OA welding, still do, but it was a great tool for other stuff.

"No, if there were to ever be a record of anything I did, it was never because I thought I was better than anyone." Two clicks of a striker and I was left holding a healthy flame, she flinched as it drew near,

"Hold still." I tweaked the mix nob until it was just ever so focused, holding it to the photo, melding picture and flesh together. Exhaustive, if I had to put a word to the accompanying screams, long, held, trying to both escape and fend off the searing pain. Fire melded plastic to skin, fur scorched off as the photo blackened, I walked it around all four corners until nothing but that girls lifeless face looked back up at her. Pulling back, something seemed off, missing,

"Oh, right." In one fell swoop the torch was off and headed to the floor, hands snagged a nearby set of pliers. Before Mrs. Woodbird could even grasp what was happening, a pair of metal jowls gripped her front lower left canine. And just as fast, it was out.

"Huh, like pulling a stubborn tree root." Snapped just like one too, I thought, admiring what may as well just might be my trophy for tonight. As all good moments go though,

"Fuck you!" It just has to be interrupted, a large glob of blood made her words physical, landing right in my eyes. I set the pliers down, leaning over her, elbows crossed around my sides, our eyes locked,

"When they find your body, no one besides anyone like you will be upset. And I will come for them." I picked another photo, this one showing a lovely philly girl, hooves stripped down to the gangly nerves. The rest of her seemed relatively untouched besides a rather nasty drip between her legs. I lay the photo on Ms. Birds navel, turning to snag my next implement,

"What, what are-" I snapped back, thumb claw in her right eye.

"Shut, up. Shutup, shut the fuck up." I was as cold and soothed while upset as one could be.

"One more, peep, and I will take a circular saw, to your snout, long ways." My hand pushed with a flick while I sauntered off for a wedge and drive. All this unpleasantness I'd seen and committed in my life, and still, the sight of a hoofless horse sent shivers down my core.

"Let's see, this should work." I turned, a flat head screwdriver in one hand, a claw hammer in the other.

"Now, you don't have hooves but I wonder just how we can translate that little philly's fate to you?" The lions well manicured claws quickly tucked themselves into fists, I lay my current implements at her sides, digging through drawers,

"Ohh come on, there's usually spare stock here some- ahah!" Three inch deck screws, a whole box of 'em, I wasn't building anything but they'd work just the same. With hands tucked behind my back,

"I'm only going to ask once, open your hands." Tantalizing words spoken from an eager grin, I loved the more brutal parts like this, where you get to "play", with your food. Several moments passed, she wouldn't show me those pretty claws. I casually leaned forward, laying six screws over the photo and her navel.

"I said," Daintily plucking one screw up, hammer slipping off in my other hand, I held the screw at the base of her wrist.

"OPEN, YOUR, FUCKING, HAND." Four, succinct, marching hammer blows, drove screw number one clean through, pinning the left paw. A new found fear had struck Mrs. Woodbird, maybe it was the throbbing pain she suffered, either way it was open now. The lion just seemed to be screaming at anything, my touch, my presence, screws two and three pinning her hand open. We were getting closer to the level of blood I like to see, her hand, chest and face starting to drool steadily.

"Now then, Mrs. Woodbird, I do believe it's time for your, Manicure." I teased, tucking the end of a flathead under her pinky claw, held together in my hand. I turned back, holding the little phillys photo in her face,

"Don't worry, all services today are free of charge, courtesy of this young girl right here." I smiled while the shear look of terror in her eyes plead back for mercy, there wouldn't be any of course. Funny, how many self professed monsters can commit actions upon others yet they themselves, can't, deal with their own acts done to them. Huh,

"Do unto others as you'd have them do to you, right Mrs. Bird?" She shook her head in protest meanwhile, one hammer tap set off a good old blood curdling scream. The wedge sinking easily half way under nail, two hammer taps and she was almost free. One third and final hammer tap saw the purple glitter spackled claw rip free. I cringed as I could feel it rip loose in hand,

"Oh god, I felt that, did you?" I looked back, the lion hadn't stopped howling,

"Of course you did, welp, that's the pinky done." I went on to the next finger, and the next one, repeating the process for all five digits, on both hands. Every nail came off with just three taps, except for the thumbs, the nail either split down the middle or at the sides in thirds. So, six taps for the thumbs, otherwise I was left looking at a decent collection of possible trophies.

"One tooth, and a fair collection of well done up claws." I thought to myself, looking them over as they'd been arranged decently. The lions cries hadn't died down, one particularly fowl line caught my ears.

"You, you think you've changed anything? I'm gonna make sure every toddler in the tri-state area gets this dick!" I turned, blinking twice, my god, she thought she was going to live. Retrieving two toys, I joined at her side, slowly, setting a large, old, rusty, steel circular saw next to her head. That confidence quickly faded in favor of despair, eyes widening similarly,

"W- what's that for?" I didn't smile, simply starring right back through her, calmly, coldly.

"Effect." In one swift motion, my left hand raised over her navel, screw driver primed as her sword of Damocles. Plunging straight down, piercing the photo, then the lions navel, a subsequent five hammer strikes and she was secured in place. Mrs. Bird screamed in gut wrenching torment, this was more like it, I leaned down, right next to her ear,

"Not so, verbose, now, are we?" She kicked and fought, the nails in both paws and pike in her belly didn't let her move an inch. One last photo, then I could just play, upon viewing said photo however, it struck a nerve. I don't know why I hadn't caught it the first time but, I knew this girl, a snake, in her blazing every thing's gotta be black teen phase. One of the few people to ever show me kindness, strung up, tits removed, gutted from the sternum down to slit.

"Uh oh." Now, I'm a simple man, one could say I live very poorly and without much, I never saw a want for most things offered after a point. However, when I wasn't able to afford basics like food, or housing, she offered them too me, so long as I scared the creeps off. I got to listen to my first Type O' Negative album cuz of her, she, she was nice. I tossed the photo between Mrs. Birds ample feline breasts, quickly turning away and perusing my selection.

"Let's see." It had to be appropriate, fitting for what had been done, excruciating in use, and something that would let me convey my loss. Power drill? No, loppers? Maybe if I was still on the fingers, no. Sawsall? Fun but no, too automated, I need something hand draw-

"Perfect." My boots kicked a warbled metal tool, its jagged teeth sung as the form steadied. With back turned to Mrs. Bird, I marveled at the perfect operatic member to send this symphony off right. A singer so well known and timeless, the crowd wouldn't stop talking about tonight for years.

"Why. . .Why are you doing this?" She asked to the open room, what she could see anyway. To tell you the truth it caught me off guard, a tad, her answer was silence. In my claws bent and flexed a lengthy, corroded bit of pliable steel, watching, feeling it bend in hand, listening to it weep.

"Why?" Followed the silence, I slipped back into view, my toy of choice discreetly tucked on an under shelf.

"Tell me. . ." Elbows resting on the table, she was a mess, that right awful being I'd started with now little more than a bloody mess of hopelessness, despondent gloom, quivering melancholy. She broke, she could do a lot to others but she certainly hadn't been through much herself, pathetic.

"If the kids you fucked had lived. How do you think the rest of their lives would be?" Panic snuck back in through bloodied tears,

"What?" She couldn't have uttered it in a meeker tone.

"If murder is death of the body, then rape is death of the soul. How, do you think, the rest of their lives, would have played out?" I let those words settle in to silence, and when nothing but whimpers came,

"I thought so, that's why I do this." I leaned down, retrieving tonight's finale, left hand grabbing an ample feline tit for support.

"Oh my~ Those are nice. . ." A rather distinguished popping of the knuckles filled in for words, out of know where I couldn't stop chuckling,

"And so is this." I let the mid blade of an old handsaw rest at the very top of her left breast. It dug ever so gently, catching and popping free,

"This one's for Casey." In one swift motion I drew my back cut, starting the blades path, taking care to keep it just off the ribs. Mmm blood, fat, and fur filled its teeth, this saw hadn't been fed in a long time. The pitch and volume of that scream matched perfectly, a loud upfront gasp with a sharp drop as it faded. I'd made my guide notch, time to go for it, forward and back, forward and back, faster, faster, faster. Her screams grew, louder, and louder, and louder with each gash made. Fatty gore flung off to my sides, the occasional wet spurt splashing across me in the ensuing nineteen strokes. Nineteen and a half, the very bottom bit of tit flap wouldn't give it up,

"Huh." I held up one large teet, admiring it, too bad the thing would rot. Kinda like gutting a fish, when you run the knife along its spine, very similar to etching your way down the ribs. Of course the whole time she wouldn't stop screaming bloody murder, I placed it with her fang and nails. That was a nice collection I had going, time to complete the set,

"I think, in that moment, I'd found my flow." Is what I'd pluck from reflecting about that night. Maniacal cackling out rode her screams as I came back for the other, the second one came off in ten, brutal, strokes. And with that, my first trophy set was complete, now if only I'd gotten it with music, I wasn't that comfy though, not yet. Just one problem, I pulled my eyes from two bloodied tits, one lower fang, ten shiny nails,

"And a partridge in a pair tree." I hummed, watching an out right mess of a lion scream and fight madness, blood and spittle flying with every move. I was proud of what I'd done here, but I had no idea how to finish. She was broken, mentally, still no need to have anyone else know about me.

"Fuck you!" She started, cursing my very being on repeat, her bucking tossed Casey's photo to my feet,

"Oh, right." I pulled out and straightened an orange extension chord neatly coiled up, letting its three pronged head flop betwixt her thighs. Mrs. Woodbird paid me no mind, more concerned with hurling swears and her grandiose plot for vengeance. Couldn't even notice the saw slipping away from her head, I stopped to examine Casey's photo one last time,

"Was it down, or up?" I asked myself, who ever had gutted my friend did it very cleanly, save for the very bottom of the cut. Her scales were slightly frayed, like there was a curve to the stroke, or perhaps that's where it started.

"I think we're going up, any last words for the audience Mrs. Bird?" I asked, tying the extension and saw plug together. She of course was lost in a repugnant diatribe involving everyone and everything under the age of ten. It was only with a trigger pull, and the worm gear torquing itself half against my wrist that she sorta snapped too.

The raw evil I held in hand, its shear power, god they just don't make them like this anymore. She tried to kick, to press her knees together, I simply pushed pass. Sinking that screaming set of teeth right in her pussy, hoooooooh the wailing call unleashed upon my ears, It was music. And when I say it was music, it was truly, a uniquely gorgeous experience. Sitting arena side while the sounds of sloshing cunt flesh and cries birthed from unholy terror danced an exquisite duet. Ahhh! It was exhilarating, FEELING the blade whirl, chugging as it snagged scrotum, pelvic bone, then spitting it out as chewed meat. I got curious and looked down, seeing testicles hanging freely right before catching a good arterial spray as her intestines whipped out.

"HOH Fuck!" I pushed, scales on end, I pushed, saw sinking just past her navel, couldn't tell you when the screaming had stopped. Only noticing Mrs. Bird was in shock right as the blades teeth nipped at her sternum. Watching her seize, life erratically fighting itself in the vessel, it was so... relaxing.

These last moments of others, I'd seen so many, would this be what mine would be like? I grabbed her neck, holding the face just still enough to try and see her eyes, nothing, just shivering empty dimes.

"Huh." I yanked the saw free, soft song of singing metal humming throughout. Hit the floor with a thunk, I was covered blood, I held the tooth up in front of me,

"This was nice." In the backdrop I could see Casey's photo stuck to my boot, it came with me. With one last sweep, I took in the room, warm smile and all fuzzy inside, can't beat moments like these. Tossing one canister of diesel mid room, the place went up like a cotton farm. Mrs. Woodbird's butchered body a center piece to a roiling inferno, what a lovely scene. If I had to guess it was sometime between one and three am, up in the hillside, I needed to find a river. I'd be able to get back to bed before the sun said fuck you. Can't really describe how it feels to accomplish something monumental like tonight, Maybe, Next Time?

(^o=o^)~>