Lucille III

I had a metallic taste in my mouth, rustic, of sorts. I was beaten, broken; I had enough. Could one thing not go right for me? Could everyone be against me? The first beautiful woman that I fall for on sight looks straight through me, and goes for some obnoxious prick, instead.

I clenched my fist and tried to battle the rage stirring inside of me but I felt an undeniable thirst to crack that pompous, square-jawed milk-drinker. I may have been a decade older, but I had an infallible urge to cut his throat.

I began breathing heavily, and those passing around me could see me in distress; they did nothing. No, they would not have. Of course, they would not have. Instead they looked at me, as if I were a werewolf out of a novel; as if I was changing before them. I was not.

The young idiot gave me a grin as I looked their way. I was not looking at him, though. I was looking at her. An idyllic beauty of such; one I could paint pictures of, dream of, imagine worlds from. Right down to the fine-detail of the lace lining the red dress she wore. That picture of her would last forever in my mind. After a moment of time, being almost paralysed by her beauty, I turned my attention to him; every inch of me grew silent, and my mind clear.

A crooked smile turned my lips, and as I stroked my hand through my hair to slick it back, I gave a stare that could have killed the man in itself. I walked so close, keeping my stare. He noticed, and hated it.

Finally, I had my first rush of adrenaline; my first destructive moment; my first primal urge. I could control it, for now. But I needed to record this. I need to get home. I moved down the street, swaying from left and right, my seething teeth had elevated my heart rate, and I felt a little light-headed. I looked around, and spotted everything, but at the same time things were blurring, but others were as sharp as the hand in front of me.

I looked at the wagons pulled by horses. Their chests were strained, and the hair follicles around the harness were grungy, breaking, and weak. The eyes of the horse were damaged, like their souls had been crushed. Repeated beating of the whip would do that to anyone’s soul. I saw my reflection in the puddles as I passed them. I liked it, and smiled. The reflection told me much, and revealed to me a side of me that I had not felt for a long time. A thug spotted me and I could see him approaching me. I walked into the alley, three streets from the market and kept my eye on him. I reached into the pocket of my coat. I always kept it in the left. I reached for my silver-handled shaving blade, sharper than any knife.

He stood a step away from me, until I turned, left leg forward, right foot back. I could see the startle in his eyes. He tried to throw a left hook, and instinctively I moved my left hand up to parry; I then shifted my hand and grabbed his wrist. I applied pressure to the point behind his thumb. His left arm quickly grew cold, and useless. I moved my right foot forward, and opened my blade out. I placed it against his neck, and sliced a few follicles of hair from his neck and whispered, “If I apply pressure here, even the smallest amount, it would tear into your jugular, and no barber, or surgeon would be able to save you. You would be out of time, and out of wit you ignorant, gorilla of a man.”

I could smell fear crawling from his skin; his paws opened like the fear a child has when he sees a monster under his bed. I had the image of that square-jawed prick in my head whilst pushing my knife close to this thug’s neck. For a moment I hadn’t even seen his face, I was still plastered with the thought of cutting the rich idiot’s throat. I waited for a moment, until the thug begged me for his life, “Sorry, sir… I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me. I had no idea.”

I could not believe it. “You have no idea? No idea? Of what? Of someone not being an easy target like you’d expect?” I caressed his skin with my blade, and rolled it up his neck. I nicked the top of his chin with my blade; a slight cut under the bubbly, ugly fur that hung at his chin. I let my hand slip away from his, and whispered, “Run…”

As he did, stumbling over his feet, I could not help but enjoy myself. The first time since before my work was ruined. It was time to return to my home, and reflect on this. I need more field work to complete my research; I just need to find a way to go about that.

It’s okay, I’ve got time.

If you want to read the previous entry of this story feel free to click on the link below.

http://lifesscrapbook.wordpress.com/2016/05/22/lucille-ii/

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