Lucille IX

Dancing fingers, twiddling thumbs, I prithee you one day look in my direction. I grow impatient each day. Perhaps, I should act the primitive ape, like the African tribes, who kidnap their wives, and when successful, own their brides.

The cold breeze of the harbour air lunges for me softly, cooling my face. It is pleasant, the feeling, euphoric, for a mere second. I grow relaxed, and follow the trail of different colour bricks along the street. I had to look for work today, but I grew distracted. Yells of whores roaming the nearby slums, stinking, putrid things, but like a dying flower, or perhaps a poisoned flower, they trap their prey with the smells of wonder, unparalleled to any other smell, for that of men.

I push my fingers through my hair and slick it back. A slight, misty rain forms around the docks, wetting our faces, and coating us in the same layer of soggy, wet, musk. My eyes observe a rather befitting woman, ample body, clearly of higher standing than the other living nearby. For a moment, the purple dress fondly reminded me of the grace Lucille carried with her. When she turned around the corner, I followed. She seemed so fast, but when I reached the corner, she had gone. I turned, and flicked my eyes through the stack of papers sat next to a paper boy. They sat half covered by another, and the pages left open, were of the highlighted story-A murder. The boy looked me with a half-cocked face, and a smug smile “Ey, ser, you wan’ the story you gotta buy it” he held his hand out for a half penny. I looked at him in reprimand. “Waiting, ser, or you gotta move on!”

I sifted through the coins in my pocket, until relentingly handing him a half-pence. I picked the newspaper up, and went straight to the murder. I read through it, she had her throat cut, with a razorblade, a hole in her left eye, the inner side, where doctors reported a rod would have reached to the brain, and hammered in. She had been drugged, and, the shackles on her hands depicted the idea that she had been drugged for days.

I couldn’t help but to smile at the article, they described the man as a veteran of science, but also a monster. I handed the newspaper back to the boy, and the smile stayed on my face. I turned around, and walked towards where I had lost the woman to. I felt a rush of adrenaline pulse through my body, and I felt alive, and my senses were open. Lucille, I will have you one day. That, I promise.

You will be mine.

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Read Meg’s blog if you want to read what happened before this piece.

 

 

Lucille VII

“Where am I?” I wondered, looking around, head bobbing like a boat lost at sea, surviving a stormy night. I raised my hand and looked at the hair follicles that covered the back of it and curled up my arm. I counted every single one. “Six hundred and seventy three.” My pupils wide, or so I could see from the reflection on the spoon resting on the table. I used my napkin to wipe the small droplets of drool leaking from the gruff of my moustache. “Why is everyone looking at me?” I squeezed my nose, and wiped the sweat from my brow. I stroked my hand through my hair and stared back at them.

“Why are people here? I’m at my house, aren’t I?”

A waiter approached me. “Good evening, sir… have you decided what to eat yet?” He asked.

“The pea and ham soup for starters please.” I had to close my eyes for a second. When he turned to leave, my hand grabbed his arm. “Whiskey, as well. The bottle.”

“Very well, sir. Thank you.” I released him and almost fell off my seat. When I adjusted myself on my seat, I checked the inner-pocket of my dark grey dinner jacket in search for what was left of my opium.

“Goddammit” I muttered. This bottle had lasted me two weeks. I shook it, and opened my mouth in hope to suck in the remaining vapour. I pulled out my pocket watch and checked the time,

“1… 2… 3… 4… 5…” I closed my pocket watch. It was silver, and was shiny.

“6… 7… 8… 9.. 10” I opened my pocket watch again, “Quarter to eight.”

I shook my head, and tried to pull myself together “Lucille should be here soon, I need to be of sound mind.”

I closed my eyes again, and slowly breathed. In through my nose, and out through my mouth. In through my nose, and out through my mouth. In through my mouth, and out through my nose…

“I shouldn’t have taken this shit…” I wiped the sweat from my brow once more and muttered, “I need more.”

By the time dinner had arrived, I knew where I was. “The King’s arms.” I looked around, and announced to the waiter, “I can’t start without Lucille.” He kept the dinner in steel containers. The hot plate, turned warm and time ticked on. After forty-five minutes, I decided to eat the soup and leave. I took the bottle of whiskey with me. I shrugged the waiter’s arm off of mine, he pitied me.

I walked down the road kicking a few loose stones across the pavement. “Why would Lucille not attend my dinner? I invited her, I was pleasant. I bet it was that whoreson Thomas. I know who you are, Rich-kid, in-bred swine.” I smashed the bottle on the floor, and headed for a crossing. Across the road was a carriage, waiting outside an old building. It seemed posh, and rather fashionable.

I stumbled across, with a keen eye. There she was, “Lucille…” I whispered. She entered the carriage with Thomas, “That’s it…” I firmly handled my silver handled razor-blade in my pocket. I imagine everything I could to do him. I could ruin his face, so she will never love him…

“Or I could ruin her’s for rejecting me…”

I gave a harsh stare at the carriage, and caught Lucille’s eye. Still, her power over me was strong and my heart raced when she noticed me. Could this be love?

Time will give me the answers I need. I have time. I need more opium.

 

If you want to read the previous account of Lucille, please check Meg’s blog. See what Lucille has been doing.

Lucille V

Dear Lucille,

I had not laid eyes on a person so touched by angels, or God himself, before meeting you. I had not contemplated the existence of higher beings, powers or a singular power, until I gazed upon your face.

I may not be able to give you much to look at, but I can offer you knowledge; I can offer you insight, and challenge; I can offer you something no one else can; I can truly offer you my mind. I am not saying that other people do not have minds to give, but I have studied the brain for my entire professional life, and I understand how it works. I understand how to reach inside myself, and open up.

I will admit, when you gazed in my direction, I thought you looked my way, and my heart raced like the adrenaline a lion would get when chasing a gazelle. Perhaps, not the best metaphoric expression to explain.

Something sparked inside me when I looked into your beautiful blue eyes, and I had not ever experienced such a feeling. It was the first time I had felt truly alive with my eyes wide open. It would not matter to me whether you wore that red velvet dress, or whether you were wearing a night gown, or a dirtied set of work clothes. Nothing could persuade me to look away.

I felt a pit in my heart when I realised you were looking through me, at the gentleman behind me. In fact, I discovered what jealousy truly was. This is why I am writing this letter. I wish to invite you to dinner, at my home on the outskirts of town. It is a pleasant country-style home. You are welcome to–

 

I could not write another word. I crushed the paper in my hand, and ripped it into pieces. How annoying, my heart palpitating like this, my palms sweaty, and my heart pounding. I have a raised heart rate; quite possibly reaching 158 beats per minute. That’s just thinking about you, Lucille. I hope you accept my dinner invitation.

I’ll wait until then. Your soon to be, dearest Elijah.

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/

Lucille I

I strived daily to overcome my melancholic behaviour. I had slummed through my days for quite some time now. I howl to myself in the mirror as I claw at my face with my silver handled razor-blade. I see it now, my reflection, one of intellect, one that deserves recognition. My name is Elijah Warrick, my  family once proud, and great, we once owned a country house in Southern England, on the outskirts of the now smog-covered London.

I flick my razor-blade up my neck, and whisk it off my face, close enough to slit my jugular, but with the precision of a barber I scrape the follicles from my face without damaging a single observable cell. The mind of a doctor, a surgeon, a scientist, one might say. Though, the mix of Melancholic, and sanguine temperament has put me in a place where I am distrusting to my current reality, and as I take my morning dose of opium I begin my day, spitting the last of a monster down the drain.

I brush my hand through my hair and slick the brown strands back until they obey me. I have studied the human body for many years; one of the outlines I covered in my research is the degradation of boundary, of border, of barrier when the human body is put under an overwhelming amount of stress, pain, or hopelessness. I have lacked willing participants and my license to practice medicine removed for signs of a ‘troubled mind’.

I am not a loss however, it is they who are betrayed by their weakness. It is they who will be bowing before me when I conclude my research and spearhead my campaign; I simply require a volunteer. Yes, that certainly is what I need. When fastening my waistcoat around my stomach, I thought of what I needed to do, “What would be better? A man? a woman? for an in-depth study of the human psyche, and it’s adaptability under stress?” I pondered over questions that circle in my mind; it haunted me. I was to make my family great again, and be at the front of discovery, and science, rather than at the back-end of a horse stable.

I threw on my finest wears: an upstanding collared white shirt, a bow tie, a dark grey waistcoat, a dark grey pair of breeches, and my finest knee-length frock coat. I wore my top-hat today. I gazed at my reflection for a moment before leaving, and strong-armed my thought process “Everything will fall into place soon.”

When I left my house, and took a turning into market street I side-stepped the mud-rich puddles, and galloped past the brigands, and free-hands. Some people looked at me and took a step away. Perhaps, it was the piercing green eyes I had that put them off. Whatever it was, I did not take notice. There was one woman who stood out; the first woman in months to truly catch my eye. Upon glancing at this being of purity I felt a sudden fixation to steer my path towards her. I saw her gaze at me, and I looked deep into her crystal blue, beautiful eyes; they stirred things up inside me that I hadn’t yet fathomed. I watched as her dark brown curled hair bounced from her shoulders to her bust.  She was tall, back straight, and she had a fondness on her lips that could only be described as angelic.She wore a long red dress with a solid bodice, and an intricate design that flowed around her collar like someone had engraved symbols on the heavens.

She personified the heavens as the sun shone in her presence and I was left with ill-confidence. I clung to any escaping bravery I had, and refused to let the last speck dissipate and clutched it to my breast. I walked towards her as my mouth propped a smile. When I raised my hand to speak, her eyes met mine. We grew steps closer,  and when I raised my voice, I heard the voice of another behind me.

“Lucille! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

My heart had melted away,  my soul had been crushed, and my confidence broke. I turned to see what finer specimen than I had her attention, and a man with a square jaw, perfect brown hair, glass blue eyes, and gentleman attire stood in front of her.

I clenched my fist but stood shackled by the acceptance that the law would ruin my good name. I stood, watching them speak, and saw him laying his hands on her. I stood shackled like a beast, but my anger was guarded well.

I turned away, and closed my eyes. I squeezed my hand tight until the beast that was anger left me. I turned back to look at the woman who had instantaneously raised my heart, and crushed it, “Lucille?”

I was in love.