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